τρία
The next morning, Regulus went down the stairs slower than usual, dragging his feet even though he was already dressed and technically on time. He’d spent most of the night lying in bed, eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling, wondering what in God’s name he’d been thinking. It wasn’t like him to say yes to anything on a whim, but when he reached the reception, there James was, already waiting, leaned back casually in a worn wicker chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, a small paperback open in his lap. The sun streaming in through the doors cast gold onto the curls on his head, and Regulus hated how charming he looked like that. Calm. Unbothered. Effortlessly handsome.
James glanced up, catching sight of him, and the smile that spread across his face was immediate and real.
“Hey,” he greeted, shutting the book and standing up. “You ready?”
Regulus hesitated just for a beat. He could still say no. He could make up something about a headache or suddenly remembering a phone call he had to make. But James was looking at him like this was the best part of his day, and Regulus, for reasons beyond his understanding, found himself nodding.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m ready.”
James’s smile deepened, and he gestured toward the door. “Great. Car’s just outside.”
The vehicle was parked under a half-shaded spot beside the villa, a sleek black Ford Capri, very British, and somehow very James. Regulus followed him silently, wondering if this was what spontaneity felt like. As he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, something in the rearview mirror caught his eye: a child’s car seat in the back, blue with a worn plush toy still strapped in.
Harry, he remembered, blinking at the sight. James’s son.
As the Ford Capri rumbled to life and pulled onto the narrow road snaking out of town, Regulus held onto the door handle with a grip bordering on desperate. The streets were barely wide enough for one car, the corners sharp, and James drove like he had something to prove.
Regulus raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the empty car seat. “Do you drive like this with your son in the car?”
James grinned, eyes on the road. “Course I do. Harry loves it. Says it’s like a rollercoaster.”
Regulus made a sound that was half-scoff, half-laugh. “You’re going to traumatize that child.”
“Nah, I’m giving him character,” James said with mock seriousness. “Besides, he tells his mates his dad’s the coolest. I can’t let him down.”
When the road leveled out a bit, the silence settled for a moment. Then James flicked a glance at him. “Alright. Important question.” see
Regulus tilted his head, wary. “Yes?”
“If you had to be haunted by one ancient Greek figure, who would it be?”
Regulus blinked. “What?”
“You heard me,” James said, smirking. “You’re in bed, lights off, and suddenly, bam, a ghost. Who’s it gonna be?”
Regulus considered it. “Someone quiet. Maybe Sappho. She’d leave me alone most of the time. Write poetry in the corners.”
James made a pleased noise. “Excellent choice. I’d go with Alcibiades. Chaotic bisexual energy. Keeps things interesting.”
Regulus huffed a laugh. “He’d haunt your wine and seduce your neighbours.”
“Exactly!” James tapped the steering wheel. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
He paused, then said, “Okay, tell me favourite smell?”
Regulus raised a brow. “Is this going to lead somewhere strange?”
“Only if your answer is something like ‘freshly waxed marble.’”
Regulus smirked. “Rain on dry stone.”
James made a low, impressed sound. “Poetic. Mine’s toast.”
“Toast?”
“Yeah. Like, proper warm toast with butter. It’s unbeatable.”
Regulus was laughing now, the kind of laugh that startled even him. It came out unguarded, bright, and brief, and it made James glance at him, smiling.
“See?” James said. “I’m an excellent conversationalist.”
Regulus tried to hide the grin still tugging at his lips. “You’re… something.”
James laughed as he took a sharp turn onto a dustier road that wound toward the hills. The car jostled slightly, and Regulus reached for the handle again, only half-pretending to brace himself.
“You drive like you’re late for a wedding you forgot you were in,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it.
James only laughed. “Oh, come on, that one was smooth.”
Regulus gave him a sideways glance. “You’re lucky I haven’t flung myself out of the car yet.”
“Well, I can’t let you do that now. Who else am I going to impress with my charming personality?”
Regulus rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with a smile.
James stole a look at him and grinned wider, clearly encouraged. “Alright, alright. Want to hear something ridiculous?”
Regulus arched an eyebrow. “Is that not the default setting of this conversation?”
“Fair. But this one’s about Harry,” James said, straightening in his seat a little, already amused by the memory. “So, last December, he woke me up at four in the morning panicking. Full meltdown. I thought something was wrong, but no. Turns out he was upset because he realized we didn’t have a chimney.”
Regulus blinked. “A chimney?”
