Chapter Text
Regulus rises with the sun, brushes his teeth, combs his hair and makes Barty screech like a vampire – all before seven!
“Reggie, close the bloody light-!” Barty begins from where he’s sprawled across Regulus’ bed, an arm thrown over his eyes.
Regulus sighs and reluctantly points his wand to his candles and blowing two out, surrounding them in much dimmer light once again.
November is slowly but surely approaching, the wind outside blasting against the lake in repeated, ocassional bursts that make the waves more and more agitated, wet leaves and algae sticking to the windows as Regulus makes his way out of their dorm and through the common room. It's deadly quiet at this hour – though it’s Hogsmeade weekend (and Regulus’ first one, on top of it all), not many people are awake.
Which is, frankly, very fair. It’s barely a few minutes past seven and if Evan wasn’t sleeping like a hibernating bear then Barty wouldn’t have suffered Regulus’ preparations for the day alone.
Both their other roommates transferred to Durmstrang at the end of last year and since then, it’s only been Regulus, Barty and Evan all sharing a five-people room (which none of them are complaining about). This also means that, although it took a few weeks, Regulus eventually got comfortable with something he hasn’t allowed himself to be in a long, long time.
He's allowed himself to simply be annoying just for the sake of it. Very annoying, as Barty often points out when Regulus ocassionally monopolises the shower, hides Evan’s cigarettes around the room or – as the case seems to be today – wakes up at the arsecrack of dawn on the weekend, too restless to sleep in after a rough night.
But nonetheless, cold or not, morning or evening, Regulus has a mission. A very diplomatic, very important mission. A mission that, first, requires his safe arrival to Gryffindor tower.
Thankfully, this time he doesn’t get lost. He steps out of the dungeons, enjoying the cool morning air that bleeds in through the opened windows and the all-encompassing silence.
Glancing around to make sure no one is watching, Regulus begins humming something under his breath. It's a muggle tune – gods forbid his mother ever hears those words out of his mouth – and it strangely feels very upbeat. Evan once caught him mumbling the few, sparse words of it Regulus knows now that it’s something related to a queen and dancing? Dorcas laughed very loudly when he explained that to her so he won't be taking the risk of asking someone else anytime soon.
Climbing the steps to Gryffindor tower two at a time, Regulus allows himself a moment of excitement at his marvelous plan. Waking up the Fat Lady and telling her the recent password, “stir fry”, he gets in and takes a moment to watch out for people.
There is no one in the common room – predictibly. Gryffindors are, in his experience, rather lazy creatures. Especially on the weekend.
When he finally gets where he’s headed, he finds Sirius’ dormroom unlocked, door thrown open carelessly. Trust his brother and his gaggle of friends to invite everyone in...
Regulus tiptoes inside, ignoring the cold and making sure he steps on nothing – and there’s many things to trip on. Clothes strewn around, trunks tilted sideways and half-opened, both open and closed books littering on one or two nightstands and knick knacks everywhere; quills, pencils, parchment, emptied inkpots, someone’s cauldron, wrappers, the random chocolate box and- is that a bludger?
Ignoring the mess (or, at least, trying to), Regulus watches the four inhabitants. Sirius is planted face first in a cascade of pillows and blankets, his body half out of the bed with a thick, whoolen blanket wrapping him like a crepe, hair spilt over his entire pillow, his curtains barely drawn halfway. Regulus isn't even sure if he's in pyjamas, judging by the collar of a threadbare sweather poking out.
Peter, despite being the more reasonable one in the room, has his bed uncovered and the window next to his bed thrown open wide, probably from a sudden heat stroke in the middle of the night. He himself is burrowed deep under the duvet though, the morning air leaving their room a bit chilly. His snores, however, are phenomenal - Regulus isn't even disgusted, he's mildly impressed.
Lupin's bed is, surprisingly, already made, no trace of the boy in sight.
The only closed curtains are Potter’s. And that’s where Regulus is headed.
He throws a careless silencing spell in the middle of the room, letting it act as a barrier between Peter and Sirius’ half of the room and Potter and Lupin’s. When he’s sure it will hold, he clears his voice and calls out rather loudly:
“Oi, Potter! Arise, sun-arse!”
