Playing Games
Alphard placed papers in piles, beams of light filtering through the blinds into the room in stripes. It made the task at hand look a great deal more romantic than it was. James helped without complaint, organizing and color coding letters and files as the day grew to a close. They had started in the late afternoon, and now the sun was low in the sky. They were both a tad restless. Regulus was reading silently in the corner, as if no time had passed at all.
Sirius entered with a tray of four cups in one hand and a pitcher of apricot juice in the other.
“Refreshments for the swots, courtesy of dear Kreacher.” He said, setting the tray on a side table beside Alphard and pouring glasses to serve.
“Merci.” Alphard said as Sirius passed by with his glass in hand, sitting on the couch that received the most evening light through the window.
Regulus abstained from juice, and Alphard handed James a cup before taking his own. James finished it off in one fell swoop, sighing deeply with a loud ‘Ah.’ Regulus half wanted to laugh that he actually made a refreshed ‘Ah’ sound, but the other half of him fought off the world's biggest eye roll.
Alphard looked at his boys, then regarded James, crossing his arms in contemplation. James continued filing papers unaware of eyes on him.
“The word apricot comes from Arabic - it’s like the words ‘algebra’, ‘alchemy’, and ‘alcohol’. It derives from an Arabic noun combined with the Arabic article ‘al-’ before it. The origin of the Italian ‘albicocca’ was ‘al-barquq’.” The professor said, and James looked up. He leaned back, stretching his arms as he listened to Alphard. He spoke with the ease that decades of study granted someone.
“It’s amazing that today in many Arab countries the fruit is referred to by a totally different name: ‘mishmish’.” He added.
James looked up at the ceiling, listening carefully and pondering what he’d said.
“I think I'll have to correct you, Professor. If you don’t mind.” James replied lightly, deep in thought still.
“By all means, James.” Alphard gestured for him to continue.
“The word is not actually an Arabic word, sir,” James paused to collect his ideas. “It’s a long story, so bear with me, Pro.” He laughed.
Regulus was watching James closely now. He was gearing up for a rant, he could see the gears and cogs of his startlingly sharp mind turning quickly, thoughts and ideas bouncing back and forth around his head. He glanced back to Alphard before continuing.
“Many Latin words are derived from the Greek. In the case of ‘apricot’, however, it’s the other way around.” James met Regulus’s eyes, smiling as if to say 'watch this'.
“Here the Greek takes over from Latin. The Latin word was praecoquum, from pre-coquere, precook, to ripen early, as in precocious, meaning premature. The Byzantines - to go on - borrowed praecox, and it became prekokkia or berikokki, which is finally how the Arabs must have inherited it as al-barquq,” He said. “Philology 101, I had to beg to take it on top of my other first-year courses. Seems like yesterday.” James added on with a fond smile like he was rewatchinging a memory.
Regulus’s eyes flicked to his uncle, then back to his book.
Sirius could help it, laughing and shaking his head.
“Sometimes, you’re so charming that it’s easy to forget there's a reason you were brought here.” Sirius said to James.
“Passed with flying colors.” Alphard clapped his arm.
“He does this every year.” Regulus added.
James breathed out a laugh, smiling at them all. He shook his head in pretend disapproval, getting back to the papers sprawled across his lap and desk. They all mosied back to work, after that, and Sirius left them to it.
***
Two days later, Regulus jogged down the stairs to an empty house. He could hear Kreacher tending to the flowers out front, the door cracked open to let in a warm breeze that made his button up billow behind, the bottom few buttons not yet closed.
Regulus was going to town today. Alphard was sending him to his baker in La Colle-sur-Loup to give him an advance for his next large order. Regulus didn’t mind going; the owner always gave him pastries for the ride home. He fumbled with the last of his buttons as he came upon his bike in the chateau courtyard, where he also found James eating an apple astride Narcissa’s bike.
Regulus tried to ignore him, passing by to set his bike upright. James glided over to him anyway.
“Morning.” He said. Regulus ignored him again.
