STITCHCOMBE
A week had passed since summer holidays began, and Regulus had started to settle into his new routine at number 12 Grimmauld Place. He had expected the house to feel colder, the tension to be thicker, but the atmosphere here was somehow different from what he remembered. It wasn’t exactly warm, but there was an odd comfort in the way things worked—things were quieter, maybe even more normal than they’d been in his other timeline.
Regulus couldn’t help but notice the punishment that Walburga had inflicted on Sirius. She had simply refused to speak to him. It was petty, childish, even, but Regulus had to admit it had a certain sting to it. He had never seen his mother so silent, her sharp words replaced with a cold indifference. Regulus had always assumed that any transgression, especially one so grave in Walburga’s eyes (leaving the family for a Half-Blood) would result in something far more severe. But this? This was almost like a reward.
In a strange way, Regulus almost wished he had been the one punished. At least then, there would have been some clarity. The truth was that in his timeline if Sirius had dared defy their parents in such a way, it would have been the end of him. There would have been no silence, no distant punishment. There would have been an end.
But this family, this version of it, was so different. Orion, was more amiable than Regulus ever could have expected. The Orion Black of this timeline felt like a distant, looming figure from Regulus’s childhood. This version of his father didn’t scream or threaten or looked at him with disdain; he listened. Orion had actually spent time with him, sitting down one afternoon to try and brew a potion, genuinely asking Regulus about his year at school like he cared. It was almost too normal, too human for Regulus to understand.
Regulus didn’t want to admit it, but he found himself appreciating this version of Orion. He wasn't perfect, of course, far from it. But the way he interacted with his family, the way he was with them, seemed almost naïve in comparison to the harsh and bitter man Regulus remembered from his own timeline. This Orion seemed to have avoided the burden of the war, as though he hadn’t been forced to grow up before his time. And there was something about that that made Regulus feel like maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this. Used to them.
Even Walburga, who had been so cold toward him upon his arrival, wasn’t quite as cruel as Regulus had feared. She could be sharp with her words, her voice biting and condescending, but there was no underlying malice in the way she interacted with him. She was mean, yes, and sometimes downright nasty, but not nearly as abusive as the Walburga in his timeline. Regulus had caught glimpses of her softer side, a brief smile when she had mentioned their family’s lineage or when she commented on the way his hair looked when it was neat. Small things. But it was enough for him to realize that Walburga wasn’t as heartless as he’d once thought.
As he sat at the breakfast table that morning, Regulus found himself feeling something close to comfort, but it was so foreign to him that he couldn’t name it. He watched Sirius from across the room, noting how his brother seemed to be pushing through the silence with more grace than anyone expected. His rebellious, defiant streak was still there, of course it was, but he had taken Walburga’s punishment in stride, despite the lack of words between them.
Regulus glanced down at his hands, his thoughts drifting. It’s strange, he thought, how I’ve come to see this version of my family as… almost acceptable. Not perfect, but real.
During that first week at Grimmauld Place, Regulus tried his hardest not to think about James or the kiss. He threw himself into anything that could distract him: reading, brewing potions with Orion, even Kreacher’s endless tidying. But no matter what he did, his mind always found its way back to that moment. It was maddening.
He would think about the way James’s eyes had looked at him, the intensity that had made his heart race like never before. He thought about the heaviness of their breaths in the quiet of the Astronomy Tower, and how everything had stood still in the instant their lips met. And for just a fleeting moment, remembering it felt like floating, like he could get lost in the memory and never want to come back down.
But then he would remember the way James had reacted afterward. The sharp guilt in his voice, the panicked way he apologized, and the way he had left without looking back. Those memories felt like an anchor, dragging him back down into the cold, hard truth.
James didn’t feel the same way.
Regulus could still hear the words James had said: It was a mistake. That was what stung the most. Regulus wasn’t just rejected; he was dismissed, his very existence reduced to an error James wished he could undo. And that thought hurt more than anything else.
Regulus moped for the entirety of the next week. He couldn’t help it. He felt like a shadow of himself, stuck in a loop of replaying the kiss and its aftermath, torn between wanting to feel something again and wishing it had never happened at all. How was he supposed to face James now? How was he supposed to move on when the weight of it all felt so crushing?
And worst of all, how was he supposed to shake the feeling that no matter what he did, he would always be just that a mistake?
...
In the sunny breakfast room of the Potter manor in Stinchcombe, Fleamont Potter spread marmalade on his toast while Euphemia poured herself another cup of tea. Across the table, James sat with his plate barely touched, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room.
“James,” Fleamont said, his voice cutting through the quiet clatter of breakfast.
James didn’t respond. He was miles away, lost in thought.
“James,” Fleamont said again, louder this time.