There's a huff and a grumble on the other side and Regulus waits a moment until something shifts behind the curtains, a half-hearted groan of annoyance slipping through. It takes about a minute until James Potter himself, hair twisted in countless ways and lacking his glasses, lets his head slip out as he stares narrowedly at Regulus.
“Sirius?” he asks tentatively, gravelly voice confused.
Oh right. He's half-blind.
Automatically, Regulus reaches for the boy’s glasses from the nightstand and throws them in the gap formed, earning a yelp from Potter as he scrambles back to catch them.
Regulus waits until they’re positioned – rather crookedly – on Potter’s nose and the boy looks up at him, eyebrows shooting up as he recognizes who’s woken him up.
“Regulus?” his voice is so deeply incredulous Regulus wants to laugh “What are you doing here?”
“What? Is the thought of me visiting my brother this early so startling?” he rises an eyebrow in challenge though Potter doesn’t pick it up.
“Then what are you wakin’ me up for? You never do this-” he begins, looking suspiciously at the younger boy and then checking the clock on his bedside table “Merlin, it’s seven, what do you want?”
Regulus feels the frown pull at his face as Potter drags a hand across his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He didn’t expect the mighty, brave Gryffindor to be cheery in the morning, but this is horrendous behaviour, not excusable after a good night's sleep-
Realization hits him like a bag of semi-wet rice in the face (do not ask why he knows how that feels).
“Wait, was it a full moon last night?” the question slips out before he can stop it.
Alright, maybe Regulus is tired too – he never wakes up early unless he has an insomnia bout and Barty agrees to share the bed so he doesn’t feel lonely while he’s awake.
...fine, yes, he’s only slept two hours last night and his plan is heavily half-baked.
Potter's eyes go wide like ceramic plates and Regulus has to bite his lip to stop a chuckle from escaping.
“Wa- what do... I mean, no, what are you- hey, it’s not, or well, yes it was but-” he takes a breath and pins Regulus with a steely look, hands fidgeting against his sides “And- well, why is that your business?”
Regulus can’t physically stop the laugher that evades him, plastering a hand over his mouth to stop the sound from coming out but failing to do so. Potter stares blankly at him, a tad bit panicked and a lot more- not even awestruck, starstruck? Would that be the right way of describing his face?
Regulus wills himself to stand tall (accidentally missing the way James’ face goes from confusion to wonder as he watches him laugh) and bites the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling.
“Do not fret, Potter, I picked up on Lupin’s secret last year already, I haven’t told anyone and I don’t plan to. Sirius misses classes too often once a month for me not to notice.”
If he and Sirius hadn’t tried to keep their relationship afloat, he doubts he would’ve noticed – however, Sirius made sure they met almost every damn day, and on the rare chance he was too busy or distracted to do so, Regulus took the hint and showed up at Gryffindor tower in the evening with a blanket, pyjamas and his own pillow for a sleepover.
The other boys didn’t pay him much mind, and he always made sure to come late enough so they’d be too tired to pester him – well, except fot Potter, who he’d ignore. Especially since he seemed to have a field day teasing Regulus and treating him like a bloody child.
Now though, Potter rubs at his eyes again, a deep sigh escaping him as he relaxes partially. With a quirk of his eyebrow, he turns back to Regulus, obviously dismissing the affirmation as a later discussion and asking what he wants and catching the younger boy off-guard.
“So,” Regulus begins eloquently, suddenly forgetting his entire speech “I- uhm, well, you see, it’s almost November and- Sirius' birthday is coming up, and later today I’ll go into Hogsmeade and...”
Regulus stands there, mortified, realizing he doesn’t know how to phrase it better. How is he even supposed to ask this? He's dumb, so, so, so idiotic, he shouldn’t have come here-
“Hey” Potter interrupts with a sigh “did you place a silencing spell on the rest of the room?”
Regulus nods numbly and Potter leans back, scooting up against his headboard and leaving a gap big enough for him to come in through.
“Good. Come on in.”