“Yeah. He was sobbing: ‘Daddy, Santa can’t get in! He’s gonna skip us!’ I tried to explain that Santa could use magic doors or keys or whatever, but he was having none of it.”
Regulus’s brow furrowed, but there was already the beginning of a smile tugging at his lips. “What did you do?”
James shrugged. “What else? I climbed onto the bloody roof in my pyjamas and left a note saying: Dear Santa, use this door instead, cheers. Harry watched me from the garden like I was conducting a sacred ritual.”
Regulus laughed, an unguarded, quiet laugh that startled even him.
“He sounds absurd,” he said fondly, shaking his head.
James looked at him sidelong, pleased. “He is. Absurd and brilliant. Total tyrant.”
Regulus let his gaze drift out the window for a second, watching the olive trees blur past. “You talk about him like… like you actually like being a father.”
James didn’t answer right away. When Regulus glanced back at him, he caught that little flicker of sincerity that rarely made an appearance beneath the jokes.
“I do,” James said simply. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me."
Harry is lucky, Regulus thought, suddenly and fiercely. He’s so lucky.
To have a father who smiles when he talks about him. Who tells stories like they’re treasures. Who clearly, wholly, enjoys being a father. That alone made James a kind of man Regulus had never known existed.
Regulus leaned his elbow against the window frame, fingers brushing lightly at his jaw as James drove, the countryside unfurling like an old dream outside the glass. The warm breeze danced in his hair, carrying the scent of olive groves and wild thyme.
It was easy for Regulus to forget himself in James’s presence easy to forget the years spent tight-lipped and stiff-backed. And maybe that’s what was dangerous about him.
“My parents…” Regulus began, surprising even himself. “They never seemed particularly happy to have children. I used to think,” Regulus said softly, not really meaning to, “that if I’d been a girl… things might have been different.”
James glanced over, brows drawing together. “Different how?”
Regulus shrugged one shoulder, eyes still on the window. “I don't know, maybe they would have liked me better, I wasn’t what they wanted. I don’t think either of us were.”
“That’s a horrible thing for a kid to feel,” James said, voice low.
Regulus didn’t answer.
After a beat, James cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood without being dismissive. “What were you like as a kid?"
Regulus gave a little exhale through his nose. “Obedient. Quiet. Not much of a nuisance.”
“Oh, come on,” James said, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “Give me a story. Something funny. Something good.”
Regulus considered. It had to be a memory from before things turned cold, before silence settled between him and his brother.
“When my brother Sirius and I, were small, we turned the drawing room into a pirate ship. Took the pillowcases for flags, pulled the curtains down for ropes… We were going to conquer the garden.”
James laughed. “Sounds like a very serious operation.”
“Oh, it was. Until I knocked over a vase. Sirius declared me a liability and left me behind.”
“Brutal. Real cutthroat pirate energy.”
Regulus’s smile widened, just a little. “We were both very committed to the bit.”
James laughed. “You two, Sirius and Regulus. Honestly, those names sound like something out of an astronomy textbook. Are all the names in your family like that?”
Regulus nodded. “Family tradition. You’re either named after a star, a constellation, or a moon orbiting somewhere in the sky.”
“All of you?”
“Well… everyone except my cousin Narcissa. She’s named after a flower.”
James chuckled. “Did her parents not get the memo?”
Regulus laughed, an honest one this time, surprised from his own mouth. “Apparently not.”
They fell into a comfortable rhythm after that. The sun climbed higher. The breeze picked up. Then James asked it, offhand and curious.
“What about you? If you had kids… what would you name them?”
Regulus stilled for half a second.
He didn’t know. He’d never thought about it. Why would he? He never saw himself as someone capable of raising a child, of loving someone that unconditionally. Not after what he came from. He didn’t trust that part of himself. He didn’t think he could ever give a child what they deserved.
But he didn’t say any of that.
“I haven’t really… thought about it,” Regulus said carefully.
“C’mon,” James teased, nudging him again. “You must have some idea.”
Regulus exhaled, eyes on the road. “I suppose I like the name Nova. Or Cordelia. For a girl.”
James hummed. “Pretty. And for a boy?”
“Apollo, maybe. Or Pollux.”
James raised an eyebrow. “Keeping the tradition alive, huh?”
“I suppose,” Regulus murmured.
“Well, Apollo and Pollux, those are very Greek. I approve.”
Regulus offered a faint smile. “Thank you.”
