Chapter 19
Waiting in the carpark outside the train station, stood in front of a Range Rover, was Fleamont Potter. He had the same glow his son did as he grinned at the two boys stepping out of the station. His hair, which was greying around the sides, was shorter than James’, but he wore similar glasses and looked terribly similar. Regulus had met him a handful of times before, at different events he’d been to, and at a few school functions. Fleamont looked slightly older, though.
“Right on time! That train never fails to amaze,” was his opening line, his hands rising to wave the pair over. They both rolled their suitcases closer to them, the damp tarmac beneath them letting them glide towards the car. Fleamont opened the boot, taking them both to slide into the back before he closed it, grinning at his son. “Ah, look at you! No Christmas jumper?”
James’ father hugged him, grinning over his shoulder at Regulus who awkwardly smiled back. “Felt a bit early,” James’ response was muffled as he pulled away, slapping his dad on the shoulder.
“Regulus!” Fleamont stepped away from his son, opening his arms to Regulus who awkwardly hugged him. Regulus really wasn’t a big hugger, but he would have felt worse not doing it. “You’ve grown!”
“Only a little bit,” Regulus bashfully responded. He wasn’t very good at being the centre of attention either. “Thank you for having me, Mr Potter.”
“Please, call me Monty,” he grinned. “In the car, come on. If Effy doesn’t see you soon, she’ll file missing persons on all of us!”
They all climbed into the Range Rover, Fleamont slipping into the driver's seat, James in the passenger, and Regulus in the seat behind James, his backpack on the seat beside him along with James’. Fleamont had been listening to the Beatles, which flooded the car as he started the engine, forcing him to turn it down a bit. He easily reversed out of the car park and took off driving. James lived in the countryside. His house was the biggest in the energy, with his next neighbour in the village, over a mile away.
Regulus watched out the window as they drove through small villages, passing fields. Fleamont was busy filling his son in on the village goings-on. Regulus barely listened, feeling as though he were intruding in some way. He could still hear, though. Apparently, the man who ran the pub had moved back to Manchester, leading to a Scottish man taking over. Fleamont apparently liked him more than the Manchester man and proposed many trips to the pub over their visit, which James laughed at, but agreed to instantly.
“Well, we’ve got the spare room all made up for you, Reg! Should be cosy enough, but it can be a bit cold that side of the house, as James will tell you! If it is, let me know, I’ll light a fire,” he spoke to Regulus without turning around but instead attempting to make eye contact through the rearview mirror.
“Thank you,” Regulus replied, unsure what else to say. Fleamont nodded, tapping the steering wheel as they arrived at the village they actually lived beside.
“They opened a new bookshop, just there, see?” He pointed out the window at a small red brick building. It had a book display in the window, showing what they had on offer. James looked towards it with interest as Regulus followed his gaze, squinting to read some titles. Fleamont was passing it, though. “You’ll have to stop in tomorrow. We’re off to London next week, too, remember? Get a bit of Christmas shopping done. Your mother wants afternoon tea, but I think I can get you, boys, out of that, if you want. Seems a dull affair, doesn’t it?”
“Depends where it is. If it’s Fortnum’s again, count us out,” James held up his hands as if defending himself.
“Oh, God, no. I don’t think she’ll ever step foot in the place again. She’ll probably do Tiffany’s in Harrods,” he instead said. “The Ritz was fully booked when she checked this morning.”
“Why’s she booking it so late?”
Fleamont shrugged, twisting the wheel to the left as he turned out of the village. “She thought you were bringing Lily. She was holding off.”
There was silence then, suddenly, enveloping the car. James didn’t say anything, and Regulus stared out the window, Dorcas’ conversation resurfacing in his mind. “Well,” Jame said after a few moments. “Harrods is nice this time of year.”
“You’re right,” his father nodded.
The rest of the drive was silent, Regulus watching them get further into the countryside until they finally arrived at a large gate, which was already open. Fleamont drove through, gliding down his gravel driveway as if it were much smoother than it really was. They passed a tennis court, along with a large greenhouse. There was an oak tree, with a large swing hanging off one of the bigger branches, along with a tire swing on the other side. The house was much bigger than Regulus could have imagined, looking very old, and very intimidating.
Euphemia Potter, wearing a red apron over a pair of navy capri pants, and a boulder neck white shirt, stood at the door beaming. Her long brown hair, tied into a bun with a few wispy hairs framing her face, was greying around the roots, but she looked younger than her husband, glowing like another beam of Potter sunshine. “Ah, you found them!”
They pulled their suitcases from the boot, Fleamont leaving them to it as he walked towards his wife, grinning at her. Regulus lived in a house with parents who tolerated each other, and it almost made him pause as he watched Mr Potter drop a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “Train was on time!”
