the view between villages

regulus

regulus is no stranger to loneliness. he’s known it since he was a child, cowering in the corner of a closet, locked in the tight confines of the darkest corner of the house. it had taken hold of him early, learned the sharp twists of his mind, kept him company when he had no one. and, at one point, he truly had no one. not even sirius could keep the loneliness at bay. not even sirius could protect him from its sharp claws and bared teeth. 

twenty-one doesn’t look good on regulus. at least, not by his standards. he looks aged, beaten, creased around the edges. he can’t help but despise the darkened bags beneath his eyes and the familiar scowl twisting his lips. it seems like the only facial expression he’s capable of making anymore. 

the house is too quiet. too settled. too empty. it sits in a valley, settled between a pair of hills, blanketed by long grass and invasive flowers. the floo network is active, against his better judgement. even so, the house is empty. silence rings in the desolate halls much louder than any scream could. 

sirius should be here. he promised he would be, days before, when he last visited. he promised he would be here for regulus’ twenty-first birthday. at the time, reg knew he meant it. he knew there was intention behind his words, but now, as afternoon approaches evening and the sun approaches the horizon, regulus can’t help but feel like he’s been lied to. sirius won’t be here. 

regulus is no stranger to empty promises either. he remembers the first promise sirius ever made to him, “i’ll protect you, always,” whispered into the darkness of their mother’s favorite cupboard. it’s amusing to regulus how odd things are now. the roles were completely reversed. it was regulus who found and destroyed the horcruxes. it was regulus who outsmarted and defeated the dark lord. it was regulus who killed traitorous peter pettigrew and saved the potter couple and their son from certain death. it was all regulus, and none of it was sirius. 

he can’t stop the breathy laugh that escapes through his nostrils. sirius was a fool for making that promise so many years ago. it was always going to be regulus, and it pains him to admit it. it was written into the scripts of fate long before either of them saw the light of life. regulus would sacrifice his humanity for sirius. regulus would give everything up for sirius. regulus would give his life for sirius. it’s been cosmic law since cosmic law was created. 

there’s a tap on the window, a beak against glass. regulus treks through the house, searching for the offending windowpane. he doesn’t have to be a seer to know whose bird awaits him. the parrot is just as colorful as it typically is, a striking contrast to the minimalist design of the empty shell he calls home. grey and white look bleak beside the offensively bright shades of the messenger bird. a letter sits snug within its beak, addressed to the younger brother. 

“regulus,

sorry i can’t be there for your twenty-first. come to godric’s hollow. it’s an emergency.

sirius”

regulus can’t believe this. leave it to his self-absorbed brother to brush off their first birthday spent together as adults. reg has half a mind to completely ignore the letter, and he fully intends to. he turns on his heel and makes his way to his living room, plopping down on the plush sofa sirius insisted on buying him. “aurors make good money,” he’d said, as if his ministry checks were more than a pebble when held to the black family fortune.

reg had let him buy it anyways. in the moment, he knew sirius needed it. he needed the monetary reparation for years of familial tension, and regulus wasn’t in a place to reject him. he’s a spoiled brat at heart and he’s proud to admit it. one doesn’t grow up in the noble house of black without emerging a greedy, materialistic snob. 

the binding of his favorite book is rough against his fingertips, the pages cool as he turns them. books are a form of escapism for him. he could lose himself in the pages, see through the eyes of another man with a different childhood, surrender himself completely to the words inked onto the thick paper. 

he only gets through three pages before his floo network flutters alight. it casts a green glow over the hardwood suffocating the fireplace, billows into the chimney, and out steps his disgruntled brother. 

sirius looks less than pleased. his face is covered in soot, and his curls are messy, and his clothes are wrinkled, but they don’t stand a chance against the crease of his eyebrow and twist of his mouth. regulus humors that they almost look the same, down to the irate glint behind their grey eyes. 

“don’t you have somewhere to be?” sirius snaps, his lip curled to show the straight, white teeth behind. regulus merely rolls his eyes and lets them settle back on his book. he’s not reading a word, though. the gesture is more for theatrics than genuine effort. 