Stilling his trembling hands and trying to banish the flush from his face (it must be from the wind, right?), Regulus climbs in and sits at the foot of the bed, wrapping his arms around his knees and tucking his chin on top of them. He lets his eyes dart around for a few seconds, registering his new surroundings - the grand canopy and the pictures attached to its ceiling, the thick crimson curtains falling shut behind him and leaving both boys in almost-darkness, and oddest of all - warmth, soft blankets and a nice cinnamon-like smell that makes Regulus want to fall on his side and fall asleep again... He banishes these thoughts for his head too.
Pulling his wand out from under his pillow, Potter waves it around in a fluid swirl and mutters another Muffliato, probably to make sure they don't wake the others. Regulus takes a moment to look at him and he realizes he’s probably wearing muggle clothes as pyjamas – a pair of joggers and a t-shirt with some band name he doesn’t recognize.
“Alright, now spit it out.” he says when he’s done, turning back to Regulus and twirling his wand over his knuckles.
Clearing his voice once again, Regulus begins.
“I want to purchase a gift for my brother, but I have absolutely no idea what would even be approapriate” he takes a deep breath and trudges on, looking downward and then to the side – any way except Potter’s “so, I... need your help?”
There's a few beats of silence until Regulus looks up, catching Potter’s eyes trained on him. He seems a bit deep in thought and he’s chewing on his lip.
“So, let me get this straight,” he asks, words measured “you want me to tell you what to get him?”
Regulus nods, maybe a little frantically, because then Potter is grinning at him, eyes squinted fox-like from that damned smile and Regulus so wants to wipe it off his face.
“You know you didn’t have to sneak in ‘ere to ask me that, right?” he says, a smile still in his voice and it deeply unsettles Regulus “unless...”
He trails off and Regulus is left hyperaware of everything around – the curtains shut against the morning chill, his brother just on the other end of the room, and the whole absurdity of the situation-
He meets Potter’s eyes again and the bastard has the gall to grin.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
------------------
Regulus Black is strolling the streets of Hogsmeade, the wind tugging gently at his his curls and (annoyingly) pushing them in his face. His friends are quite behind, having stopped at Zonko’s after Barty begged to go inside and both Evan and Panda couldn’t find it in themselves to tell him no.
And of all other things that could happen, he’s also walking with James bloody Potter of all people.
“So, what kind of gift were you thinking of?” the boy asks for the umphteenth time today, breaking into a yawn at the tailend of his sentence.
“For goodness’ sake Potter, I said I have no idea-” Regulus snaps, breaking into his own yawn “-that is the whole reason you’re here!”
Potter huffs and Regulus rolls his eyes. He should’ve known better – it's simply not possible for him and Potter to actually get along on something.
That’s how the entire first half of their day went. After Regulus departed with the promise Potter would go along with him to Hogsmeade and help him find a present, they both arrived separately at breakfast and then hurried off to be the first to march off towards Hogsmeade, before any of their classmates could notice them together – specifically Sirius and the other two, whom Potter referred to as “marauders” and made Regulus almost denounce the whole plan.
It didn’t matter anyway, since last night’s moon had been quite rough. Potter said it was probably because it was right in the smack middle of the summer and winter solstices, but Regulus never enjoyed astronomy much so he wouldn't know. Ironic, yes.
As a result though, Lupin had been physically detained in the hospital wing, Sirius took a nap in their dorm but skipped breakfast to spend time with him and oddly enough, Peter did go into Hogsmeade, but instead hung around Mary MacDonald and her girls and then – after Barty and Evan?
He almost spotted Regulus when he went off to find Potter, but thankfully Pandora distracted him and now the blond boy was probably showing off every item in Zonko’s to both of Regulus’ dormmates.
Weird.
There was no one to catch them when they left, but there were surely eyes watching in Hogsmeade. That was why they waited until lunch time – around now, literally – for everyone to be eating somewhere and for the two of them to search for options - which they still have none of, even now.
“I suppose you’d want something with emotional value, right?” Potter thinks out loud, eyes scanning the leftover Halloween pumpkins on the villagers’ porches and doorsteps like they hold the secrets of the universe “We could maybe have a go at the vinyl shop downtown-”
“Though about that, and no.” Regulus cuts off the idea from the root.
Potter just tilts his head at him, brown doe eyes confused.
“Why? He loves music-”
“-but I don’t,” Regulus finishes “and I’d rather find something we can bond over.”
