interlude
Regulus
Regulus sets his phone down with a definitive clatter, running his hands over his face exasperatedly. Godric’s Hollow. A tiny, unheard of town that he’s apparently spending his Saturday morning traipsing off to, just because his boyfriend and his stupid brother have managed to find themselves stuck in the middle of yet another mess, except this time it rather unfortunately involves him as well. As reluctant as he is to admit this, Sirius isn’t actually stupid, or at least Regulus knows he won’t be about this, which is his problem exactly. He can no longer enjoy his brother’s lack of justified anger and hatred towards him as he now knows why he should feel hatred and anger towards Regulus, whilst he decidedly didn’t before. And perhaps he knows too much, as the receiving of the news sent Sirius into the type of panic attack that he hasn’t had since he was a teenager living in an abusive household, and got James punched in the process. If it wasn’t for those unfortunate incidents, Regulus would be rather pleased. Years, he’s been urging James to tell Sirius about their relationship, knowing that the time in which they didn’t only allowed for more upset and pain when they inevitably did, and, unsurprisingly, he was right. He would’ve done it himself if it wasn’t for James’ crippling uncertainty about it all, and as he thinks that now he realises how cripplingly uncertain James must be feeling after his strongest paranoia that has been haunting him relentlessly for what’s coming close to almost a decade has come true, to mock him in real life. On the phone, they only spoke to one another about Sirius’ panic attack, that being the most pressing crisis at the time, and so they didn’t get to have an actual conversation about how they’re feeling and what exactly they’re planning to do about it all. Of course the solution to that found itself around half an hour later when Regulus received a phone call from Remus, the hot, dirty blonde, and was ordered to come and intervene in Sirius and James’ argument that apparently won’t subside without his presence and input on the matter, leading neatly back to why he’s staring down at a text message branded across his phone screen letting him know that his taxi is here, and that he has ten minutes before it leaves without him.
It’s tempting, really fucking tempting, to sit here at his overpriced, wooden dining table, and stare at the clock on his wall until the next ten minutes has passed, and so has his chance to mend his brother’s heart, his boyfriend’s, and his own. Tempting, but simply not an option if he wants to keep both of those people in his life, and strangely enough he does, despite them being the reason he’s about to spend nearly three hours of his weekend sitting in a metal box with a stranger. He makes a face at the thought, regardless of the fact that no one’s around to see it, and rises to his feet to leave his empty house before he turns completely crazy and can’t even talk to Sirius and James when he eventually arrives in Godric’s Hollow, ridding the hours of torture he’s about to endure of their purpose. He grabs his small, leather wallet and his phone off of the table, looking around to make sure that there’s nothing else he’ll wish he’d have brung with him later, and when he’s confident that there isn’t, he makes his way to his front door, involuntarily flinching when hears his taxi driver beep his horn in a rude and mannerless way of hurrying him up. He shakes his head, scowling and slows his steps when he catches the sight of himself in the oddly-placed floor to ceiling mirror that his house came with and he couldn't be bothered to move. He had dressed for the publishers meeting that he has arranged for later today, knowing that he wouldn’t have had time to change after seeing James when he was supposed to get back to London in the early afternoon, and also knowing that he looks rather good in a suit. Regulus has a high-standard, rather arrogant publisher, and it turns out that if he wants to make his manuscript into a book that means he has to make himself into an arrogant man with high standards for his meetings as well. He would be laughed out of any ordinary publishing house in his outfit looking as though he’s dressed for a ball, but precisely four years ago he was laughed out of this publishing house, the Sacred Twenty-Eight, for wearing the semi-professional attire that he was told was socially acceptable in these sorts of meetings by the multiple people he had asked, including the internet. Being laughed out of this coffee shop James and Sirius have somehow found themselves confined to that he has to turn up in his most purposely eye-catching and expensive outfit at is a strong possibility, but it’s worth it, in Regulus’ opinion, to have the best book deal he can possibly get in today’s market placed into his hands later, and he’ll finally be able to consider the ruby-studded engagement ring he’s had his eye on for a while now. He wouldn’t dream of proposing to James without Sirius knowing and being comfortable of the idea of the two of them, but as luck would have it, even if Sirius won’t be comfortable with the idea of them for a while now, he does at least know about them, and Regulus is going to be promised a shit-ton of money that he’s very much planning to spend on an emerald encrusted ring for himself to match with James’ – all in the same day! Fingering his carefully styled waves self-consciously, he snorts as he thinks of what a mess James’ hair will be without his various, very essential products he’s forced to use daily to tame his own curls. Just as he’s about to start moving again, he jumps as his taxi driver honks for the second time, muttering to himself under his breath as he finally makes his way outside, locking his door behind him with a sigh.
