Euphemia Potter
Sirius
Effie loves Sirius, and Sirius loves Effie. Sirius does not, however, love this conversation.
“Are you using protection consistently?” She questions, a calm but tentative expression on her face, as she hands him a warm cup of tea. They’re sitting at the kitchen island and Sirius is debating the idea of throwing himself in the stove to burn himself alive.
“I’m not having this conversation with you!” He whines, hiding his face in his hands. It’s now occurring to him that he needs to… clean up better when Remus visits. But he’s not the one who left a condom on the floor!
“I just want to make sure that you and whatever girl you’re with are being careful. I doubt either of you want to bring a new child into the world right now,” She comments, taking a deep breath as she continues, “but we would love to meet her.”
On the one hand, he could tell Effie that, no, actually, it wasn’t a girl, but instead Remus Lupin that he was with. On the other, the idea of Effie knowing he had sex was bad enough, but gay sex, with Remus?
“It’s not like that, Effie, I swear!” he pleads, face red with embarrassment.
“I hope you both want this, then? Neither of you is leading the other on? I don’t approve of situationships, you know this.”
He groans loudly, banging his head onto the marble counter, “No, no, no situationship. Merlin, I hate that Remus taught you that word.”
“Yes, well, I hate that I found your bodily fluids on the floor when I went to put up your laundry. I suppose life’s not exactly fair,” She pauses, “I still would love to meet her, Siri.”
“I know, Maa,” Sirius sighs, sipping his tea. He couldn’t, not yet. He hasn’t had long enough with the Potters.
Their conversation is brought to an abrupt halt when James trips over the trash can on his way into the kitchen. Both Sirius and Effie break out into laughter, looking at James who is groaning on the ground. “Maa! I stubbed my baby toe!” He whines, curling up on the ground like a small child. Effie tuts at him with disappointment, quickly grabbing her medical kit and making her way over to her son. To James’s credit, it’s actually much nastier than Sirius expected. That fact doesn’t make it any less hilarious to him.
Regulus
It’s times like these where he wonders if Sirius ever misses him. Times like Christmas day when he never receives his yearly dumb, hand-drawn card with two galleons he used to steal out of Father’s study. Part of Regulus waits for the owl, hoping that some part of Sirius still wants to give him a gift.
Of course, that doesn't happen. He tells Kreacher to notify him if any mail is delivered, no matter what material it contains or who it is from. Kreacher doesn’t visit Regulus’s room for the rest of the day.
Regulus cannot exactly hold a grudge against his brother for that, though. Familial drama, and all that.
It’s not as though the letter would have gotten past the wards, either. When a member of the Black family is burnt off of the tapestry, all of them are burnt from the home. Nothing Sirius sent (if he sent anything) would make it into the home without being burnt to a crisp. Quite frankly, Regulus is shocked that the rebellious charm Sirius had used to make all of his Gryffindor memorabilia stick to the wall ended up being that strong.
Despite his resentment for his brother, Regulus has to admire the level of commitment Sirius had to irritate their mother.
Little known fact: Walburga Black was almost sorted into Gryffindor. It seems shocking at first glance, but Gryffindors are passionate (check), proud (check), determined (check), and daring (ehh, depends). For this exact reason, Sirius found much entertainment in turning all of Mother’s Slytherin memorabilia red and gold.
Regulus’s favorite memory is from Mother’s ten-year reunion. He and his brother had been giggling and running around in their summer home, which is where they had decided to hold the meet-up. Mother was “Momma” to them at the time, and Sirius had just begun to learn magic. Observing his brother with awe, 5-year-old Regulus watched as his brother changed all of the flowers in the vases from green and silver to red and gold. Not having known what the colors meant at the time, only that it was “bad”, it was the funniest prank they could think of to pull. Walking into the room, Mother glanced over the flowers and let out a soft laugh, before gently lecturing them and letting them know that it was an important event and that the boys had to turn the flowers back to the original shades. Now, of course, Sirius did not learn his lesson. It was this same spell that had been used to turn everything in Sirius’s room the colors of Gryffindor's house.