“didn’t you?” reg drones. he crosses his legs, turns a page, kisses his teeth. sirius isn’t having any of it, it seems, because he rips the book from regulus’ fingers and tosses it to the couch cushions. “that was rude, sirius.” 

“i’m rude?” sirius guffaws. his cheeks are pink, face painted with offense, and it has to be the funniest thing reg has ever witnessed. “i sent you a letter! godric’s hollow! emergency!” 

“ah, the emergency that was so important that you had to floo to my house and abandon whatever nightmare is waiting in the potters’ house just to fetch me? very believable,” regulus sighs. sirius gapes, not unlike a fish, and regulus scratches his earlier statement. this is the funniest thing he’s ever witnessed. “close your mouth. these hills are notorious for their fly population.” 

“you’re a right arse, you know that?” sirius finally resigns. reg nods along, peeling himself away from the comfort of the leather cushions he’s deemed to be paradise. sirius’ grating reprimands follow him through the house and into his bedroom, where he exchanges his pyjama pants for trousers and tugs a pair of muggle sneakers onto his feet. he hates to admit it, but they’re comfortable, and they’ve quickly become his favorite pair of shoes. 

“i’m coming, moron!” he shouts through the house, effectively shutting his brother’s mouth for him. bad choice. the anxiety is settling into his bones quicker than he can comprehend and it’s making him queasy. he’d actually prefer sirius’ angry rambling to the uneasy silence blanketing the house. it’s giving him time to think about his decision and that’s never a good thing. 

he hasn’t seen james and lily potter in almost two years, since he greeted voldemort in their living room and dueled to the death in the stairwell. he’d broken a window as well as the front door, and while they were grateful to be alive at the time, he’s sure they aren’t very happy with him. how could they be happy with him? he’d seen the repair bills. he knows how much they spent to put their family home back together after he’d wrecked it. 

he’s not prepared to face them again. emergency be damned, regulus is fully ready to tell sirius to piss off the second he steps foot downstairs. however, one glance at his brother’s delighted expression weakens his resolve, and he’s clambering into the fireplace after him. 

the potter cottage in godric’s hollow is not at all what regulus remembers. there’s a new door situated at the entryway, a new window sealed into the wall. the living room is slightly lower than the small foyer platform, lit by a muggle light fixture in the ceiling. there’s an orange shag carpet just outside the fireplace, which is a fire hazard that regulus is determined to tell everyone about, and a suede brown couch lay parallel to it. it’s a quaint home, with drawings on the crème walls and children’s toys scattered on the carpet in front of the sofa. 

“surprise!” the shout takes regulus by surprise, which is obviously the point, but it doesn’t make him any more comforted in the moment. his wand is in hand within a second, pressed to the throat of the nearest wizard. his heart is thundering in his ears. looking back at him, gleaming fearlessly in the yellowed lighting of the living room, are the most striking green eyes regulus has ever seen in his life. they’re emeralds, framed by fiery lashes and shaped eyebrows.

”want to put that away?” comes the level voice of lily potter. she speaks softly, like a mother should, and without fear despite the hex sitting on the tip of regulus’ tongue. “we aren’t ambushing you. you can relax.” 

it takes a second for regulus’ brain to catch up to him. he sweeps the room with wild eyes and a heaving chest, and upon seeing the startled expression on the faces of the guests, he’s a little embarrassed. pocketing his wand, he clears his throat and straightens his posture. he can feel the heat in his cheeks, forming splotchy pockets just beneath his eyes. this is humiliating. they’ve thrown a surprise party for him and he’s pulled his wand. 

“apologies,” he finds himself uttering. it’s barely a whisper, but it seems to reach every ear in the room. there’s a collective sigh of relief, and a hand on his shoulder, and his skin is crawling. he’s never been one for physical touch, but after the inferi…

”it’s alright, mate. we’ve all been there a time or two,” says marlene mckinnon. regulus looks up, catches her eye and the earnest twinkle held within them, and he feels a bit of relief stretching into his rib cage. he can see her fist clenched at her side, knuckles white and wand protruding. she seems just as spooked as he is. it’s comforting, in a way. the war hasn’t left their minds yet either. 