Potter’s eyebrows rise a miniscule amount but he schools his expression before Regulus can comment on it.
“Fine then, what other ideas were you thinking of?”
Regulus sighed deeply, pushing the heel of his hand into his eyes. This was getting tedious.
“What part of I don’t know can’t you understand?”
Potter opens his mouth to retort, but before he can, he’s interrupted by a drop of water slipping down his glasses and then on his nose out of nowhere.
Both boys look up in a manner that’s almost comical to Regulus, only to feel the distinct pitter-patter of soft, forming raindrops against their faces.
“Shit.” Potter mutters under his breath.
“Finally, we agree on something” Regulus responds, tugging the bag on his shoulder a little higher and marching forward.
“Wait, Regulus-“ Potter begins but quickly enough, the soft pounding of raindrops turns into something more similar to a curtain.
Without thinking, Regulus reaches an arm back and grabs Potter’s wrist, dragging him inside the nearest shop with the lights turned on. The older boy yelps, mumbles something and tries stopping them, but Regulus drags him inside before he can protest.
They’re both already speckled by the water when they enter, and Regulus hurriedly salutes the elderly woman manning the counter – though she’s much too preoccupied watching the droplets from a few seconds ago turn into a downpour, waving them off.
Still holding onto Potter’s arm, Regulus drags them both deeper in the shop while realizing what exactly they walked into – heavy tomes line the walls and there’s a distinct air of antiquity around. After going a few metres deeper inside, the boys are surrounded by shelves upon shelves of old books, newspapers, scrolls and all sorts of other parchments and-
“Regulus!” Potter whisper-yells and Regulus realizes distantly that oh, he’s still here.
Unpleasant.
But when he whirls around to see the older boy, he’s shocked by three things.
One, Potter’s hair is even worse than usual – the spikes of hair and twirls and knots have somehow doubled their size, making his usual waves seem frizzy and… oddly puffy.
Two, he is, just like Regulus, quite wet. However, light droplets cling to his coat and eyelashes and- okay, that’s enough-
-and three, he’s missing his glasses.
“When did you become deaf?” Potter asks, incredulous, squinting his eyes in a way that should seem threatening but Regulus recognizes it as a disguise at his attempt at seeing him "I dropped my glasses outside, and frankly it feels like your fault"
“I’m not-“ Regulus stops with a sigh “Look, I know this has been a mistake, and truth be told, yes, I’m sorry for making you come with me and losing your glasses, alright? But now we’re stuck here and I really don’t want to have a heart-to-heart about us two learning to get along for Sirius’ sake, so we can wait it out and then head our ways, no?”
Potter blinks, eyes focused somewhere on Regulus’ face (clearly not his eyes). His brows furrow while he processes before his face goes slack.
Regulus blinks too and waits for his reaction as Potter reaches up and scratches at his neck, a little dazed. He seems lost but softer around the edges, as if he’s genuinely wondering what to do.
“Fine then, I forgive you” he concedes eventually “We’ll wait this out. Anything you want to do in the meantime?”
Regulus casts a look around and spots a familiar book at his eyes level. Pulling it out (along with a large amount of dust) he blows on it and watches the particles float around for a few seconds.
“We could read?” he absentmindedly asks Potter, rubbing a thumb over the hardcover of Le petit prince (et d’autres histoires) with reverence and ignoring the older boy's coughing. He remembers reading The little prince as a child – well, Sirius reading it for him and then making a poor summary of it that ended in Regulus crying because exaplining to a five-year-old that the prince doesn’t actually die was, in fact, very challenging to Sirius.
“...good joke Regulus, good one.” Potter deadpans with a scratchy voice and Regulus remembers he’s still there – still wet, still tired, still glass-less.
Realizing his slip-up, Regulus winces slightly. Maybe they’ll be able to find the glasses when the rain passes. Hopefully.
“Well, guess we might as well,” Potter shrugs and, leaning against a shelf, lowers himself to the ground “what are you holding?”
Regulus hesitates for half a second before crouching down and settling down in a crisscross position beside the other boy, a few inches between their shoulders, his knee almost knocking into Potter's leg. He props the volume open on his lap, eyeing the table of contents – yes, it does indeed have the full collection of Antoine de Saint-Exupery's works. He flicks through the book before returning to the beginning.