Regulus groans, frustrated at his uncooperative hair. Today, in particular, the referenced pile of curls is failing to, well, curl. It’s more wavy, than anything, and looks extraordinarily long when not held up in its tight shape. Nothing had been performed differently than usual. He had washed his hair, used three and a half drops of hair oil, ran through his hair with curl cream (only ten swipes), applied some mousse to keep away the frizz, and used an incredibly minuscule amount of gel to help it keep shape. Despite this, it was simply a bad hair day. Which Regulus doesn’t have. He looks like Sirius.
No insult to his brother (well, no, he takes that part back) but Sirius seems rather inclined towards more of a “rockstar” style, and it’s safe to say that Regulus is not. He’s always been much more refined and snobby, especially about his hair. However, with his hair… like this… it goes down to his shoulders and looks tousled and voluminous.
So horrified by the tricks his hair is seemingly randomly pulling on him, he nearly jumps out of his skin when there’s a ‘pop’ echoing in his room.
“Kreacher,” clearing his throat. He speaks again, “Hello, what can I do for you?”
“Master Regulus, Missus Walburga has sent you a card,” Kreacher informs him, holding out a postcard to Regulus while bowing his head.
“Thank you Kreacher, I am very grateful. You may go.” Kreacher nods at him once more, another pop affirming his absence.
Opening the postcard, Regulus sighs, knowing he could’ve guessed exactly what he found.
𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐎. 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤
𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬
𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞
𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬,
𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫
𝐨𝐝𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬
𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥. 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥.
-𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐚
Of course.
Setting down his new postcard from Iceland, he makes his way over to his vanity and grabs a hair tie. Pulling his hair back, he glances at the clock on his wall and silently counts down the seconds to midnight.
No Sirius.
-
With Christmas break finally over, it takes no time for Regulus to finish packing his belongings. Everything about the manor feels so incredibly formal. Saying goodbye to Kreacher brings him a sense of sadness, wishing only that he could bring his house elf with him.
“Goodbye, Master Regulus, I wish you a good semester,” Kreacher tells him, handing Regulus a small bag of sweets for the ride to Hogwarts.
“You as well, Kreacher. Keep well,” he instructs, waiting for Kreacher to bow in confirmation before he throws floo powder into the main fireplace.
Amazingly, he did not have to see Mother or Father once during the break, and a small, cruel part of him hopes that it stays that way. As long as their attention stays off of him, and his Christmases don’t start to look like Sirius’s last year, he can stick it out.
Oddly, he shivers as he steps into the fire, the sheer mention of the memory sending a chill up his spine. He quickly brushes it off upon his arrival at King’s Cross Station, heading straight for Platform 9 3/4. Looking around him, Regulus searches for the wall, eyes finally landing on it in the opposite direction of which he had been looking. Sighing, he turns his chest back onto its wheels and heaves it through the magical doorway, bumping straight into the back of someone on the other side.
“Merlin’s tits-“ he starts, before being interrupted by a kind voice.
“Oh dear, I’m so so sorry, hear let me help you up,” says a thin, Indian woman with brown eyes and wearing a churidar.
“Do not worry, I am fine, ma’am. Thank you for your offer and kindness,” he makes an effort to get out swiftly, having realized from the giggles behind her exactly who she is.
He does bow before he walks away—he’s not a complete imbecile—but makes his steps quick. This does not stop him from hearing the woman, who he now knows is James Potter’s mother, lecture her son about blocking her from being able to move.
“Tumhaaree himmat kaise huee! James Potter, and the laughing? Gavaara nahin!” She scolds, her voice fading away once Regulus gets on the train. Not waiting to see if she continues to scold her son, he slides into his usual compartment. Once he shuts the privacy blinds, he finally finds it in himself to be able to breathe. Being near the Potters, who do nothing but wreak havoc on the Slytherin tower, does not bring comfort to anyone in Regulus’s house.
Regulus heaves his trunk into the overhead compartment, grunting when he almost drops it on himself. As he readjusts to manage the chest more easily, he hears a familiar laugh come from behind him. Giving the trunk one final shove, he turns around—hopefully nonchalantly—and raises a suspicious eyebrow at Evan.