“james spent three months sleeping in the rocking chair in harry’s room,” lily hushes, and there’s a small smile on her full lips. regulus thinks they look like rose petals, soft and pink and unmarred by the devastation of the war. “i refused to put my wand down for two weeks.” 

“moony and i still have an escape route, just in case,” sirius speaks. he looks a bit sheepish, cheeks pink and hand cradled within remus lupin’s. regulus lets himself calm down, chin jutting out and mask falling back into place. 

“you don’t have to comfort me. i know… i know you all had it rough,” he says, and he means it. he doesn’t need the reassurance, the solid knowledge he isn’t alone in his paranoia, because he can see it on their faces and in their fingers. there’s a wand in every hand in the room. even pandora rosier, the gentlest soul regulus has ever met, carries the wooden extension of her magic with a tight fist. 

all tension leaves the room the second a toddler comes running in. his eyes, the same beautiful green carried on lily’s fair face, are gleaming, and the smile regulus knows belongs to james is blinding. he hugs his father’s leg, gazing up with childlike curiosity. regulus knows he has no clue who he is, and it’s oddly soothing. james pockets his wand, the hilt sticking out of the pocket of his jeans, and sweeps up the child in one movement. reg can see the muscles of his arms protruding through his cotton tee and has to remind himself that james is a married man with a child. it doesn’t help him any.

“haz, i thought we said it was bedtime,” james mumbles. it’s the first time he’s spoken since reg arrived. his voice is soft, not as soft as lily’s, but still velvety. almost like a blanket. regulus loves blankets. he notes the striking similarity between haz and james, the likeness of their brown skin and raven hair, and his chest blooms with fondness. he loves children, contrary to popular belief. his cousin narcissa’s child is his favorite person alive. he wonders if draco and haz could be friends, in some distant dimension where narcissa isn’t in hiding. 

“who’s that?” he hears the boy whisper in the quietest voice a child can muster. he’s shooting darting looks at regulus, who’s still awkwardly stood by the fireplace beside lily. the ginger woman finally removes her hand and regulus can finally breathe fully. she’s elegant as she crosses the room and takes the toddler into her arms. 

“would you like to meet him, harry?” she whispers. if she sounded motherly before, she certainly does now. lily was built for motherhood, regulus thinks. she was sculpted for it. she looks at harry like he’s hung the stars in the sky, and looks at james like he crafted the sky out of satin. 

“he won’t bite,” sirius interjects. his hand is slowly creeping into regulus’ and interlocking their fingers. the warmth of his brother’s palm quells the anxiety threatening to slide over him. as lily and james approach, harry clinging to his mother, regulus feels like the world melts away. it’s just james, and lily, and sirius, and harry, and he feels oddly whole. onlookers be damned. he fucking loves children. 

“hi,” he finally croaks out. harry looks at him and it’s like the world is complete. this small boy, the boy he was willing to lay down his life to protect nearly two years before, is joining draco at the center of his universe. 

“hi,” the boy greets, shyly curling into his mother. regulus can’t keep his smile at bay. it curls his lips, feeling unnaturally soft against the roughness of the basis of his persona. 

“i’m regulus.” harry looks at lily, and then at james, and then at sirius, and finally back at regulus. his heart is beating out of his chest. his palms are sweaty. it’s a bit stupid to be so worried about a child’s opinion, but this child is everything to sirius, so he has to worry. in earlier days, before he left home and before he defeated the dark lord, he would’ve worried about this show of weakness. now, though, in the peaceful wake of what was once a nightmare, he knows weakness isn’t so dangerous. he can openly care for this boy. he reminds himself thrice before the conditioned panic melts away. 