“The little prince, but it’s in French-” he begins, already searching the shelves with his eyes for something else.
“-can you read it aloud?” Potter asks, turning his head and pinning Regulus – or Regulus’ brow – with a stare “Sometimes Sirius does that in French and I don’t mind it.”
Regulus blinks and shrugs, though Potter probably can’t see it. He rubs the weathered page between his thumb and pointer, eyes quickly scanning the text. He's not sure if he can decipher it properly, considering they’re in semi-darkness, but how hard can it be?
Leaning back into the shelf, Regulus begins reading while trying to ignore Potter beside him. He clears his voice and feels the tension ooze out of his shoulders along with the gentle buzzing of the rain outside.
“Lorsque j’avais six ans j’ai vu, une fois...”
Regulus reads in his softest tone, not wanting to disturb whatever trance the light rain could possibly bring upon him. He runs his finger gently underneath the lines of old ink, stopping from time to time, narrowing his eyes to maybe shame the words into making sense when he can’t properly see.
“Elle disait,” he clears his voice in an attempt at sounding lighter, more airy when he continues:
“«S’il vous plaît... dessine-moi un mouton!
- Hein!
- Dessine moi un mouton...»”
He's stopped, however, when he feels Potter shift closer. Almost unperceptably so, but still closer.
Regulus tries ignoring it, again.
“J’ai sauté sur mes pieds comme si j’avais été frappé par la foudre.” he continues, voice back to normal.
Potter's slow approach doesn’t stop though, and by the time it sounds as if the rain outside has turned into half a storm, the other boy is pressed against his side, his arms wrapped around his legs and Potter’s chin resting against his forearms. He's quite sure the older boy's eyelashes and soft exhales are fluttering his hair in front of his eyes, but he will not dissect what that does to him.
It takes a bit of effort for Regulus to keep his voice even, but he manages it eventually. He's half sure he’s breathing in tandem with Potter by this point, their pocket of air a bit warmer than the rest of the shop. His back is aching but he finds he doesn’t mind it – his jacket is quite thick and some of his weight is leaning on Potter, easing the strain.
He's halfway through the third chapter when it happens.
“Vous imaginez combien j’avais pu être intrigué par cette demi-confidence sur «les autres planètes ». Je m’efforçai donc d’en sa-” he reads eloquently when, out of nowhere, there’s a soft weight plopping on his shoulder.
Not daring to move a muscle, Regulus turns his head barely half an inch, only for his face to rub against Potter’s hair. His breathing is even, back slouched awkwardly to reach Regulus but still looking unfairly comfortable. One of his arms has fallen off, resting on the floor, the other leaning gently against Regulus' knee - his head tucked securely between Regulus’ shoulder and neck, the shelf behind them.
Blinking slowly, Regulus turns back to the book, registering how he woke Potter up this morning – at seven, after a full moon, tired and jumpy and-
Oh.
He probably hadn’t slept at all.
Feeling a pang in his chest – that is definitely not endearment – Regulus sighs softly and leans his cheek onto Potter’s head, eyes pointedly looking down at the book.
He doesn’t bother to make every word understandable anymore, letting himself slur past a few, r’s and s’s rolling on his tongue as if his own mouth isn’t too sure whether he’s still reading aloud or not.
He doesn’t finish chapter three before his own eyelids flutter shut. He'd forgotten Barty woke him up last night because of a nightmare, both boys falling asleep in Regulus’ bed – or at least Barty did.
Regulus uncounsciously lets himself sag into Potter's side as he feels the boy’s soft exhale on his neck and jaw. It's oddly comforting, and he nudges his face deeper in the soft mess of curls, letting a sigh escape as his eyelashes flutter shut, hands going limp against the pages.
He barely registers his last thoughts – how he’ll buy Sirius the lovely book of French stories, how his friends will probably come look for him, how he should probably thank Potter. No, how he should probably thank James.
But that can wait. As he falls into a deep sleep, enveloped in a blanket of warmth and surrounded by the pitter-patter of soft rain, the only thing he might dream of are pretty roses and and big books he can’t read and boys with brown strands who can’t see.