Chapter Text
Rain patters on the shingles of the quiet Potter home. Spring has ended long ago, but their garden in the backyard remains just as in bloom as it was then. Bright red pentas line the stone patio while pink and yellow snapdragons add depth to the neatly trimmed shrubs.
Fleamont sits in the living room with a mug of ginger tea as Euphemia reads him poems from a classic she picked up from a local bookstore. Her glasses sit on the edge of her nose, and she tucks her greying spiral curls behind her ear before turning the page.
James and Sirius have retreated to their rooms for the night, leaving the house serene and safe from mischief that comes in their wake. The boys are out of school for the year and were determined to spend their summer holiday smoking weed, partying, roadtripping alongside friends, and, most importantly, with no school.
The serenity is interrupted by a frantic knocking on the door.
Euphemia drops her book and rushes towards the walnut entrance. Her thin fingers grip the brass handle and open the door to a soaking wet boy standing on the stoop.
His dark hair clings to his face. The whites of his eyes have been replaced with a red film. The bags under his eyes are dark and sunken in, as if he hasn't been able to rest. The shine from the porchlight above him bathes his face in a golden glow.
Before he can say a word, the mother rushes him inside.
“Goodness, Regulus. You’re soaking wet.” Euphemia remarks, grabbing the nearest throw blanket to dry him off. “Monty, start a pot of chai; he must be freezing.” Fleamont, who has gathered behind his wife, pats her on the shoulder and retreats to their kitchen.
Regulus’ eyes flicker across the home. A hand-woven circular rug surrounds the orange sectional in the middle of the room. The multicoloured chindi of it all is something Walburga, his mother, would only describe as gaudy. The room is warm, illuminated only by lamps, candles, and sconces.
That's when he sees him: Sirius on the top of the dark wood staircase, as if prompted by his brother’s appearance.
“Reg?”
“Sirius! I-” Regulus starts to say, but is, once again, interrupted.
Sirius rushes down the stairs, and the couch blocking his path does nothing to stop him from reaching Regulus. He jumps over the object, his arm pushing up against its outer cushions.
Sirius grabs his brother into his arms and holds him tight. The younger boy does not hug him back; his eyes stare blankly into the living room.
How could Sirius not hate him for not coming here sooner? For not going with him when he left? For never defending him against their parents? How could Sirius just hug him, no questions asked, like nothing ever happened?
Regulus pulls back, craning his neck away from Sirius.
“Reg, what happened?”
Regulus lets out a shaky exhale. “They kicked me out.” He states, refusing to make eye contact with Sirius.
Sirius’ stomach sinks, his eyes widen. Regulus was their favourite. What could the boy have possibly done? “For what?” He asks.
“Same as you,” Regulus says dryly.
The realisation dawns on him. “Shit, okay, well, you can stay here. Right?” He looks over at Effie. She gives him a kind smile and a soft nod. “Of course.”
Monty reenters the living room and hands a blue speckled ceramic coffee mug to Regulus. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” he says. “You can even move in like Sirius did.”
Monty chuckles, but Regulus’ muscles tighten at those words.
“Yeah, yeah. S’really no worries: you can take Prongs’ room for now.” Sirius looks around. “Matter o’ fact, where is the bugger? James!” The yell rings up to the second story, where the dark-skinned boy was, unbeknownst to his best friend, sleeping.
A few moments pass, and James comes down the stairs wearing a faded maroon Henley, pyjama pants, and what he calls his ‘indoor crocs’. Stormy eyes follow the boy as he drifts down.
James rubs his groggy eyes and yawns, not paying attention to the scene in front of him. When he finally does, his observation is as astute as ever. “Regulus?”
“Sherlock fucking Holmes, everybody!” Sirius exclaims. He throws his hands up in the air in mock exasperation. “Okay, well, I don’t have my glasses on, Padfoot.” James whines.
Sirius laughs at James and looks back at his brother, who does not find this nearly as funny as he does. Sirius straightens his face, sucking in air to wince, and clears his throat, focusing on the task at hand. “Sorry, Reggie.” Regulus decides not to object to the nickname.
“Prongs, I told Reg that he could sleep in your room tonight. S’that okay?” James straightens up and looks at Regulus.
“Yeah, of course!” He beams and flashes a toothy smile at the shorter Sirius-looking blob in front of him.
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James takes Regulus up the stairs. The walls are covered with the Potters’ family pictures. The ones from the last few years include Sirius.
In their family pictures?
He looks so…happy. Way happier than he looked in any of the Black family portraits, the portraits that he was in with Regulus, his real brother.
The staircase ends in a corridor. The hardwood floors creak as the two boys step on the landing.
James grabs a pair of glasses from a nearby bookshelf. “Backups.” He says, wiggling them in the air.
He points at the door closest to them. “This is Padfoot’s room.” Regulus looks at the wooden door with stickers and posters plastered on the outside. A PARENTAL ADVISORY: EXPLICIT CONTENT sticker, ‘Beware of Loud Music’ sign, and a Carpé Diem poster from some movie caught his eye. It’s all very Sirius, yet it looks nothing like his room in the Black Manor.
“The one to its right is a bathroom; it’s connected to his room as well.”
Regulus notices another room with the door wide open. Before he can process a thought, James races to shut it, stumbling a bit over his dirty white crocs.
“That’s my room, where you’ll be staying,” James yelps, his back pressed against the closed door. He leans against the frame, showcasing his biceps. “Next to it is another bathroom–you’re welcome to use whichever bathroom you’d like, but I’d suggest using this one,” He lowers his head to address the shorter boy. “You won’t have to share with me and Pads.” He explains like it’s a secret.