He hopped on his bike, not quite finding his footing as he felt himself tipping. James caught him with a big hand on his shoulder, his other one steadying Regulus’s bike so it didn’t crash to the ground.
“I got you,” He smiled. “Alphard said you’re headed to town. I need to get out, if you don’t mind the company.” He said, pulling his hands back to his own handlebars.
Regulus pushed away on his bike. The shirt blew up against the wind and James caught a sliver of skin on his lower back, porcelain and freckled. He glanced away, squinting at the sky instead where cumulus clouds floated by lazily.
“Sure.” Regulus called back. James started on his bike, then, and caught up to Regulus.
In town they walked side by side, strolling at a leisure pace like they had no place to be. They didn’t, really.
“What does one do around here?” James asked, breaking the silence.
Regulus kicked a pebble down the cobblestone street a bit, pondering the question while he watched it roll.
“Nothing. Wait for summer to end.” He said matter-of-factly. James furrowed his eyebrows and cast Regulus a sideways glance.
“What do you do in the winter, then?”
Regulus looked at him with a flat, humorless smile.
“Don’t tell me: wait for summer, right?” James laughed when Regulus broke, letting his smile grow a microscopic bit wider, but recognizably more sincere.
“We only come here for Christmas, sometimes once or twice more. The rest of the time Sirius and I are in West Berlin. He loves it.”
“He does, does he?” James said, encouraging Regulus to elaborate. He didn’t speak a whole lot, not around James, at least, so when he could get him going he would. His voice was a pleasant sound to accompany the scenic wandering.
“Yes. He fits right in. The nightlife, the people, the music.” Regulus said.
“And you?” James questioned.
“Hm?” Regulus furrowed his brows and tilted his head, but didn’t look at James, just kicked the pebble again once they’d caught up to it.
“Do you? Like it, I mean. Berlin.” James clarified, peering over at Regulus.
His curls were big and swooping, coming down over parts of his face where he pushed them aside every now and then. On the bike ride he’d tucked the sides behind his ears. It was nice like that. It was nice like this, too. He never looked wrong, really, not to James.
“Not really. I’m more of a countryside person, I guess. Plus, we stay with my cousins when we go, and they’re always trying to set me up with somebody new. They think I need somebody,” Regulus said, his face twisting at the thought. He met James’s eyes. “I don’t”
“Neither do I.” James agreed. Single. Unattached.
They continued walking past shops and cafes until they came upon a door on the corner of a building, with a broken sign above it and the most glorious aroma of smell wafting out. Regulus ducked in and James followed after him.
“Bonjour, Regulus. Qui est ton ami?” A large man with a white apron said from behind the counter.
“Bonjour, Bennett. Voici James, le nouveau résident.” Regulus replied easily.
James wished his French was better, because Regulus seemed so much more comfortable speaking French than when he spoke English. His words flowed and he was less stiff.
“Nous sommes ici pour vous donner une avance de la part de mon oncle.” He added, sliding an envelope down the counter to the baker, Bennett.
Bennett slid the envelope into a back pocket and held up a finger for them to wait. He disappeared into the back.
“He hopes to get you hooked on his pâtisseries. Be careful.” Regulus leaned and whispered in James’ ear.
James stifled a laugh as Bennett reappeared with two delicious looking almond croissants.
“Merci.” Regulus nodded.
“Merci!” James echoed, and bit into his croissant. It was fresh, still a tad warm, the buttery flakes seeming to melt in his mouth.
Once he pulled his attention away from his pastry, he looked up to glance at the rest of the customers. It was an incredibly small establishment, a fixer-upper, with a cloudy window and old, out-of-date decor. James loved it.
At one of the two tables, the one in the corner, there was a poker game going on. James grinned widely and made his way over to the table. Sat was a mixture of working class French and Italian men, all well past middle-age, who glanced up at James as he asked to be dealt in.