He trudges down the steps of his front-garden to where a friendly, though slightly scruffy-looking man double-takes him from the driver's seat of his pain-stakingly rusty, blue car. Regulus resists the urge to wince at the man’s reaction to him, knowing how entitled and ostentatious he currently looks. His mother would be so proud. No, on quick second thought, she wouldn’t be because the reason he’s so well-dressed is to land a publishing deal, and not to win a lawsuit in the high courts, and he’s climbing into a taxi to meet his boyfriend, and not his blue-eyed blondie, female wife. Although Regulus’ voice in his head is bitter, he knows this is the life he’s truly happy in, even if he’s feeling rather miserable as he does his cold, metal seat belt up, and used to dream of whilst he was still under his mother’s rule, and that he would rather die than go back to the depressing plans she had made for him, and so decides to shut his incessant internal monologue up by speaking out loud, to an actual person, though decidedly not about his deep-rooted insecurities and childhood trauma.
The taxi driver man, a little bit older than him, with rather blinding ginger hair and kind eyes, lets out a small wolf-whistle as he catches Regulus’ eye in the cracked rear view mirror, and Regulus has to try very hard to refrain himself from running away, cringing. He smiles politely instead, hoping that the driver won’t be able to read him well enough to tell that it isn’t genuine.
“Off to somewhere fancy?” The man asks with raised eyebrows, turning the key in the ignition hole to make the car bounce and shudder in a way that is definitely not safe. Regulus instinctively grips the inside of the door handle tightly, his knuckles white, just for something to steady himself on, and cautiously looks back up to the man when he realises this is something that could have been taken as offensive. Much to his relief, the man only laughs heartily, shaking his head as if Regulus’ reaction is a common occurrence for him in the taxi business. Regulus exhales slowly, releasing the sides of the car reluctantly from his grasp, not wanting to make the next three hours any more socially awkward than they already are guaranteed to be. The man, still chuckling, slaps the battered steering wheel in front of him affectionately, turning around as best as he can in his seat to face Regulus’ wobbly façade of being completely unbothered by the hazardous state of the vehicle they’re about to take three hours up the country, and on various different motorways. If Regulus doesn’t survive this trip, he only blames Sirius and James’ incapability to act like adults around one another, even in considerably serious situations. He makes a mental note to ensure that’s added to his will later, because it really is most likely that one of the two of them, if not both, will be the death of him someday.
“Don’t worry, old Bessie hasn’t failed me yet!” The man grins, his face being unnervingly close to Regulus’ own as he leans back, scaring him out of his thoughts. Regulus stares, taking a worrying amount of time to realise that he’s talking about his car and not someone he should know, or Regulus himself. Blinking, Regulus huffs a nervous laugh, nodding and inconspicuously tugs at his seatbelt to see how much strength he’ll need to be prepared to use in the case of a quick getaway. If this man starts asking him questions about his personal life, Regulus might actually jump out of the car door, regardless of whether it’s still moving or not. The man returns back to how he should be sitting as a driver, looking decidedly forward, though he seems to still not be sensing Regulus’ obvious discomfort, and he can’t quite tell if that’s fortunate or unfortunate. “So, where to, my friend?” The man’s cheery voice rings out again as he fiddles fruitlessly with a radio that looks to Regulus like it stopped working in the eighteen-hundreds. Fortunate, he decides, answering his previous internal predicament, his reasoning being that when he tells the man that he has to spend the next three hours driving Regulus to Godric’s fucking Hollow, it would be rather good if it wasn’t just spent with him hating Regulus for not quite trusting his driving skills and overly-companionable demeanour.