James blinked and sat up straighter, his cheeks coloring slightly. “Sorry, what did you say, Dad?”
“I asked if you’ve decided whether you’re going to help with the family charity event this year or if you’re too busy gallivanting with your friends.”
“Oh.” James rubbed the back of his neck, his tone absent-minded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll help.”
Fleamont raised an eyebrow at Euphemia, who exchanged a concerned glance with him.
“What’s going on with you, James?” she asked gently, setting down her teacup. “You’ve been out of sorts all week.”
“It’s nothing, Mum. Just thinking.” James avoided her gaze and stared down at his plate, poking at the eggs with his fork.
Euphemia didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press him. The room fell into an uneasy silence as James sighed, stood up, and pushed his chair back. “I think I’ll head to the study for a bit. I’ve got things to read.”
Before either of his parents could reply, James grabbed his plate, deposited it on the counter, and left the room, his footsteps fading down the hall.
When they were alone, Euphemia turned to Fleamont, her brow furrowed. “Well? What do you think is going on with him?”
Fleamont took a thoughtful bite of his toast. “He’s suffering for love, I’d wager.”
Euphemia pursed her lips. “You think so?”
“Of course.” He gestured with his fork, the toast still in his hand. “I recognize that look anywhere. I used to look like that whenever you ignored me."
Euphemia rolled her eyes but smiled. “If that’s the case, you should go talk to him. He needs guidance.”
“Why me?” Fleamont looked genuinely horrified. “I’m far too old for teenage heartbreak and all the drama that comes with it.”
Euphemia smirked. “It’s your turn, Monty. I was the one who had to talk to him last time about” she thought for a moment before lowering her voice "that time he asked me if it was normal to have, well, certain dreams about people he fancied. I’m still not over that conversation.”
Fleamont groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Merlin, woman, why would you bring that up at breakfast?”
“Because I had to suffer through it, and now it’s your turn,” Euphemia said with a grin, clearly relishing his discomfort.
Fleamont groaned, setting his toast down and wiping his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to him. But if he starts quoting poetry, I’m sending him back to you.”
Euphemia laughed. “Deal. Good luck, darling.”
Fleamont sighed dramatically as he stood up, already rehearsing what he’d say to his lovesick son.
Fleamont walked into the study and found James seated by the window, a book resting on his lap, but it was clear his attention was elsewhere. He was staring out of the window, lost in thought. Fleamont cleared his throat, and James snapped out of his reverie, quickly straightening.
“Sorry, Dad. I didn’t see you there,” James said, setting the book aside.
“It’s fine, son,” Fleamont said, taking the seat across from him. “But you’ve been very... distracted lately, off in your own world. What’s going on?”
James hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “Nothing, really,” he said, though the slight flush in his cheeks betrayed him.
Fleamont gave him a knowing smile. “James, you know you can trust your old dad. Whatever’s on your mind, I’m here to help you, or at least try to.”
James looked up, meeting his father’s gaze. There was a long pause before he finally asked, “How did you know you were in love with Mum?”
Fleamont blinked, then broke into a grin. “I knew it! You’re suffering from love.” He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “I should’ve bet on this with your mum. I’d be a galleon richer.”
James groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. “You’re really helping, Dad.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll stop,” Fleamont said, straightening in his chair. “How did I know? Well, it’s different for everyone, but for me, it was the way she made me feel. Euphemia has this laugh, it’s loud, completely unladylike, and entirely infectious. I could be in the worst mood, but the moment I heard it, everything felt lighter. I found myself doing things just to hear it again. Being around her felt... addicting, like a warmth I didn’t want to lose. I knew then that I didn’t just like her; I loved her.”
James smiled faintly at the story but stayed quiet, as if mulling it over.
“Although,” Fleamont added with a raised brow, “I thought you were already dating Lily Evans. Isn’t she the one you’ve been chasing for years?”
Fleamont tilted his head when James suddenly hit his forehead lightly with his palm, as if he’d just remembered something. “Oh, Lily!” James exclaimed, his tone tinged with mild panic.
Fleamont blinked in confusion. “Lily?”
James groaned, sitting back in his chair. “It’s not about Lily, Dad.”
Fleamont’s curiosity deepened. “Then who is it about?”
James shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly wrestling with something. Finally, he asked cautiously, “Do you think someone could fall in love with their friend?”
Fleamont’s eyebrows raised. “Their friend?” A moment passed before a thought struck him, and he leaned forward, squinting at James. “I thought Sirius was already dating Remus, judging by how cozy they looked together when they visited during Christmas.”
James couldn’t help but half-laugh. “No, it’s not Sirius.”
Fleamont studied his son closely, then realization dawned on him. His mouth opened slightly as he asked, “Wait. Are we talking about Regulus?”
James immediately blushed and turned his head away.
