the view between villages

regulus

regulus is, in fact, still shivering when the potters enter his home the next day. he’s dressed warmly, in two jumpers, fuzzy socks, and thick trousers. his hair tickles the collar of his turtleneck, covers the bare skin on the back of his neck. he would wear mittens if he didn’t know it would draw too much attention to his current lack of warmth. there’s a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and another draped over his legs.

he’s freezing. pandora is a talented witch, one of the strongest he’s ever met, and it clearly shows in his current state. she deals a nasty hex when she’s motivated, and she had more than enough motivation it seems, because he hasn’t felt this cold after a curse since his mother was alive. there’s a throb in his bones, stretching from his organs to his epidermis. if he were smart, he would’ve canceled his plans for the day, but he’s a self sabotaging bastard at heart, so he’s still watching harry. 

james and lily look splendid. that’s the first thing he notices as they appear in his living room. lily wears a simple blue dress, fitted to her ribs and bust and flaring to her knees, and her hair is braided in a way regulus knows took a long time. she’s got a pleasant flush to her cheeks and glittery eyelids, and her lips are a lovely shade of scarlet. james has finally tamed his dark curls, letting them neatly frame his smiling face. he’s wearing a blue jumper, the same shade as lily’s dress, and it hugs his chest deliciously.

if regulus weren’t struggling to maintain body heat, he’d be a blushing mess at the sight of them. he’s practically drooling. the pair of them look so bloody sinful, products of both heaven and hell. regulus has to remind himself that lily and james are married, and it’s the only thing stopping him from kneeling at their feet and praying to them. well, that and the fact that he can hardly move without feeling like his muscles will dissolve from his bones. that puts a real damper on his lust. 

“thank you for agreeing to watch him,” james chirps as he settles the little monster beside regulus on the couch. harry is energetic, using regulus’ body as a jungle gym, and he has to clench his jaw to keep from vocalizing his soreness. lily is staring at him. it’s clear she knows he’s in pain, and he can only hope she doesn’t realize exactly why. maybe he could pass it off as post-exercise soreness. he hopes she’s foolish enough to believe such a blatant lie. 

“do you have a cold, reg?” she asks instead. regulus can’t bring himself to snap at her for the nickname. he can see the worry in her eyes, the maternal instinct to care for the ill. 

“i’m not sure,” he grits out through his teeth. harry’s finally settled in his lap, snuggled close to his chest, and it’s easier to speak this way. at least now he’s less likely to groan. “i’ve been shivering since i woke up.” 

“we can cancel date night if you’d rather rest,” james offers. he sits himself on the sofa, knee brushing regulus’, and it takes everything not to flinch away. lily’s hand, pleasantly warm, presses to the frigid skin of his forehead. she gasps, cupping his face in her palms, and he watches as the slight worry contorts into full panic. 

“you’re so cold,” she observes breathily. she’s holding his head to her chest within seconds, scrubbing her hands up and down his arms as she turns her attention to her husband. regulus wants to fade away. this is humiliating. “jamie, can you put a kettle on? we need to get something warm in him.” regulus bites back a suggestive comment, fully aware of the inappropriate situation, but can he really be blamed when lily’s pressed his face to her cleavage? he can hardly think around his raging hormonal lust. it’s not his fault that his mind is taking a filthy turn. 

“i’m alright, lily,” he says instead, and this earns a scoff. james abandons the sofa, the soles of his all stars slapping the floor as he rushes to the kitchen. regulus finds it endearing how quickly james obeys his wife’s orders, and honestly, if he had the gift of pressing his face to lily’s cleavage every day, he would also be blindly obedient. he finds that it feels like a pillow, if said pillow were jiggly and warm. he likes it here, actually. 

“you’re not alright, regulus. i haven’t felt a forehead this cold since sirius lived at grimmauld,” she mutters angrily. then freezes. and regulus freezes too. “reg… has someone cursed you?”

he gulps. he doesn’t want to answer that question . he definitely doesn’t want to answer that question. if he does, then it can be traced back to pandora, and he very much does not want to put her in harm’s way. she had her reasons for cursing him, and as a fellow angry griever, he can’t blame her for her actions. lily will, though. lily will blame her, and then hex her, and luna can’t live without a mother. he refuses to let it happen. what can he do, though? how does one answer such a heavy question? by lying, that’s how. 