“i’m harry potter.” it’s endearing, the way children speak their entire legal name. reg juts out a hand, tilting his head back enough to let the light fully embrace his face. harry’s eyes twinkle. his tiny, chubby fingers wrap around regulus’ hand. 

“nice to meet you, harry potter,” regulus whispers, leaning a bit closer to the boy. “what should i call you? you must have a favorite name.” 

“pa-foot calls me prong-let,” harry speaks. his words are broken, hard to understand through the thick combination of a spanish and welsh accent. regulus looks to sirius for help. 

“prongslet,” sirius supplies in a whisper. reg hums, turning his eyes back to the smiling toddler in lily potter’s arms. 

“well, prongslet, i’m delighted to finally meet you. padfoot never stops talking about you,” he says. harry’s eyes light up and it has to be the most endearing sight he’s ever seen. it’s endearing enough for him to not feel embarrassed about using sirius’ stupid nickname. 

“prongslet needs to get to bed,” james mutters, sounding a bit frustrated beneath his amusement. regulus is a bit offended that he interrupted a moment, but he nods in understanding. it’s getting a bit late and toddlers need more sleep than adults, after all. 

“let us take him to bed,” sirius blurts. regulus shoots his brother a warning look as he releases harry’s little hand. he doesn’t get far before harry is sleepily whining for him to come back. he can see the little one’s eyelids drooping as he reaches for regulus. 

“i suppose it’s alright,” lily concedes, thought it’s understandably wary. regulus wouldn’t leave his child in a stranger’s presence either. she passes harry off to his brother and waves her hand in the direction of the stairs. as they pass, regulus locks eyes with dorcas meadowes, a girl he was once extremely close friends with. she winks, nursing a glass of what seems to be wine in her thin hands. regulus makes a mental note of speaking with her later. 

harry is surprisingly silent the entire way up the stairs. he’s still awake, if his opened eyes trained on regulus have anything to say. his arm is stretched over sirius’ shoulder, fingers latched around reg’s hand. reg feels a lot calmer within his hands than he does within anyone else’s. the room they enter is obviously a child’s. the walls are colorful, and so is the carpet, and so is the silly race car bed pushed against the wall. there’s a toy bin in the corner and a wardrobe settled beside it. it’s a bedroom fit for a prince, regulus muses. he wishes he had this bedroom as a child. 

“alright, prongslet. story or no story?” his brother asks as he tucks the toddler into bed. he’s got no choice but to sink to his knees beside the plastic race car. if he truly wanted to, he could probably crawl right in with harry and fit with his knees bent. someone like remus or james would never fit, but lily could. he wonders if lily ever has laid in the silly race car bed with her son. the thought of the red haired woman curled up with her little boy brings a smile to his lips. 

“no story,” mutters a sleepy harry, already on the brink of falling into his dreams. regulus shoots his brother a small smile, his fingers still trapped in harry’s chubby little hand. he loves this little boy already and he hardly knows him. he remembers seeing a flash of him once, nearly two years ago, when his heart was a frozen glacier tangled in decaying branches within his chest. he hadn’t felt much then, but now, he thinks he could go through the same nightmares again just to protect this child. and he will, if the situation demands it of him. 

it’s not long until harry’s hand relaxes around his and his arm flops onto the mattress. it takes a few more moments for him to gather the strength to leave. he can’t bear the thought of something happening to harry whilst he slumbers. the mere thought sends a wave of pain through his chest and into his spine. 

“you love him already, don’t you?” sirius whispers, and it takes regulus a few seconds to nod his affirmation. he does love the kid, in a strange and impossible way. he could and would fight for him. harry doesn’t deserve the world he was raised in, the household he was raised in, and he’s so thankful harry was born into the family he was. james and lily potter are pure, kind, untainted by the horrors they’d been forced to endure. hell, both of them were members of the order. they fought for the light, and they brought it into the world in the form of a little dark haired boy. 

“he’s so much like draco,” he finally responds. it’s true. harry and his bright eyes and big smile remind him so much of his little cousin. draco is fair skinned and blond haired, but their souls are the same. they’re both untainted, orbs of pure sunlight. 