Fleamont smiled, leaning back in his chair. “Oh Merlin! It’s Regulus, isn’t it?”
James kept looking away, but he nodded.
Fleamont exhaled, feeling like he might regret the question but asking it anyway. “So, how do you feel about him?”
James hesitated, then the words spilled out of him before he could stop himself. He described how Regulus made him feel. The fluttering in his chest, the electricity in every glance, the way his mind kept circling back to him no matter how much he tried to think of something else. When he finally stopped, he added, almost shyly, “How did you know it was about Regulus?”
Fleamont chuckled. “Because you talk way too much about him when you’re at home.”
James half-smiled, his face still tinged with embarrassment. “I don’t know what to do, Dad. I always thought I liked Lily. I spent years trying to make her like me back. And now that she does, I can’t stop thinking about Regulus.”
Fleamont smiled softly, observing how hopelessly in love his son seemed to be. He asked, “Have you ever considered that maybe the reason you liked Lily so much was because she didn’t seem to like you? You’re a chaser, James. You like chasing impossible things. And now that you’ve caught her, it’s... lost its magic.”
James frowned, his mind racing. “But I was sure I had feelings for her,” he protested.
Fleamont nodded. “I’m sure you did. And I’m sure you still do. But maybe they’re not romantic feelings. You’re young, James. Teenagers often confuse infatuation with love.”
James looked down at his hands, the weight of the conversation pressing on him. “Do you think that’s how I feel about Regulus now? That he’s just someone I want to chase after just for the thrill of it?"
Fleamont leaned forward. “I don’t know. Maybe. What do you think?”
James thought for a long moment. His mind wandered back to Regulus: the way he smiled, the intensity of his gaze, the way being near him felt like the world had shifted into focus. Slowly, James spoke. “I think... I think that if happiness could take a shape, it would look like him. Like Regulus.”
Fleamont listened intently, a small smile tugging at his lips. When James finally finished, he asked gently, “And what do you think that means?”
James glanced up, a spark of determination in his eyes. “I think it means I won’t be able to breathe without him.”
Fleamont reclined in his chair, studying his son with a mixture of pride and concern. “Well,” he said simply, “there’s your answer.”
A smile flickered across James’s face, but it quickly faded as a heavy thought resurfaced. “But I kissed him.”
Fleamont blinked in surprise. “You kissed him?”
James nodded, guilt clouding his features.
“And you did this while you have a girlfriend?” Fleamont asked incredulously.
“I know it’s stupid—” James began.
“Stupid?” Fleamont interrupted. “It’s beyond stupid, James. You need to fix this. Lily Evans is a great girl, and she deserves better.”
James nodded slowly, the weight of his father’s words settling over him. “I know. I’ll figure it out.”
Fleamont watched his son quietly, noting the turmoil in James’s expression. After a moment, James finally asked, his voice uncertain, “What should I do, Dad?”
Fleamont sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “First, you need to talk to Lily. In person. You owe her the truth about what happened. That’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
James nodded, though he seemed reluctant. “And after that?”
Fleamont smiled gently. “After that, you can talk to Regulus.”
James’s heart sank at the thought, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I don’t know if I can, Dad.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” James hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “Because Regulus lost part of his memory. And ever since that happened, it feels like he doesn’t even want to be around me anymore. I don’t think I could survive if he rejected me.”
Fleamont studied James’s face carefully before speaking. “Son, I know it’s scary. But if you care about him as much as you seem to, you have to try. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
James didn’t respond, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. They sat in silence for a while, the weight of the conversation settling over them.
Finally, Fleamont stood, brushing imaginary dust from his trousers. “Well, I should let you think things over. I’ll leave you to it.”
He walked toward the study door, but as he opened it, Euphemia was standing just outside, leaning casually against the wall. She straightened immediately, her curiosity evident.
“So,” she said, tilting her head, “what were you two talking about? Those doors are too heavy. I couldn’t hear a word.”
Fleamont laughed, shaking his head. “You couldn’t hear because it wasn’t meant for your ears, Effie.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That bad, was it?”
Fleamont chuckled and patted her shoulder as he stepped past her. “Oh, not bad at all. Quite the opposite, actually. The boy’s hopelessly in love.”
Euphemia’s expression softened, a knowing smile forming. “With Lily, I assume?”
Fleamont smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Not quite.”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
He began walking toward the kitchen, leaving her to trail after him.
“Monty, what do you mean?” she pressed, quickening her pace.
He didn’t answer, simply whistling to himself as he turned a corner.
“Monty!” she called after him, exasperated.
Fleamont glanced back over his shoulder, his grin widening. “You’ll see, my dear. Best prepare yourself for a surprise.”
Her curiosity only deepened, but he refused to say another word, leaving her to wonder as she followed him down the hall.