“Um,” Regulus begins —off to a really strong start, wow— and quickly pulls up the address that Remus texted him through James’ phone on his screen, chewing his lip concentratedly. “Twenty-one, Church Street, Godric’s Hollow, please. It’s somewhere in the West Country, I think,” He recites, his eyebrows furrowed. The man is silent for a few seconds as he types Regulus’ words into his own phone that he’s apparently using as a sat nav, squinting. For one terrifying moment, Regulus has managed to convince himself that the man will admit that his car won’t make it that far, or that he simply doesn’t want to go and that Regulus will have to find someone else to take him, though his predictions get quickly disproven with a sharp ‘ah!’ noise.
“Got it! Was a bit worried there,” The man exclaims suddenly, fixing his phone into some sort of stand so he can see it clearly whilst driving, and a simpler person would sigh with relief, but Regulus has never considered himself very simple. He nods stoically instead, thumbing the corner of his wallet just for something to do, looking up when the taxi driver clears his throat. “My name is Arthur Weasley and I’ll be your driver for today, if there’s any problems please let me know, and please rate me five stars after this because I’m a thirty-three year old taxi driver with a wife and seven children. Anyway, what music would you prefer, if any?” Arthur Weasley rehearses as if he’s said it a hundred times before, and Regulus takes a moment to process everything he was just told, making a mental note to rate him five stars on the app he found Arthur on as he requested, feeling rather sympathetic towards his situation. Arthur’s last question hangs in the air, awaiting Regulus’ answer that he doesn’t even know himself. Normally he listens to classical music when he’s driving, or whatever Sirius’ latest song is, though he’d never tell him that, but he’s quite aware that both of those might come off as rather odd choices. Eyeing Arthur carefully, he considers how he’s probably never going to see him again, and how he doesn’t even know Regulus’ name, let alone anyone in his life that he could tell about this. He tilts his head ever so slightly.
“Classical music would be nice,” He suggests, keeping his tone airy, and Arthur’s smile widens as he immediately pulls up the Amazon Music app on his phone from where it’s placed just above his dashboard, typing into it. Regulus watches with a scandalised frown, scrunching up his nose as Arthur clicks onto a playlist titled ‘classical bangers’ with a profile picture of some white-haired important figure of history photoshopped with dark sunglasses on and flames licking at his wig. The man could have chosen anything else. Suddenly a piece that he recognises as Mozart blares out of the car speaker at a practically deafening volume and Arthur, flinching, rushes to turn it back down again to an acceptable level. Jesus Christ, Regulus thinks irritably, automatically pressing a hand to his heart and tries his best not to just get out of the car and walk back into his house, as he so, so badly wants to.
“Sorry about that,” Arthur chuckles nervously, clearly thinking about the loss of his five-star rating even though Regulus already plans to give him it, plus a generous additional tip, despite the several mishaps that have already occurred before they’ve even started driving. Regulus doesn’t say anything, merely sitting back in his seat and allowing himself to relax again – he might as well get comfortable for the next three hours if it’s going to go anything like the past ten minutes have.
Arthur finally starts driving, and for one, blissful moment Regulus actually thinks he’ll leave him to his classical music and spend the journey comfortably silent as a normal taxi driver would. He should have known better.
“So, what’s in Godric’s Hollow, then?” Arthur asks conversationally about two minutes after they set off and Regulus grimaces.
“Nothing good,” He mutters before he can think his words through, even if he knows they’re what he honestly believes in. Instead of asking an intrusive follow up question though, Arthur just hums acknowledgingly and starts rambling about something to do with his family and a holiday they’re planning to go on, to Regulus’ surprise. He would have thought that Arthur’s amiable personality comes with a certain nosiness that wouldn’t be able to resist inquiring further on Regulus’ response but obviously not, thankfully. Regulus looks at Arthur’s chattering, smiling face with a newfound respect, though not quite enough respect to actually pay attention to whatever he’s saying. Arthur doesn’t seem to mind though, answering his own questions for Regulus with presumptions that he can’t be bothered to correct him on and keeping his eyes sensibly on the road at all times. Regulus gradually zones out from the conversation, watching green foliage blur past the car window and other cars sidle up beside them in occasional traffic, listening to his complicated thoughts rather than the steady background noise of Arthur’s boisterous voice and the low classical music he's starting to feel happy he requested.