That’s when it struck him: James didn’t have a Greek name. The thought came uninvited, curling around the edges of his curiosity. He hesitated, knowing it wasn’t really his place to ask, but the question slipped out anyway, quiet and sincere.
“Why don’t you have a Greek name?”
James looked over at him, something unreadable flickering across his face. He held his gaze for a beat too long before he answered.
“My parents wanted me to have a good, English name,” James said at last. “Said I’d be living in England, might as well sound like it. But I always wanted a Greek one.”
Regulus tilted his head. “Really?”
“Oh yeah,” James said, grinning now. “I even wanted to name Harry Epaminondas.”
Regulus stared. Then he laughed, short and incredulous. “Oh no, you didn’t.”
“I did!”
“No, that’s not a name, that’s a curse.”
James grinned. “It’s a brilliant name. Epaminondas was one of the greatest generals Thebes ever had.”
Regulus snorted. “Still a terrible name.”
James waved a hand. “You’re not seeing the vision. The Sacred Band of Thebes? Come on. The man led the gayest, most badass army in ancient history.”
“Sure, but that still wouldn’t save the kid from being bullied into the ground.”
“Which is exactly what Lily said,” James said with mock gravity. “She put her foot down. Epaminondas was vetoed. So were my other suggestions.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Which were?”
“Well: Leonidas. Hyperion. Perseus. All dismissed.”
“Good Lord.”
“Eventually we landed on Harris, which isn’t very Greek, but it felt close enough. And that became Harry.”
Regulus gave a soft, breathy laugh. “Thank God that boy had a mother.”
James gasped, clutching his chest. “Oh! The betrayal!”
Regulus was still laughing when James smiled at him again, something quieter this time. Warmer. And Regulus, for the first time in a long time, didn’t look away.
A second later James pulled the car to a stop on the side of a dusty path flanked by olive trees, the ruins just visible through the brush. Regulus blinked as the engine cut off, the sudden silence feeling louder than the laughter that had filled the car only moments before.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t want to.
It was ridiculous, he barely knew the man. And yet, sitting in that small car surrounded by the leather and James’s cologne and the ghost of his laughter, Regulus felt like he’d been… held. Not physically, but gently cradled in something warm and easy. He wasn’t ready to let that go just yet.
But James was already out of the car, walking around to open Regulus’s door like some goddamned gentleman, his curls catching in the sunlight.
“C’mon, lazy,” he said with a grin, “you’re not gonna get the full experience from the passenger seat.”
Regulus stepped out. The air was different here, cooler, quieter. The scent of wild thyme was stronger. In the distance, the ruins of Plataea stretched across the landscape, stone and shadow cradled by fields of tall grass.
“It’s beautiful,” Regulus said softly, eyes roaming across the weathered columns and broken foundations. Regulus felt like he was in a movie.
James beamed. “Right? Wait 'til you hear the history. Absolute chaos. Blood and betrayal. All the good stuff.”
He started leading Regulus down the narrow path, kicking at stray rocks as he went. Regulus followed, their steps falling into rhythm.
“This,” James said, gesturing grandly as they stepped into the heart of the site, “is where the final major battle of the Persian Wars happened. 479 BC. Greeks versus Persians. The Spartans came in like a bloody battering ram.”
He turned to Regulus, walking backward as he spoke, animated and alight with enthusiasm.
“See, we Greeks had this tight little alliance of city-states, yeah? And we were done with the Persian invasion. So we gathered right here, on this very ground, and absolutely wrecked them.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow, amused. “Very scholarly. ‘Wrecked them,’ you say.”
James grinned. “That's the Oxford version.”
Regulus let out a soft laugh, his eyes flicking across the ruins. It was beautiful. The stones looked ancient and eternal, moss creeping over them like a second skin. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out. He glanced sideways at James, who was still rambling on, arms moving with his words.
Regulus didn’t hear half of it.
He just kept thinking: I don’t want this day to end.
James stepped over a crumbled stone slab, spinning on his heel to face Regulus, arms wide like a showman. “And here, my dear sir, stood the great warriors of Plataea: sweaty, heroic, ridiculously underpaid. Probably looked fantastic in bronze.”
Regulus snorted, catching up to him. “Is that your professional historian opinion?”
James gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “How dare you question my credentials. I have a degree in completely made-up facts.”
Regulus shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Do go on, professor.”