“Can I help you, Rosier?” he asks, sitting back down in his seat like he hadn’t already done so moments before.
“I think I better ask you that, Reggie,” Evan chuckles, plopping himself down across from Regulus and immediately laying on his side, taking up the entire row.
“I don’t have a clue as to what you could possibly be referring to,” Regulus replies, huffing slightly with his chin raised, attempting a bad posh accent to mock the attempts that some of the lower-class Slytherins make.
“Sure, because you didn’t just struggle to lift a trunk that is in no world more than twenty pounds onto the rack.” His friend shoots back, a smirk on his face as he rolls over to lay on his back, one foot propped up and his arms behind his head, which is resting on the wall. The position does not seem at all comfortable.
Evan has been growing at a rapid rate since the end of last year, shooting from 5’5” to 5’10” by the time their first term had started, and he’s just hit six feet. Barty is relatively close behind, around 5’10”, which seems to be where he’ll stay, and Regulus is stuck at a stubborn 5’7”. He desperately wants to be tall, but the Black family genes are not forgiving to the men, and they have a generational trend of being below average height. The only true problem with this is that it appears that Regulus is done growing, yet he is still shorter than Sirius. While it likely hasn’t crossed Sirius’s mind since he left, they used to tease each other about it often whenever one would grow taller than the other. As is common knowledge, Regulus cannot stand to lose, and this is a game he can’t change. Every bone in his body is hoping that he grows just a liiittttleee bit taller so that maybe he can beat Sirius.
Before he can respond to Evan’s quip, Barty enters the compartment, slamming the door open to loudly declare his presence. He drops his suitcase on the ground and flops down on top of Evan, who groans. Quickly recovering, he starts to try to shove off the boy lying on top of him, which quickly turns into a wrestling match. The fight quickly dissolves into cat-slaps and whiny “Nooooo stop!” and “Get off of me!” and “Regulus he keeps touching me!”
This bickering continues for another five minutes, which begins to give Regulus a headache, but when the trolley lady comes around and asks if they would like a treacle tart, they both suddenly turn into incredibly polite and sophisticated gentlemen. Evan buys a few different biscuits while Barty gets Bertie Bott’s, a pumpkin pasty (which he has not tried before), the last piece of chocolate fudge, and a sparkling water.
Eventually, the train ride starts and Regulus has to leave their compartment to complete his prefect rounds, which are being decided only a few compartments away. When he enters the room to receive his assignments from head boy Nott, he is informed that his rounds will be done with none other than Remus Lupin.
It’s not that he dislikes Remus, quite the opposite, really, as most of the other prefects don’t know when to shut up. It can be nice to patrol with someone who knows when to talk, but it’s immediately much less pleasant when that person is one of your disowned brother’s best friends.
Resigning himself to his fate, he turns to Lupin, who has also had a significant growth spurt and gained a new scar for his collection, and nods politely. The two of them exit the crowded train compartment and head to their station in silence, yet the only thing Regulus can think about the whole time is how fucking tall Remus Lupin has gotten. Towering over Regulus, the other boy must be taller than Evan.
As they reach the end of the aisle to start their rounds, Remus turns to Regulus, “How was your break?”
“It was certainly satisfactory, I assume yours was as well?” He inquires, more to be polite than anything else.
“Yeah, I enjoyed it, got to hang out with James, Sirius, and Peter for a bit,” Remus tells him, and Regulus doesn’t believe him for a second.
It’s clear to anyone who has eyes that Remus has family issues, and Regulus can clock it in a moment. Disappearing to visit his family all the time and coming back with new marks, resulting in him being tired for days. Yeah, no, it’s pretty obvious.
“That’s nice to hear,” Regulus responds blankly, starting to make his way through the aisles, checking on each compartment and paying special attention to the first years.
For the duration of their rounds, they maintain relative silence, except for comforting and already-homesick first year and helping a third year locate his friends. Sharing awkward goodbyes, they split ways and go into their own compartments, both filled with boys their age dreading exam season.