“You’re obsessed,” she rolled her eyes, giving him a playful push into the house. Regulus dragged his suitcase behind James, wincing at how heavy it was. He had probably overpacked.
James stopped on the front doorstep, letting his mother reach up to hug him, kissing his cheeks as she went. “Hi mum,” he beamed, picking his bag back up so he could continue into the house.
“Regulus Black!” She grinned at him as he stood before her. “You look so grown up! So dashing!”
“Thank you,” he mumbled, feeling shy all of a sudden. She opened her arms, welcoming him into a hug he stooped for, just slightly. She smelled like strawberries. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Potter.”
“Good Lord, Regulus! You make me sound like a grandmother! Call me Effy!” He nodded again, accepting the nickname she requested, just as he had with Fleamont.
The house seemed bigger inside, similar to a vintage Tardis. The main hall, which had chessboard like tiles, also had a grand staircase. Regulus could imagine it 100 years before, with women in ballgowns gliding down the stairs to meet their husbands in tails at the bottom steps. There was a Potter family crest hung over the bannister of the upper level, showing it off, opposite a large fireplace, which looked impossibly huge. There was a Christmas tree in the far corner, looking well over 8 feet, fully decorated with red and white decorations. The whole room screamed rich, with the large oil paintings, and impossibly well-kept surfaces. But it felt surprisingly homely.
“I’m going to show Reggie to his room, then we can help with the food,” James offered his mum, who nodded.
“He’s in the room next to yours! Regulus, it might be cold-“ Effy smiled warmly before her husband cut her off.
“I already said I’d set him a fire, Ef! Don’t stress,” he shrugged off his coat.
“My hero,” she sighed, dramatically, giving the boys a look before whisking away from them, disappearing through a door Regulus hadn’t even noticed.
James led Regulus up the stairs, Regulus carefully manoeuvring his suitcase up each step. He was able to roll it down the carpet when they arrived on the second floor, James quietly walking all the way around the landing. Regulus shuffled along after him, looking at each painting on the wall. Years of Potter portraits stared back at him, almost intimidating him as he followed James to the end of the hall, where two doors stood. “This one's yours,” James gestured towards the door, which Regulus slowly pushed open. He stared around it for a moment, realising it was familiar to him, even though he’d never been before. “It’s where Sirius used to sleep for summers, but we’ve cleaned it since,” he joked.
Regulus recognised the wallpaper from pictures his brother had sent him, back when they would speak regularly. He couldn’t bear summers at the house, and for the last two years of his secondary career, he couldn’t bear any of the other seasons either. The Potters had basically let him live with them. Anytime there was a midterm, a holiday, a day's break, he’d come here. To this room. Which, even now, screamed Sirius, although it looked like any other spare room. A large wardrobe, a painting of a tree on the wall, a dressing table, a large double bed, two windows, a rug in the middle of the floor, a desk in the corner, and a door to an en suite.
“I promise, he’s not here anymore,” James urged, and Regulus realised he was hovering in the doorway.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, quickly stepping inside. He dragged his suitcase to the bed, heaving it onto his bed. “You’re next door?”
“Yeah, come here,” James requested, and Regulus turned back to him, dropping his backpack on the bed before rejoining James at the door. He followed James to the final room, which had a hand-drawn sign on it, banning girls. “My mum won’t let me take that down.”
“Even if it bans her?”
“She’s not a girl, Reggie. She’s my mum,” he shrugged as if this were rational thinking, before laughing at the look of amusement on Regulus’ face.
He pushed the door open, wheeling his suitcase into a room that was fully decorated. It looked as if he’d just left, as Regulus stepped inside, realising his desk still had an open book on it, and a pen still waiting to finish a sentence being written. His bed was freshly made, his curtains open to let in a view of the garden. There were posters all over the walls, different bands he liked, the England football team from a few years before, the England rugby team from the year before, a Hogwarts banner. Regulus eyed his bookshelf, which appeared to be organised by height, hardbacks on the top shelf dwindling down to paperbacks at the bottom.
“This is nice,” Regulus said, after a few moments.
“I like it,” James shrugged, throwing his suitcase onto the bed. The room was bigger than Regulus’, with an armchair in the corner by the bookshelf, and a bigger wardrobe. Regulus let himself look over the posters again, for a few moments, while James dropped his backpack onto the floor, strolling over to stand beside Regulus, looking over his shoulder. “I used to have a wall of photos, from school, but I took most of them with me, to the flat, so I had to order some new stuff.”
“Eclectic mix,” he responded, eyes travelling from Nirvana to Blur to the Beatles to Arctic Monkeys.
“I suppose,” he shrugged. “Do you mind helping my mum a bit? She probably won’t let you do anything, but you get points for volunteering.”
“Just give me an apron,” Regulus grinned.
“I’ll hold you to that.”