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The sun has long set over the Potter household, but Monty believes in taking full advantage of the hours of consciousness he’s granted, so this dark hour finds him on the couch with a candle floating beside him to illuminate the pages of his book.
Like James and Sirius, he loves the hustle and bustle of sunlight with the never ending pattering of feet running through his house and the sounds laughter that follow it. But like Regulus and Effie, he also finds solace in how the dark narrows his peripheries to only the important things he surrounds himself with, like the gold band on his finger glowing under the candlelight as he turns the pages of a riveting tale about Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin that Regulus had recommended to him.
Speak of the little monster.
Regulus strolls into the living room with a book and floating candle of his own, rubbing sleep from his eyes like the nocturnal being he is on holiday, and stops dead in his tracts when he notices him. There’s something akin to shock in his eyes and embarrassment blossoming on his cheeks, and Monty raises his eyebrows in confusion because it’s been years since he’s had to give the “ this is your home too, you are free to roam it as you please ” shpeil.
It’s not until Regulus speaks that Monty understands the aghast look on his face.
“Well, one of us is going to have to change,” he says, and after giving Regulus a one-over, Monty is amused to realize they are wearing the same pajama set. Furthermore, it’s the cotton blue button up and gingham pants that everyone claims are “too grandfatherly.” And he’s matching with Regulus.
Monty grins brightly. “Well, it’s not going to be me, old man.”
Regulus scowls like this is a joke that has been made one too many times and stubbornly trudges over to the couch to plop himself on the opposite end.
“Sorry your bones are too brittle to climb the stairs, Grandpa,” he says flatly, looking down at his book, but not without a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
Monty chuckles and shakes his head fondly. Before he replies, he finds the quiet that’s settled over the room is rather cozy, so he returns to his book instead. Regulus must agree, because he doesn’t speak again and gets comfortable, tucking his sock-clad feet into the crack of the cushion and pulling the hems of his blue sleeves over his hands. Always cold, that one is.
And so the they sit together and read in their matching pajamas until Regulus’ eyes droop and Monty’s spectacles slip from his nose.
When Effie finds them slumped over the couch in the morning, their candles melted and their books dropped aside, she makes a dive for the camera and snaps a photo.
Old men and their lazy habits; she captions the polaroid and hangs it front-and-center on the fridge.