“i used a curse on myself,” he hushes. for the record, it isn’t entirely false. he’s used the same curse on himself plenty of times, and yes, it backfired every time, but he still used it. so, technically, he’s not lying. 

“which curse?” lily asks. she’s hesitant, voice coming out soft and slow, like she’s approaching a feral dog with rabies and not a scrawny bloke with anger issues. it’s humorous, really. sad, actually. does he scare her? the thought drapes another quilt of shame atop his skin. he doesn’t mean to be scary. he’s just emotionally repressed and terrified of trust, which isn’t his fault, but it’s shameful nonetheless. 

“the cruciatus.” silence weighs heavy over the room. not even harry is speaking, his soft babbling coming to a halt, as though he could sense the seriousness of the situation. regulus can hear her heartbeat thundering in her chest, and the shaky inhale she gifts her lungs. 

“why?” that’s a loaded question, isn’t it? why does he? because his mother did, once upon a time. because it’s a punishment. because he can feel when he uses it. because he deserves it. there are a million reasons why he does, and a million other reasons why he should, and he’s not entirely sure which one he should choose to tell. should he even respond? no, maybe he shouldn’t. it’s best if lily doesn’t realize how fucked he is. 

“i’d rather not say,” he mumbles. lily hums, a soft bubble of sound vibrating in her chest. regulus is warm where he’s at, which is surprising considering he was worryingly cold mere minutes before. harry and lily are little pockets of heat, harry taking after his father as a fucking furnace and lily simply enveloping him in a lively warmth. “you lot can still go for date night, lily. i won’t break over a few hours with harry.” said child is somehow sleeping, sitting entirely upright with his face smushed against regulus’ chest and his fingers awkwardly hooked in lily’s dress. it’s baffling how easily children sleep in the oddest positions. regulus’ back hurts just looking at the wee thing. 

“are you absolutely positive? we don’t mind staying back,” she responds. regulus mourns the loss of warmth as she tugs his head from her chest, pressing her palms to the sides of his face and seeming satisfied with whatever she finds there. she smiles at little harry, presses a soft kiss to the top of his head, and then to the top of regulus’. he has to force the grimace this time. 

“i’m positive, lily. i’m perfectly capable of looking after your little troll,” regulus assures. she pinches her lips, a line of delicious red he’s desperate to smear, and gives a hesitant nod. james finally bounds back into the room, a porcelain teacup in his hand and a fretful gleam to his eyes. reg accepts the tea, carefully holding it away from harry’s folded form. “thank you.” james is glowing, practically buzzing as his big body settles into the couch. regulus has to fight the urge to lean into him, coaxed in by the warmth of his skin. he’s chasing heat, desperately, and he’s shivering again. tea spills over the sides of the cup in his hands, spotting the fleece blanket draped on his lap. 

“here, let me have that,” lily mutters, slipping porcelain from his hands into hers. it clinks as she sets it down and regards him with a frown. “i know you’re likely annoyed, but i promise we won’t be offended if you can’t handle him today.” regulus grits his teeth. how many times must he insist? he’s perfectly capable of watching a three year old, thank you very much. a little tremor does not render him incapable of care and he’s honestly a bit offended that lily clearly seems to think it does. 

“if you spend another second fawning over me like a helpless child, i won’t be the only person recovering from a curse,” he deadpans. his fingers wrap around his wand, and his wand finds the softness beneath her jaw, and he meets her eyes with a scowl. she’s smiling, which is as beautiful as it is frustrating, and for a moment he humors the thought of kissing it away. what is wrong with him? first james and his stupid broad chest, and now lily and her pretty lips. when did he suddenly decide it was appropriate to fawn over a married couple? yes, they’re beautiful, undeniably so, but he has no right. he’s horrible. truly, awfully horrible. 

“if you insist,” james chirps. he’s off the couch in seconds, hand in lily’s and smile brighter than the sun. he smacks a loud kiss to his son’s forehead, and hesitates. regulus wants to punch him. he’s not seriously going to- 

he does. james presses another loud kiss to regulus’ forehead, the same spot lily had likely left a smear of lipstick minutes before. he waves his hand in a dramatic goodbye, and lily shoots an apologetic look to regulus, and then they’re dissapparating with a quiet pop. reg sighs, looks to the sleeping toddler in his lap. 

“what are we going to do with them, huh?” he utters. there’s a smile on his face, though. 

he’s gone soft. it’s a true tragedy, morphing from a cold shell of a man to a puddle of mush in such a short period of time. three years ago, he would rather die than crack even the smallest smile. now, he sits in his home, a three year old in his lap and a grin on his face. if regulus then could see regulus now, he’s sure then-regulus would slaughter himself before it could ever occur. 

perhaps not, though. regulus has always craved the ability to be tender, to be gentle. he’s always longed for the caressing nature of lily evans, and the compassion of james potter. in a way, he’s envied them for longer than they’ve known him. it’s sort of funny, that their son is the one to teach him how to heal rather than wound, to save rather than kill, to love rather than hate. it’s been their son who’s changed him, who’s flipped the switch from evil to good. 

harry is clingy. he’s stubborn, and confident, and impossibly brave, and everything that regulus isn’t. reg is easily swayed, insecure, a true coward. the bravest thing he’s ever done is face off against his mother, and even then his wand hand was trembling wildly. he’s not sirius, the self assured and over dramatic older brother. he’s not remus, an openly gay alpha of a terrifying pack of wolves. he’s not james, who’s stood in voldemort’s path thrice and lived to tell the tale. he’s certainly not lily, a woman who became a mother in the midst of a war. in the grand scheme of things, regulus is nothing. he is a speck of dust floating in his parents’ house, a shadow left by the unforgiving rays of the sun. 

harry adjusts, drawing a hiss from regulus’ lips. he doesn’t dare cease the gentle stroke of his palm to the toddler’s back, afraid that if he does, harry will disappear. he can’t afford to lose the little one, the breath in his lungs, the beat of his heart. he can’t afford to lose this sprinkle of sunlight. the cost is too great. he’s on the verge of a breakthrough, a fundamental alter of his base personality, a complete transformation of character. he’s standing on the cusp, one small gush of wind away from falling, and he can’t afford to lose the wings he’s meant to fly upon. 

“reg,” harry mumbles, only barely awake. regulus hums, smoothing the child’s wild hair back over his skull. harry is endearingly tiny, fitting comfortably between the dips of regulus’ narrow hipbones. dark hair tickles the middle of his chest, beneath his collarbone and above the end of his sternum. he knows the tot is being fed enough, seeing as he eats nearly the same amount as regulus himself, though it doesn’t quell the urge to stuff his stomach until it bursts. 

“what’s up, prongslet?” regulus inquires, twirling a short lock of inky hair around his index finger. harry lifts away from his chest, wearing a drowsy pout regulus wants to flip upside down, and rests a chubby hand against his own stomach. 

“hung’y,” is the mumbled response. regulus grimaces. he’s going to have to move, isn’t he? he’ll have to fight the agony and prepare a sandwich for this poor, starving child, because regulus is an arsehole but he’s undeniably smitten with this child. 

“how does a pb and j sound?” harry’s eyes light up, all signs of sleep vanished from his beaming face as he nods so aggressively his forehead knocks into regulus’ chin. regulus stands, wincing against the needles drilling into his bones, and carefully balances the frighteningly light toddler against his hip. he’s honestly impressed, because he somehow prepares a sandwich with a singular hand. 

“thank!” harry exclaims as reg hands off half of the sandwich. the other half is soon in his mouth, devoured in two bites, because merlin is he starving. when was the last time he’s eaten? he suspects it’s been a day at the very least, though it likely has been two or more. he grimaces. so much for taking care of himself, then. he’s doing a pretty shit job so far. 

if there’s one thing regulus knows, it’s that harry is an adaptive little thing. if regulus is running, so is harry. and if he’s sleeping, so is harry. now, he’s reading, and harry is curled into his side. harry’s pretending to read along, though he’s mostly just mumbling animal noises resembling the ones his favorite muggle picture book makes. it’s endearing. every few moments, regulus mimics a cow’s moon or a pig’s oink just to encourage his fun-sized companion. 

“harry, do you know what sound an elephant makes?” regulus asks. harry nods vigorously, beaming from ear to ear. as he buzzes his lips and forces out a loud shriek, regulus finds himself impressed. it wasn’t a half bad attempt, but regulus is better, and he has to prove that he is because he’s an arsehole. 

naturally, in the center of his display of elephant sounds, lily and james appear in his living room. he’s never been so mortified in his life. actually, no. that’s a lie, because remus knows he’s shit at snogging. that’s the most mortified he’s ever been. the second the couple appears, james is doubling over laughing. harry takes it upon himself to display his talent for elephant calls, which still isn’t half bad but never as good as regulus, and lily looks two seconds from joining her husband in his laughing fit on the floor. regulus is praying to whatever deity lives in the sky to please, please smite him. really, why must he have such abysmal luck? why couldn’t he have been born a fortunate man, with zero problems, and zero embarrassing experiences? 

“i didn’t know you were related to dumbo,” lily guffaws, mocking surprise on her smirking face. regulus’ eyebrows crinkle. what the actual fuck is a dumbo? it must be some niche muggle reference, because it flies over his head quicker than any snitch could. he’s going to need a crash course of niche muggle things as soon as physically possible if lily expects him to understand anything she references. seriously, what the hell is a dumbo? 

“i feel like a dumbo,” he mutters as he marks his page and closes his book. harry is already hopping off the couch, squealing as he dashes to james’ side. reg is watching him with a smile, a soft curve of his lips that feels uncomfortably foreign on his stiff face. “your child is a maniac. not thirty minutes after the two of you left, he was absolutely famished and begging for food. do you even feed him, lily?” lily scoffs, though her eyes are fond as they trail after her son. 

“i feed him plenty, regulus. he’s a growing boy, y’know. needs his food and all that other rubbish mums love to say,” she muses, absentmindedly waving a hand in the air. she sinks into the chair regulus adores, legs crossed over one another, and regulus has to physically restrain himself from dropping to his knees at her feet. she looks regal, elegant, draped in a redundantly fancy armchair. she looks like a goddess, actually, and regulus is in no way opposed to the act of worship. plush thighs, freckled skin, fiery hair. she looks heavenly. 

and then there’s james, hard muscles and pointed jawline, sun-kissed skin and eyes like honey. he looks like the spitting image of apollo, his lips a work of art and laughter like a harp. merlin, regulus is horrible. he’s fantasizing over a married couple, and while it’s true that he can’t be blamed — because how can he not ogle two of the prettiest paintings he’s ever seen in his life? — he’s still horrible for it. 

“gorgeous, isn’t he?” lily hums. regulus’ head snaps to her, tracing the curve of her scarlet lips with his eyes. she’s staring at her husband, and it’s like an anchor is dragging his stomach out of his arse. she noticed, didn’t she? she saw him drooling over her husband. her literal husband. oh, regulus wants this cruel existence to cease. why is always him being embarrassed? why can’t lily take a turn at it? or james? why must it always be him? 

“i’m not sure what you mean,” he responds evenly. lily scoffs, regarding him with calculating eyes and mirth in her grin. 

“you’re a liar, then. i see how you look at him, regulus,” she mumbles. regulus lets his gaze sink as hers finds her husband yet again. “i don’t blame you, though. i don’t think i’ve ever seen a more beautiful man in my life.” a pause. “until you walked into our home two years ago looking like the embodiment of poseidon himself.” 

regulus can’t help but chuckle. it’s quite ironic, how he’s been compared to the deity of the very element he’d nearly lost his life to. fitting, though. entirely fitting. once upon a time, regulus was a wonderful swimmer. he’d adored the beach, midnight swims in the black lake with the rosier twins. now, he can hardly bathe without the memory of the cave filling his lungs. 

“you have no clue how hilarious that comparison is,” he mutters. it is hilarious, because how could lily have even the slightest clue of his aquaphobia? she doesn’t, and that makes everything that much funnier. “i’m not sure how you could, though. find me beautiful, i mean. i don’t think i’ve seen worse days than that one.” 

“i think you grossly underestimate the power of your own charm,” lily responds easily. she’s grinning, amusement dancing in her emerald gaze. regulus scoffs, arms crossed over his chest. his charm? he has no charm, unless insults and threats are suddenly charming. 

“don’t be daft, lily. i wouldn’t know charm if it were staring me in the face,” he drawls. this earns an eye roll and a playful grin, the curl of lily’s lips leaving him breathless. she’s a goddess. she’s ethereal, much too gorgeous for the world to properly handle. how has he never noticed? it’s so blatantly clear that she’s a god among mortals, capable of bringing the strongest of men to their knees with a glance. he is no man of strength, and he’d fall at her feet regardless. 

“like i said, you grossly underestimate yourself. do you have any idea how many people were tripping over their feet around you back at hogwarts? including myself, of course. i imagine there wasn’t a single person who wasn’t fighting for your attention.” okay, yeah, lily is delusional. it seems even she possesses a fatal flaw, and her fatal flaw seems to be delirium. regulus can’t help the biting laugh that escapes him. 

“you deceive yourself, then. i highly doubt my prickly personality warrants admirers.” lily giggles at this, head tossed back in a way that reveals her pale neck to regulus’ keen eye. he humors the thought of putting his lips to it, imagining the velvety texture against his tongue. when did he become so lewd? he’s never battled lust so harshly in his life. he’s never needed to, as a matter of fact. never before has he experienced desire this strong, so prevalent he chokes on it. it seems even he can’t escape teenage hormones, as they appear to be attacking him all at once. what does he do with it? how does he get rid of it? 

“your personality isn’t prickly, reg.” lily cuts herself off, eyes darting to her husband. james and harry have stilled, identically breathless from their playful wrestling on the floor. there it is again. he’s choking on his attraction to james, the heave of his broad chest and the flush to his bronze skin. will it ever stop? will the lust ever fade? “tuckered out, are we?” lily sounds amused. she must be smiling, because she sounds like she is, and regulus can vividly picture james pressing his lips to it. isn’t that funny? he’s apparently moved on to fantasizing about a married couple consummating their union. it seems to be doing the trick, because the filthy heat rising in his gut is chasing the cold of the cruciatus from his bones. embarrassing. 

“harry seems like he’s ready for a nap,” james chirps, cooing as his nose prods his son’s cheek. “aren’t you, haz? you’re so tired.” harry is not, in fact, tired if his bright smile is anything to go off of. 

“he took a nap when you first got here, actually. i’d say he looks wide awake,” regulus comments easily. he adjusts the blanket in his lap, tugs it closer to his stomach as he brushes a lock of hair from his eyes.

there’s a very obvious tent in his trousers, very embarrassing, hugely uncomfortable. he’s only had to deal with one a handful of times in his life, and he’s not too thrilled to suffer through it now. he’s inexperienced, but he’s not a dunce, and he knows it’ll go away. it’s the principle, though. he’s got a hard on because of a married couple, which is humiliating.

what’s even more humiliating is the whine he wants to let out as james secures him in a playful headlock, grinning all the while. there are knuckles rubbing roughly against his scalp, and a massive arm wrapped around his throat, and-

oh.

he’s just made a mess of his trousers, and very loudly too, silence lingering in the wake of a high pitched whine and a jolt of his legs. they know, don’t they? oh, merlin, this is humiliating. it’s uncomfortable, too. maybe, if he keeps his eyes on the ceiling, he’ll finally get the smiting he’s been begging the heavens for. anytime now. please, please smite him. 

“did you just…” james utters, his arm loosening. regulus immediately ducks his head. his cheeks are burning with a warmth he’s finally managed to gather, blood welling in pockets beneath his cheeks. what did he do in a past life to deserve this? perhaps it’s the cosmic atonement for all of his shitty actions in this life. either way, he’s not happy about it. he’s mortified. he may actually die, if not from the humiliation then from a knife in his kitchen. 

“reg?” harry asks, whining in his mother’s lap. regulus fists the fleece blanket in his hands, worrying his lip between his teeth, hoping that his lengthy curls hide the flush of his cheeks and the tears in his eyes. this is horrid. 

harry clambers into his lap, tiny hands cupping red cheeks, and presses a sloppy kiss to his chin. regulus can’t fight the smile, a grin as true as the tears on his cheeks. harry is impossibly cheerful as he tucks the blankets (messily) around reg’s waist. reg is laughing, quiet chuckles breaking through the horror of the situation, as he presses kiss after kiss to harry’s chubby cheeks and forehead. naturally, as children typically do, harry is giggling like mad, squealing about tickling.

between peppered pecks, regulus can see lily, a fond smile on her cheeks. perhaps he can live past the mess in his trousers.

only if it’s never mentioned again.

one breath of it and he’ll stick a dagger in his temporal lobe.