Regulus seems a bit overwhelmed by the house tour, though that obviously wasn't the cause of his stress, the getting possibly disowned of it all. He swallows. “Aren’t I going to reside in that room? Why slam the door shut?” The younger boy questions, arms crossed.
“You’re right, sorry,” James apologises, rubbing his neck. “I wasn't really expecting guests, so it’s not the cleanliest.”
Regulus flashes a concerned look his way that most people would find snobby, but James finds it endearing. It’s a little quality that he notes down: Regulus likes things kept neat.
Does Regulus really have to stay in James’ room? Regulus’ stomach turns.
“Don’t worry, though! I’ll tidy up while you shower!” This reassures Regulus a bit, though he isn’t completely trusting of James’ cleaning skills.
A contented quiet washes over the two boys. With glasses on, James can finally see Regulus clearly. His raven curls are wet; Euphemia’s throw blanket is draped over him; the checkered navy quilt that usually belongs on the couch brings out his moody grey eyes. The boy’s nose is pink from the cold.
James pulls himself from his ‘The Lego Movie’ type focus skills. Regulus could have been talking about how President Business stole the Kragle, and James wouldn't have known. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“I didn’t say anything, Potter. You were just staring at me.” Regulus responds.
Shit. Was he really?
“Erm-just James is fine, Reg!”
Regulus turns away from him to enter the bathroom. He looks over his shoulder. “Thank you for letting me stay in your home, your room no less, but I’m sticking with Potter.”
James could have sworn he saw a glint of red in that boys eyes then. “Oh!” He calls. “And never. Ever. Call me ‘Reg’.” He closes the door behind him, leaving James in the dim hallway on his own.
“As you wish, Black." James shouts from the other side of the shut door.
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James falls onto Sirius’ bed, shoving off the clean clothes not yet put away from a laundry day weeks ago. He leans up against the wall, his head hitting the plethora of shit Sirius hangs there.
“Hey,” he says softly as Sirius walks in, the door shutting behind him with a click. Sirius acknowledges James with a nod and a tired exhale as he joins his best friend on the bed.
“Where were you? I gave Reg the tour by myself.” James says, trying to sound as innocent as possible, not trying to accuse Sirius of anything. He knows this is hard.
Sirius scratches his eyebrow. “I just let you handle it–you’re better at talking to people than I am.”
“Oi! That’s not true, Pads. You’re social butterfly times one million.” He grabs Sirius by the shoulders. “And besides–he’s not just ‘people’, he's Regulus.”
“Yeah, have you ever thought that’s exactly the problem?”
“Well, yes. But he’s here now–he did the right thing and got help from the right people.” Sirius stands up.
“After years?”
“But-” James tries to interject.
“Only after being thrown out? After going along with everything Walburga and Orion ever did or said?” Sirius kicks the pile of clothes bunched up on the floor. “He’s only here because he needs a place to stay-”
“Sirius!” James all but yells. “He lived in the same house as you, he saw the same things you did, he was hurt the same ways.” He sighs before continuing. “Just because you woke up from that spell earlier than he did doesn’t give you the right not to give him grace. Remember what you were like when you first came here?” Sirius shudders at the thought of the cruel, arrogant young man who showed up on the Potters' doorstep, much like Regulus did. Sirius had so much unlearning to do and was lucky enough to be allowed to do just that.
“I don’t know–” He sits back down. “It’s just that it was like looking in a mirror. Who I was, who they made me feel like I had to be. It’s hard to see that.”
“Yeah, Pads. I know it’s shitty. But we have to be there for him, give him the things he needs to be better.”
“No, I-yeah. I know,” he chuckles to himself and motions to the room. “Just like old times, huh?” For the first couple of months, Sirius couldn’t sleep alone. He would wake up in the middle of the night, tears streaming down his face, afraid. James was always there for him, held him when he needed it.
James grins at this. “Fuck yeah! Sleepover!” He says, giggling as he chucks a pillow at his best friend.
“Fucker!”
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Regulus gets out of the shower just as wet as he was when he entered the plum-tiled bathroom.
Yellow towel wrapped around his hips, Regulus exits the bathroom smelling strongly of James’ sandalwood and patchouli body wash.
Fucking hell. He doesn’t have any fresh clothes to change into.
Regulus opens the door to James' room, welcomed with exactly what he imagined it would look like. The camel-coloured walls are covered in posters from bands, video games, sports teams, and movies.
Due to James’ inability to not be good at every single sport known to man, awards, trophies, and medals eat up practically all his shelf space.
That's when he sees the pile of clothes, neatly folded on the bed. Dark green shorts, a black Billy Joel shirt, and a pair of underwear with the Superman logo on the backside.
Regulus’ face heats up at the thought of those being James’. There is no way in hell they’re Sirius’s. His brother may not be a Black anymore, but he still has standards.
Regulus falls onto the bed and digs his pale face into the dark blue sheets. The pillow smells like the body wash he’s wearing, mixed with some sort of coconut hair oil.
It smells of James.
Which, yes, obviously it would. For some reason, Regulus fixates on this more than he deems he should.
He stares at the ceiling, listening to the gentle hum of the Potter house. Wildlife chirps outside the window, and warm light glistens on his face when cars pass by. Hesitant footsteps arrive and retreat past the door, over and over again, but never do enter. Not sure when it happens, but Regulus’ eyes grow heavy, and his breathing evens out as sleep takes him by her kind caress.
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