Predictably, his mind turns to whatever will be awaiting him in Godric’s Hollow, because what else? He meant it when he said to Arthur that it will be nothing good; in the hours that it will take Regulus to arrive there, Sirius and James will both have only had more time to think about the situation and each other, growing more angry and upset. One with slightly more justification than the other, Regulus admits quietly to himself. He knows well that James must have been really worked up to genuinely argue with Sirius, especially after his panic attack, to the point where some random bloke named after the moon had to call Regulus up to put a stop to it, and he also knows that considering none of this would happened if it wasn’t for James’ previous stubbornness to tell Sirius of their relationship, he doesn’t exactly have a right to be, unfortunately. The only way Regulus would tell him this is if he continues to act out of order when he’s in the coffee shop with them both, and clearly needs to be stopped in the fear of embarrassing himself further. Hopefully it won’t have to come to that, though, if Regulus knows the man he’s planning to marry well enough. Regulus’ stomach turns in the best way possible at the prospect of seeing him in a mere few hours, despite the circumstances. He enjoyed Italy, and gathered lots of useful research for his next book there which is why he went in the first place, though it wasn’t worth spending so much time away from James for, in his opinion. No trip could be. Regulus would usually scold himself for becoming so pathetically dependable on another person, but he simply can’t remember a time when he wasn’t, annoying heart flutters and all, feeling this way for James, except the depressing period from before he knew him until their very first conversation in the old school library. Hearing his voice earlier was nearly the most exciting thing that has happened to Regulus in weeks, the first place spot reserved for their guaranteed reunion soon.
Sirius, however, Regulus is slightly less excited to see, already bracing himself for the buckets of emotions he’s going to be hit with internally, and externally in the form of Sirius’ almost ensured shouting match once he gets through the door. He tries to imagine all the things Sirius will say, the questions he’ll ask that Regulus will be forced to answer, whether honesty would make things better or worse in each scenario. Better, always, he decides firmly – after all, isn’t that the main lesson to be learnt after this whole ordeal based purely off of Regulus and James’ lies?
He doesn’t know how much time passes before he realises that there’s simply no way he can fully prepare himself for what’s about to come. Every time he sees both Sirius and James, his breath gets taken away for a moment, though for considerably different reasons, and he seriously doubts that this meet-up will be any different. In fact, it’ll probably be an even more exaggerated version of the feeling because of all the day’s events. That will be fun, he thinks dryly to himself, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his own thoughts, refusing to sink down to that level of insane just yet.
He twists his silver rings around his fingers absent-mindedly, admiring the empty space on his left ring finger that, if all goes to plan, won’t be empty for much longer. The idea makes him feel rather dizzy, and suddenly he’s quite grateful that he’s sitting down as he’s not completely sure that he wouldn’t collapse if standing up. He sighs heavily. What has he come to? No, he’s been through this, there’s nothing to come to as he’s aggrievedly been stuck this same way since the ripe age of fifteen. He shakes his head. James fucking potter. Fighting the smile on his lips, and winning, Regulus presses his head against the car window pensively, and submits himself to more deep consideration of his day’s past, current and future events, not daring thinking too far behind or ahead of that, afraid of what he’ll find.