James was rich, probably the second richest person in town aside from Alphard Black and his nephews, raised in private schools by his high-society parents in a house just as grand as the chateau. He was carefree and never had to worry about anything. All this in mind, it was baffling how he still carried that common charm that let him slip into a random poker game in the Southeast countryside of France.
Regulus watched him, leaning back against the display case of the pâtisserie. He ate his croissant while he watched. After a moment, he heard Bennett pause beside him.
“Out-of-towners.” He said in his broken sounding English.
“Oui.” Regulus replied absentmindedly.
“Il est gentil, non? Bennett asked. He is nice, no?
Regulus paused, seeing James throw his head back in a belly laugh at something one of the men had said. He watched him run one hand through his hair, tousling it the way he did without thinking.
“Oui.” Regulus managed out.
***
Later that day James met Regulus’s friends and some of Sirius’s. It was a dreadfully hot afternoon that found them by the lake playing volleyball: Regulus, James, Sirius, Marlene, Emmeline, Barty, Evan, and Evan’s older sister Pandora. Aside from James, they’d all grown up together.
Sirius insisted on his team being Marlene and Evan. Marlene because they were best friends, and Evan because he was by far the best player. Sirius hated losing, so that was that. Barty, Pandora, and Regulus were the other team. Emmeline watched from the sidelines, drawing the scene in her sketchbook.
Sirius’s team was absolutely killing them; nobody could stop stealing glances at the mysterious new resident, James. He was watching gleefully from the side with no shirt on showing off his casual abs and expanses on expanses of ochre skin. His shorts were cropped short and wet from jumping in the lake a few minutes ago. They clung to him in a way that was only flattering because he was gorgeous. Of course people were looking at him.
“He’s certainly an improvement from last year, remember?” Barty snickered to Regulus. Regulus tutted a dry laugh.
“Much better. He's so... cool. Do you think he has a girlfriend back home?” Pandora glanced at James, hand shielding her eyes from the sun as she smiled at him. He couldn’t hear them, but smiled back anyway.
Only Sirius and Evan could keep their focus. Even Regulus, who refused to be caught staring, just didn’t have his heart in the game and kept missing digs, cringing when Sirius taunted him. Regulus also hated losing.
“I’m getting a cramp. Emmeline?” He asked, and she set down her sketchbook and jogged over to switch with him.
Regulus made his way over to a table shaded by lime trees. He picked up his bottle of iced water, then walked back beside the game to watch. James got up and snatched the bottle before Regulus could take a sip. He looked at him incredulously. James swallowed down a gulp of water before pushing it back into Regulus’s hands, giving him an idiot grin.
James brushed off the dirty look Regulus was giving him, gently squeezing his thumb and forefingers into Regulus's shoulder in a friendly hug-massage. Regulus was spellbound, if only for an instant, and James felt him lean into his hand briefly before untangling himself and jumping away from James, looking to his brother and his friends. They were wrapped up in a particularly long rally, yelling out and cursing when the ball finally hit the ground behind Marlene.
“Sorry. Did I hit a nerve?” James said, stepping back surprised. He looked at Regulus with his brows furrowed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The lake behind him reflected the bright sun and backlit him. He was Adam, the picture of man.
“I’m not hurt.” Regulus blurted out despite himself. He rubbed the spot James had massaged; he couldn’t help it.
James took a step forward, and paused, giving Regulus a chance to step away. He was a statue, staring at James intensely. James grabbed his wrist to put his arm down, replacing it with his own hands, massaging him again.
“Here, let me make it better. Relax.” James felt Regulus try and let his muscles go, but it wasn’t much of a difference. He was all locked up and tense.
The others had paused their game for a break, and Emmeline was walking vaguely towards them to grab her sketchbook.
“You’re made of knots, Reg,” James laughed lightly. Reg. Regulus narrowed his eyes at him. James turned to Emmeline. “Come here, feel this…” James took her hand. He placed it on Regulus’s shoulder.