“thank merlin i’m not the only one who sees it,” sirius chuckles, leading regulus down the stairs. reg lets out a breathy laugh through his nose as he grips the stair railing. he halts on the first step, eyes glued to the couple lingering in the stairwell. lily and james potter are stood along the wall, looking at him like they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t be. 

“sorry,” james utters to him, and scurries off back to the living room. lily is looking at him with an apology in her eyes, arms crossed firmly over her chest. 

“i get it. i wouldn’t want a former death eater left alone with my son either,” reg mumbles. lily scoffs at him, turning her body to fully face him and his brother. speaking of, he can feel sirius conjoining their hands again. it’s more for his brother’s comfort. he knows how much physical touch means to sirius and he’s not in the position to deny him such a simple pleasure, even if it makes his skin crawl with the chilled touch of a thousand undead. 

“if anyone has the right to be left alone with harry, it’s you,” lily speaks, moss eyes shining fiercely even in the lack of light. “james barely trusts sirius with harry. it’s a miracle he didn’t come barging in thirty seconds after the two of you left.” 

“prongs wouldn’t leave me alone with harry for a full six months after you won the war, and i’m his bloody god father,” sirius mutters spitefully. regulus nods. he understands. if anyone understands, it’s him. he spent the first three months after the war holed up in a cabin with draco and narcissa, never letting the little one out of his sight. by the time narcissa convinced him it was safe to sleep in his own bed, a thin sheet of dust covered the duvet. so, if anyone gets it, it’s regulus. 

“i’m sure james will relax a bit as he gets to know you,” lily speaks. it’s meant to be comforting and he knows it, but the weight of the words sinks into his chest like an anchor, tying him to a future he’s never considered. lily seems to catch onto his petrification, because she continues speaking. “if you’d like to get to know us, that is. i’m sorry for assuming.” 

“lils, you’ve got to stop apologizing all the time,” sirius chuckles out. “i’m starting to think you don’t know how to say anything except ‘sorry.’” regulus finds lily’s eyes again, pushes aside the quaking of his heart in his chest as the vibrant forest pierces through the stone in his sockets. 

“genuinely, you don’t need to apologize,” he says. he means it to come out soft, tender, but the war hardened him long ago, and it’s harsh and guarded and everything he wishes he isn’t. “shouldn’t we be returning to the party?” 

“reg.” regulus wants to punch his brother. that nickname should’ve been left in the dust when sirius left all those years ago. it’s unwelcome, unsettling, and he hates it. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” 

and that’s just it. does he want to stay? he’s not sure. this silly little birthday party is sure to include plenty of touching, plenty of ‘thank you’s and ‘how are you?’s and he isn’t sure how well he can cope. there’s a lot on his mind, a lot to unpack, a lot to process, if his mind healer has anything to say. he knows he shouldn’t, and he’s also not entirely sure he wants to stay. this loving house, the kind people in the living room, the perfect couple and their beautiful son… it’s not regulus. none of it is. he’s harsh, cruel, solid edges and frozen exterior. he’s not light. he’s not sirius. 

“i think i should get home,” is all he can muster. sirius is gentle as he leads regulus back to the living room, their hands linked and mouths still. he doesn’t look back as he approaches the fireplace. it’s james who speaks, who catches his attention. it’s james who gives him a reason to look back. the living room is packed and he doesn’t care, not when lily’s eyebrows are drawn together in the middle and james is wearing the saddest smile he’s ever seen. 

“you’re welcome here anytime, regulus.” 

he doesn’t do much else than nod. 

sirius follows him through the floo, and for once, he’s silent. he doesn’t speak as reg collapses on the couch, or as he whisks away to the kitchen. regulus is alone, alone with a calm fireplace and rattling in the kitchen. it seems even sirius has a social battery and regulus is immensely thankful that it’s run out. he doesn’t think he can handle much more social interaction. 

they drink the tea sirius brings quietly, identical stares settled on the bookshelf against the wall, two pairs of sneakers resting on the coffee table.