Arthur Weasley’s voice drifts in and out his ears in peaceful waves, only coming into focus properly when the car’s rhythmic vibrations against Regulus’ forehead subside, making him blink, and he hears him say, “Blimey, we’re here already! That went by quickly didn’t it, mate? Anyway, are you sure this is where you wanted to go?” Regulus takes in his surroundings with wide eyes and mild surprise. Through the multiple car windows he can see out of, he quickly gathers that he’s arrived in a beautiful countryside town square, about as far from Gryffindor’s bustling city life as you can get, and that it’s teeming with a strange mixture of excitable teenage girls and bored-looking adults, some of which Regulus even recognises, dressed in dark clothes clutching cameras. Oh, he’s in the right place. Regulus tries not to let the pure anger surging through his veins reflect onto his face as he eyes the eager fangirls and paparazzi lingering everywhere he turns with nothing but hatred. Whilst doing this, he spots amongst the crowd of little run-down shops a well-decorated cafe, all earthy tones and strategically placed greenery and immediately he knows that that’s the place he’s meant to be. After staying silent for a long minute, jaw clenched, Regulus turns his attention back to Arthur.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” He says, handing him a thin stack of bank notes from his wallet, and blankly ignores the man’s frantic attempts to give Regulus back the considerable amount of extra money that he just gave him, apparently convinced it was a mistake. Instead, Regulus focuses on his strategy for the next few minutes. These bastards with cameras and the latest iPhones are thirstily hunting for the smallest inkling of Sirius and James being even remotely nearby, and Regulus, a man with palpably strong resemblance to Sirius, a decades old reputation in the paparazzi business from his father’s political fame, and a rather out-of-place, extravagant suit on, would be that inkling. His eyes trail to where he can see the beginning of an alleyway leading supposedly round the back of the building the coffee shop makes up, a plan forming in his head.
“Do you think you could park over there?” Regulus asks Arthur, pointing to the closest stretch of road to the alleyway possible. Arthur frowns, following his gaze and visibly hesitates.
“Yes, but you’d have to jump out quickly because it’d have to be in the middle of the road,” He replies slowly, reaching out to restart the car. Regulus nods.
“Perfect,” He tucks both his phone and wallet tightly into his trouser pockets in the case that he’ll accidentally drop them in his inevitable haste. As Arthur reverses out of the parking space he had rolled them into, his eyes widen as a revelation seems to hit him.
“Are you famous?” He asks incredulously, staring at the abnormal busyness of this barren small town, and Regulus’ lips twitch.
“That depends who you ask,” He answers smoothly because whilst that is a question he would usually avoid, he finds himself feeling quite fond of Arthur, and thinks that he deserves something other than Regulus’ signature cold silence. Arthur’s mouth promptly drops open as he drives the car several metres ahead as Regulus requested.
“What if I’m asking you?” Arthur whispers feverishly, as if he thinks Regulus is entrusting him with a secret, and damn, Regulus almost just laughs. Regulus unbuckles his seatbelt, resting his hand on the car door ready to fling it open as soon as the car rolls to a stop. He makes eye-contact with Arthur, smiling for the first time today.
“I’m sure you’ll find out on your own,” He says cryptically as his parting words, and then he’s sprinting out of the car door and down the alleyway, running the quickest he has in years, surprisingly fast, and leaving Arthur in a satisfying mess of confusion and awe of him. He rounds the corner of the thin, winding alleyway, thanking God when it expands into the large, deserted street he thought it would, a door on what would be the side wall of the coffee shop in front of him, if he’s right.
He spends a second catching his breath, listening to the distant clamouring of the masses of frustrated people that lay a mere few steps away, and straining his ears for a mention of his name, or the footsteps that would incline that someone saw his swift escape. There’s a reason he keeps his identity anonymous as a rather successful author, and the stupid fucking paparazzi is it. He waits patiently for his heart to stop pounding in his chest from the exercise until he realises that the exercise has nothing to do with it. He stares at the door and what lies just behind it. Just a flimsy piece of wood in between him and James, and Sirius. He raises his fist to the door uncertainly, knocking after a moment of considering what he’ll do if nobody answers, deciding dismissively that he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. His heartbeat immediately quickens even more than it already was, and he fidgets restlessly with his sleeves, his rings, his shirt collar. He nearly runs away out of sheer panic when he hears the hubbub of muffled loud voices float through the door, though he feels absolutely rooted to the spot when the sweet sound of jangling keys in the lock rings out.
After what seems like an eternity of torture, the door swings open.
And Regulus exhales a breath he hadn’t realised he’s been holding in for weeks.