Emmeline’s hands were a great deal smaller. She was a petite person, small in the places that girls liked to be small, with long silky black hair that was pleated in one braid that day. Regulus had always thought she was pretty in passing, and once during a stupid game of truth or dare they’d kissed when Barty dared them to. She was smart and talented, too, and working toward her postgraduate degree for something to do with art. She was only around a few weeks of the summer, consequently.
She wasn’t quite as good at massaging as James, but it didn’t feel horrible. It also didn’t feel like she was setting his skin on fire in the most addicting way.
“Here. Feel it? He should relax more.” James pointed to a spot on his back, putting a casual arm around Emmeline as he spoke. “You should relax more.” Emmeline repeated sith a light, friendly laugh.
Sirius interrupted them by whistling with his fingers loudly.
“Time out’s over. Prepare to be crushed!” He said jovially, grabbing the ball off the grass. He tried to spin it on his finger, but failed, and Barty and Even broke out laughing at him.
Emmeline asked James to take her spot, finding her sketchbook and getting back to it. James happily obliged, and took to the game like he was made to play. He had no technique other than being athletic, but kept the ball up all the same, giving Sirius a run for his money. He kept accidentally hitting the ball right where Sirius couldn’t get it, but just in-bounds. Every time it made all three of them, James, Barty, and Pandora, laugh maniacally.
Regulus sat at the table and rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly on the spot where James had touched.
Chapter 4: Encounters Closer and Closer
Alphard Black felt the last of his hair go gray. Sirius stood before him in his office, hair pulled back messily, the life half-gone from his skin from lack of sleep. It was ten in the morning, and Sirius hadn’t slept since the day before.
“It was just to Marseille and back. We made it okay.” Sirius insisted, blinking slowly.
“I recognize that it’s not far, but you still should have told me. You were in the city. Even if it’s not me, you have to tell somebody. I don’t pretend to know what you get up to, but I know that those scenes aren’t the safest places in the world.” Alphard argued back.
Sirius huffed. He hated this, hated being told he did something wrong, but he found himself here more often than he’d like to admit. He wanted to dig a hole for himself to hide in, but he didn’t think his legs would be able to get him to the garden right now.
“And, please, ask before you take the car. I would have said yes.”
“I know.” Sirius put a hand over his face.
Alphard hummed. He hated this, too, telling Sirius off. He didn’t imagine he’d ever get to be a father figure, and he didn’t think he was very good at it, now that he was. Nobody in his family ever seemed especially capable of good parenting.
Sirius was sorry. Alphard could tell, his exhausted eyes flicking to the floor and back to Alphard. He was sorry but too stubborn to say it. Alphard felt it, and maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, but he didn’t push Sirius to say it out loud. He pulled him into a brief hug instead.
“Go to bed, Sirius. It’s okay. Next time, right?” Alphard smiled at him as they pulled away, dusting off nothing on Sirius’s shoulders, straightening him out like he would when Sirius was in primary school. Sirius gave him a half-hearted smile and left, leaving Alphard standing in his office alone.
After only a minute, Regulus poked his head in.
“Uncle.” He greeted Alphard.
“Regulus.” Alphard said back, finding his chair behind him and taking a seat.
“Do you mind..?” Regulus started, looking in the direction of where Sirius had gone for a moment.
“It’s alright, come in, please.”
Regulus walked into the office, leaning against the side of the desk Alphard was sitting at. Regulus was quiet in order to collect his words, and it hung in the air, what they all felt, what Regulus didn’t know how to voice.
“I know, son,” Alphard said. Regulus looked up at him like a deer in the headlights. “Sirius is… well, he’s Sirius. He always comes back.”
Regulus looked out the window to break eye contact with his uncle. He was a well of feelings. He felt a deepness that went right to the pit of him. There was so much he wanted to say and express, so much he was afraid of, but when he sent a bucket down it came up dry. He had nothing to give. He didn’t know how to do any of this.
“He doesn’t know what it does to us.” Regulus said, finally. It still wasn’t quite what he meant, but Alphard got it. He always seemed to get it.
“I don’t think he knows how to ask for love. I think worrying us might be his version of asking, in his own broken way. Maybe he just needs to hear it out loud for once.” Alphard said back softly.
Regulus wouldn’t let a tear fall. His eyes were locked onto a bird hopping around outside, but he had an empty look in his eyes, the way they always got when he thought too hard about his family.
“Maybe I don’t know how to do that.” Regulus said.
“I think we can learn.” Alphard took in his own words. He leaned forward until his elbows rested on the table, hands swiping down his face. He peered around to catch Regulus’s eyes.
Regulus’s eyes darted to Alphard's, and softened when he saw that a few tears had fallen down his face. Regulus went to him at once, hugging behind his uncle in his desk chair. His head rested over his arm atop Alphard’s shoulder. Alphard placed a hand on top of Regulus's in reciprocation.
“You’ve always been the soft one, out of the two of you. Much as you hide it. I see you, Regulus Black.” Alphard chuckled, patting Regulus’s hand. He pulled away and flicked his shoulder playfully.
“Your eyesight is going, then, old man.” He said. The tips of his ears had reddened.
Regulus stopped in the doorway and looked back at Alphard with a solemn look.
“It’s going to be okay.” Regulus said, and left his uncle’s office. Alphard felt parts of him that had been torn by his parents and siblings get mended, stitch by bloody stitch, each day he spent with his boys.
***
Sirius woke up just before dinner that day. He had a pounding headache. If it was due to the nap or the drinking was anybody’s guess. It more than likely was a healthy heaping of both. Marseille had been dreadful.
Well, apart from Mystery Man. The nickname ‘Mystery Man’ didn’t cut it as a nickname for the picture of wit, beauty, and sex he’d met at the party. He could see him clearer than he could see his room, now, through the sleep still in his eyes. No, Mystery Man was befitting a placeholder name much better. He had a voice like a dream and the most intoxicating way of moving his hips. He’d been the only good thing about that whole night. The whole trip. The whole month. He was the only reason Sirius didn’t regret Marseille.
Marlene instigated the whole excursion. He tried to ask James to go, hoping for somebody to talk him out of going in the first place, if he’s honest. He was nowhere to be found when Sirius looked. He heard later from Evan that James had been with Pandora, of all people. Naughty dog.
Sirius recalled his Mystery Man.
“Light?” A voice came from behind Sirius. Sirius found his lighter in his pocket, pulled it out and looked up. His heart went: Thump-thump. Thump-thump, then stopped altogether as his eyes met the stranger’s. He had to look up a bit.
Mystery Man had hair that was meant for hands to card through, thick and soft-looking, tousled with gentle care like it was Zepherus’s highest honor to brush a warm summer night’s breeze through his earthy brown hair.
He was also tall . Sirius wasn’t short, he was perfectly average. He’d never considered himself short at all living with two smaller-than average fellows; Regulus had always been a bit of a runt and still had a few centimeters on Uncle Alphard. Mystery Man made him feel short, though.
Sirius was dumbly holding the lighter as he stared for a bit too long. The man didn’t seem put-off. He just stared back. Eventually, Sirius remembered to breathe, in and out, and held up the lighter for him to take.
“Merci.” He said, a slight twinge of an English accent. He handed back Sirius’s lighter as he took a drag of his cigarette.
The color of his eyes were hard to make out in the shadow of night, but when he looked up to the sky they reflected the moonlight so beautifully, as if the moon was really the sun and his eyes were two moons made by God to reflect light and energy, to move oceans, to be gazed at and wished upon.
“You’re welcome,” He sucked in. “Your eyes look nice right now. Well, probably always, but I just met you, and I just noticed now. Wow.” Sirius wanted to bang his head against the stone wall beside him.
“Oh,” The stranger smiled. “Thank you. I was about to say that I like your tattoo.” He pointed at Sirius’s chest tattoo.
Sirius looked down, his shirt buttoned all the way open and showing the tattoo there. It had been a long night already.
“It’s the alchemical symbol for the gray wolf.” He blurted, and Mystery Man considered that fact.
“That’s my favorite animal.” He said.
“Mine’s a dog.” He replied.
The Mystery Man smiled, putting his cigarette to his mouth. They smoked in silence for a beat.
“I hate this place,” Mystery Man said suddenly. “You look like you do too.”
“Hah! Understatement. If I wanted to watch a bunch of wankers with no rhythm suck face to bad music, I'd have attended more school dances as a kid.”
He barked a small laugh at that, glancing over to Sirius then back to his cigarette, leaning back against the wall.
“Do you have friends you’re waiting on?” Sirius asked boldly, staring shamelessly at the way his jeans hugged him.
“Nope,” He popped his ‘p’. “You?”
“None that haven’t abandoned me first.”
They stared at each other for a moment. He was looking right back at Sirius, drinking up his appearance as his eyes flicked from his open shirt to his arms, bared from his shirt with ripped off sleeves, a tinge of a tan, toned with understated muscle, and tattoos that littered across each one. Sirius was proud of his tattoos. He was glad Mystery Man seemed to like them just as much.
“Let’s get out of here.” Sirius said, cringing how it came out more desperate than he’d meant it to.
“Hm. Well, I guess I wouldn’t stop you if I went this way,” He pointed in a direction that followed down into the street. “...to a different, much more thrilling club, and you happened to follow me.” The man said, pushing himself off the wall and snuffing out his cigarette.
He started down the street, then paused to look back at Sirius. Sirius stood there with a grin across his face for a second, and Mystery Man waited until Sirius caught up to continue.
The rest of that night had improved wildly from the first part. Marlene was in the wind. She ditched him for the friends that invited her in the first place, having gone to their apartment. Sirius didn’t like them much, and because of that, by some miracle he’d met the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen. Maybe God was real.
They’d come upon a nightclub unlike most in France, one that blasted disco music and turned the other cheek when two men kissed or danced closer than friends would. Sirius found himself in love with it all. There were gay clubs in Berlin, of course there were, but Sirius had never quite worked up the courage to go. He felt something click into place, standing there in that bar, the-most-gorgeous-man-he-had-ever-met’s hand in his.
He breathed the smell of cigarettes and cherries as his arms flung around Mystery Man’s neck and danced like the world would end tomorrow. He felt hands settle on his hips, and once Sirius was one-too-many drinks in, he got impatient and grabbed his stranger’s hands to put them down, farther, until one was holding the small of his back and the other rested boldly on his arse. His Mystery Man had no complaints.
When they got tired, they found a booth and talked. About everything, about nothing. Then Sirius would pull them to their feet and they’d dance all over again. By the end of the night, they were both properly hammered.
Sirius’s forehead rested on his shoulder as they danced more tenderly to a particularly heartfelt song.
‘Make me sing, make me sound
Andante, Andante
Tread lightly on my ground
Andante, Andante
Oh please don’t let me down.’
The music sang from a million miles away. They were somewhere else, now, alone together in a room brimming with people.
“Come back with me.” The man asked, slurring his words a bit as they swayed.
Sirius considered it for only a moment before taking his head off of his shoulder and looking in his eyes, grinning.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” Sirius reiterated.
They looked at each other, Mystery Man with a puzzled expression. Sirius elaborated.
“Would it be mental for me to say no, only so you’ll agree to see me again?” Sirius said. His eyes were wobbly, but still couldn’t break from his new moon as he looked at the man.
“I would agree to see you again regardless.” Mystery Man pouted. He was pretty like that. He was pretty every way.
“Still,” Sirius stumbled and Mystery Man caught him. “It’s more special if we wait. I never wait. I’ve never cared to.”
The man was quiet for a moment, and just for a second, Sirius felt a blaze of rejection gathering in his chest, burning bright white.
“Okay.” He agreed, blowing out the fire. He brought Sirius over with him back to their booth.
It was late at this point. Sirius remembered vaguely how the club had emptied out only slightly, but noticeably. He had a storm coming, but he’d been too drunk to see it then.
You see: homosexuality was legal in France. It shouldn’t have been a problem.
The Police Nationale hadn’t gotten the memo, the Bastards.
They had run out the back with a handful of others including the drag performer that had been on stage seconds before. Sirius ran, pulled along by his Mystery Man, down the streets of Marseille for what felt like an hour. It was just a couple minutes, really. Running that far might have been overkill even, but Sirius had no idea. He’d never done this before.
When he had caught his breath he felt a whole lot more sober. So did everybody else, dispersing quickly and quietly, their heads down, until it was just the two of them in the alleyway. The only light was a streetlight around the corner funneling into the alley dimly.
“I’m sorry.” Mystery Man said.
“Don’t be. You saved my night.”
Mystery Man regarded him. A small smile broke out across his face.
“Even this part?”
“You got us out.” Sirius punched his arm playfully.
He grabbed Sirius’s arm and pulled him into his side. They were pressed together in a sort of half-hug where they melted into each other seamlessly. It was a chilly summer night, but Mystery Man was hot like a furnace warming him up.
Turns out, he was staying in Nice for the summer. This was fantastic news that Sirius hadn’t contained himself at, laughing and grinning like an idiot when he’d told him. He’d only been visiting a friend in Marseille. Nice was less than an hour by motorbike from the chateau.
They parted ways painfully, both utterly enamored. It took them multiple tries and the promise of seeing each other within the week. Sirius left him there, turning back like he couldn’t help it, watching him get smaller and smaller in the distance. All the way until he couldn’t see him.
It was only then that he even realized his grave error. He knew his birthday: March 10th. He knew that his favorite animal was a gray wolf. He was English with a French stepfather, so he came to live with them at their summer house in Nice every year. Don’t even talk about Morrissey around him, let alone play him; he couldn’t stand his voice. Sirius knew all this and so, so much more, yet by some gigantic oversight he’d forgotten to ask his name.
He’d actually pounded his head against the wall for that.
No, Sirius could make a better placeholder nickname than Mystery Man, for god's sake. It had to be one that fit him, the only thing that seemed to matter, his infatuation; his moon. His Moony.
Moony. That would do.
He shrugged off his shirt from the day before and grabbed the first one he saw on top of his dresser. He stepped over a pile of metal parts on the floor, hopping on jeans, then sped down the stairs out to meet everybody at the table.
Regulus was at the table, scribbling away musical notes Sirius was never able to understand, as much as his brother had tried teaching him. He loved music, but had no natural disposition for the actual making of it. Alphard watched Regulus work, trying to mentally conjure the melody in his head to hear what his nephew was writing.
Dinner was one of Kreacher’s specialties, a ratatouille niçoise that was as colorful as it was flavorful. Alphard insisted on only having it once a month, because it was more special this way. This way they never took the perfectly sliced and expertly seasoned meal for granted.
“Will James be joining us tomorrow?” Alphard asked them both, but looked to Regulus after nobody replied. Regulus looked up, and looked around like maybe he’d been speaking to someone else.
“Je ne sais pas.” Regulus shrugged. He didn’t know how he became James’s keeper since they’d barely been around each other. Just a handful of times, really.
“What a movie star!” Sirius laughed as he sat down.
He had, in fact, achieved some sort of celebrity status around the chateau. All of their friends were always asking when he’d be around. He'd disappear and reappear and random, like his presence was some sort of exclusive gold star. Regulus didn’t care for it a single bit.
Regulus rolled his eyes and gathered up his papers and pens to set aside as Kreacher brought in dishes and sides, followed by glasses of a light pink bubbly drink.
“Crémant!” Alphard happily took a glass. He’d been a fiend for sparkling wine ever since Regulus had known him.
Dinner was content and relatively peaceful, the only arguing being average levels of brotherly bickering. Alphard smiled at his boys as they fell into their version of normalcy. They always came back.