James struck a dramatic pose atop a flat rock. “Here stood Aristides the Just, with cheekbones sharp enough to pierce a man’s soul. And next to him, Pausanias, striking fear into the hearts of Persians and poor wardrobe choices alike.”
Regulus let out a real laugh, warm and startled. “Are all your historical recountings this dramatic?”
“Only the good ones.” James winked. “Come now, stand next to me. We must reenact the moment of triumph.”
Regulus hesitated but then humored him, stepping into place. “And what exactly am I meant to be?”
“You,” James said, beaming, “are the noble Theban warrior with a mysterious past and an even more mysterious name. Sword in one hand, tragic poetry in the other.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, but he was laughing again, breathless and light in a way he hadn’t felt in years. “I think I liked it better when you were talking about cheekbones.”
James grinned. “Just admit it, you’ve always wanted to be in a battle scene.”
“Only if I get a dramatic death."
“Oh, you will. But only after a long, slow-motion monologue about love, loss, and the betrayal of your best friend.”
Regulus pretended to clutch his chest, staggering back. “Sirius… you bastard…”
James applauded. “Ten out of ten. Oscar-worthy.”
They both broke down in laughter, the sound echoing through the ruins, ancient stone bearing quiet witness to a moment of ridiculous, unexpected joy.
They wandered a little further among the ruins, stepping over wild thyme and sun-warmed stones. James gestured animatedly at the far end of the field, where the low remains of a wall stood crooked against the slope.
“And right over there,” he said, eyes sparkling, “some of the warriors swore they saw the ghost of Achilles, glowing like fire, they said, charging through the battlefield, helping the Greeks win.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “The ghost of Achilles?”
James nodded eagerly. “Isn’t that brilliant? Like, imagine it! You're exhausted, outnumbered, and suddenly, Achilles himself comes back from the underworld to kick ass on your behalf. That’s pure drama.”
Regulus chuckled softly, shaking his head. “That’s something.”
James looked at him with a grin that said he knew he was ridiculous but delighted in it anyway. “History is better with ghosts."
Before Regulus could reply, his stomach betrayed him with a loud, unmistakable growl.
He froze, embarrassment prickling down his neck. “I… didn’t have breakfast,” he admitted quietly, like it was a secret shame.
James burst into laughter, not cruel but bright and carefree. “Well, that settles it. Achilles can wait. We’re taking a break.”
He turned on his heel and started toward the car. “C’mon, Reg. I packed food.”
Regulus blinked. “You packed food?”
James looked over his shoulder and gave him a cheeky grin. “What kind of terrible host do you take me for? Of course I did."
Regulus fell into step beside him, a little stunned by the simplicity of it all. A ghost story, a laugh, and now lunch. It was almost too easy, too kind. But he followed James anyway.
James had packed more than Regulus expected. There were neatly wrapped sandwiches, containers of olives and dolmades, a box of feta cubes in oil and herbs, and two glass bottles of Coca-Cola that had clearly been sitting in the sun a little too long.
They found a shaded patch of grass near the car, with the ruins behind them and a view of the hills rolling off into the haze. James dropped down first, kicking off his leather sandals and stretching out with a sigh like he’d done this a hundred times before. Regulus sat cross-legged beside him, carefully smoothing the crease of his trousers out of habit.
James handed him a sandwich, then the warm glass bottle. “Sorry about the coke. Didn’t really think through the whole ‘leaving them in the sun’ bit.”
Regulus took it with a soft smile. “It’s fine. I like it warm.”
James gave him a look. “D you like warm coke?”
Regulus shrugged, unscrewing the cap with a soft hiss. “Not really, but I like this. I like being here. The breeze. The food...”
James paused for a second, chewing his sandwich slower. Then he grinned. “Well. You’re not so bad yourself, Reg.”
Regulus took a sip, the cola fizzing gently on his tongue, sweet and syrupy. The sunlight filtered through the olive branches above them, and the breeze stirred the dry grass. It should’ve been too hot, too sticky, but somehow it wasn’t. Somehow, sitting there with James, it was just right.
They ate in an easy silence for a while, James offering bites of whatever he pulled out next like it was a picnic they’d planned for weeks. Regulus felt it sink in slowly, the quiet joy. He didn’t have to perform. He didn’t have to impress. James laughed too loud and chewed with his mouth half open, and still, Regulus liked him. Maybe even because of it.
“You do this often?” Regulus asked eventually, nodding toward the spread.
“Only when I want to impress someone,” James said with a wink.
Regulus rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips.