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Chapter Text

Regulus himself is not sure how it happens. There’s no warning– and who would it come from? Nobody knows he’s here. He’s made sure of that.

Where here is, well, that again is a sticky question. He’s designed himself a somewhat unconventional house, one that exists both in and out of physical reality. It took decades worth of charms and potions to perfect, but he did. In the end.

Then, to define where he resided as a house would have been generous. It was, in the physical sense, a house, but it was more of an amalgamation of things he’d picked up over the years. In the beginning it had been barely a rug, an indulgence he’d allowed himself when he shed his skin. When he ran, shedding youth and name and, for all intents and purposes, life, he had destroyed Regulus Black in his entirety. Left with nothing but the ragged ruins of himself, he began to build from the ground up. Creation in its purest form.

And here he is. The middle bit is never all that interesting, he’s found. Life is only really about the start and the end. And, despite (or maybe because of) the grey in his once-Black hair, his hasn’t ended quite yet.

These days, he spends most of his time muttering to himself. Busywork. Even the thought of it still makes him sneer some mornings. He’s had to reimagine his ambitions– scale them down to fit inside a gardening patch. 

Which is why the letter was so strange. It arrived in his post box, but he could tell immediately from the ink quality that it had not been written by a muggle. More alarmingly, the address read ‘Mr Regulus Black.’ Anybody who knew him these days– few and far between, mind you– called him Roman Blanc. A french writer; retired, reclusive, but he’d buy the local groceries and chat to the postman if he saw him. Indulgent, he’d admit, but he liked his initials how they were, and it was somebody he could have been, maybe. In another time. Quiet and peaceful.

The letter, after being thoroughly checked for magic, burnt and unburnt, boiled and dried, was very plain. 

“Mr Black,

You are not an easy man to find. I’m sure you’ll keep it that way.

I will be sending someone to you shortly. He needs a haven in this time.

Dumbledore.”

Upon reading it, Regulus scoffed and pulled out his wand. With a curl of his lip, the paper went up in flames. 

Bastard.

All these years, and he still wasn’t allowed to be free. No matter what he did, he was dragged, kicking and screaming, into the past.

Regulus allowed himself a moment to ‘process,’ as that funny muggle woman with the floaty voice had described it once. He imagined himself shattering the glass cabinet in the corner, putting his fist through the window, ripping the curtains into burnable little shreds.

Regulus took a breath. And then another.

He unclenched his hands and went inside. He had defensive spells to weave.

***

The boy showed up on his doorstep confused. Much like Regulus himself. 

It was evening, there was a knock, and Regulus went to answer it, expecting the funny religious man down the road. He always came by on the first sunday of every third month, asking if he’d ‘be seeing Roman in church tomorrow.’ Regulus had been so suspicious he’d nearly killed the man at first. It turned out he was only an odd muggle, intent on ‘saving a foreigner’s soul.’ Whatever that meant. Only more suspicious, if you asked Regulus.

When he opened the door, he thought he was dreaming. One of those lucid, unsettling dreams that dredged up the past and left his heart pounding.

Next, he thought he was hallucinating. The madness always nipping at his heels had finally caught up to him. Settled in behind his mind and taken control of his eyes.

Idly, he wondered what Sirius would do in this situation. It happened sometimes, the unbidden wander of his mind to his older brother, a childish want for someone to guide him.

He’d made his peace with it. Was leaning into it, on certain occasions.

“Uh,” the image of James Potter said, “I was told to find you? I’m–”

“You’re a mean hallucination,” Regulus hissed. “Send me someone nicer.” He slammed the door.

Not ten minutes later the worn trunk and snowy owl appeared in his living room.

***

After a night of frenzied pacing, facing memories he didn’t want to face, Regulus managed to fall into a few hours of fitful sleep.

In the morning, he combed his hair into something respectable, put on a shirt and tie, and composed himself.

No matter what he threw at the items in the living room, they did not budge. Whether the boy had been a hallucinataion or not (and Regulus was still not convinced), he had kicked him out into the cold without a thought. He at least owed him a cursory glance around town, to see if he’d found some semi-dry bridge to huddle under.

After checking the only bridge in the village, Regulus reluctantly turned his sights towards the inn. 

The door jingled as he walked in, Gregory the Barkeep looking up from wiping down the counters. That’s all the man ever seemed to do. How mundane these muggle tasks were.

“Roman!” he greeted, “Surprised to see you in so early.”

Regulus adopted his french accent. “I’m looking for somebody. Have you had any guests for the night?”

“Young fella arrived just around dusk. Very polite.” He tipped his head thoughtfully. “Was asking about you, actually.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows. “What did he say?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just general curiosity. What were you like, did you have any family, who were you, y’know the like.”

“And what did you tell him?”

Greg smiled apologetically. “Well, we don’t really know all that much about you. Couldn’t really help him. Plus,” he added, “a man’s entitled to his privacy, ain’t he?”

Regulus nodded. “Thank you, Greg. Is he here?”

“Nah, went out for breakfast, I think.”

Regulus let out a small sigh. While he appreciated the confirmation that he was not hallucinating, he did not appreciate the wild goose chase.

As he left the inn, he turned back towards the river. There really was only one place to get breakfast here.

The cafe was sleepy when he entered, the woman working offering him a wave. Her name was Martha, maybe, and she always gave him an extra biscuit with his coffee when he entered. 

Sure enough, the boy was in the corner, wedged into the wall as he scarfed down a pastry. He was looking around as if waiting for somebody to come and kick him out at any minute.

Regulus took a moment to observe him, his familiar dark curls and quiet smirk as he read something funny in the newspaper in front of him.

When Regulus pulled out the chair across from him, he jumped and reached for his back pocket before remembering himself and awkwardly holding out his hand to shake.

He quickly pulled it back and looked around again, a faint look of consternation on his face. Something about it warmed Regulus to see. This boy was young, couldn’t be older than twenty, and still suffering through his teenage years.

“So, you were sent to find me,” Regulus said, not bothering with pleasantries. 

“Yes, um, Dumbledore said he’d called ahead?”

“Hm.” Regulus glanced up at Martha bustling over to their table. “Just a coffee, please.” Deciding something, he glanced over to the boy. “And…?”

He looked up like he was surprised Regulus had even asked. “Oh, nothing for me, thanks.” Gesturing to his plate, he added, “It was really lovely, thank you.”

“A coffee and another caramel square, then,” Martha said with a wink at the boy. He tried to interrupt with an, “Oh, no–” but she gathered up his plate and mug with a “Need more weight on those bones, pet.”

The boy looked helplessly to Regulus, who just shrugged at him. He was quite skinny.

After Martha had bustled away again, Regulus leant forward. “If you were sent here, who sent you and who are you looking for?”

“Dumbledore called you Regulus, but the innkeeper called you Roman, so I must have found the wrong person.” He paused for a moment, as if he didn’t really believe it himself, but continued with, “Sorry about that.”

“No, you found the right person.” Regulus left a pause, slowing the conversation down after the boy’s embarrassed speed. “I was Regulus once.”

“Oh,” the boy said, seeming to understand. Regulus had expected more questions, in all honesty.

“And you are…?”

“Harry.” He stuck out his hand again. Regulus shook it and the boy added, “Potter.”

Ah, Potter. So his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, only Fate was. His sanity lives to see another day.

“Nice to meet you,” he told Harry, despite the instinctual emotional flinch at the name. It was like poking a long faded scar at this point, more a memory of pain than any real sting.

There was silence again as Martha brought their orders.

“I really am sorry for showing up unannounced,” Harry apologised again. “If it helps, it caught me by surprise too. I was staying in a hotel in London when he showed up and brought me here.”

“And your parents allowed that?” Regulus asked. It was a hazy impression, but from what he could recall even Potter was never that naive. Nobody allows their child to be whisked away my an eccentric madman. Harry was growing up, clearly, but he wasn’t quite old enough to be on his own yet.

For a moment, he looked baffled. “My parents are dead?” he said, voice lilting up at the end. It felt like a question, but Regulus knew it wasn’t. He blinked at Harry, and felt the faintest crash of emotions at the edge of his conciousness. Shutting it down, he focused on the boy in front of him.

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Has it been long?” he said, politely.

Again, Harry looked at him as if he’d spoken french. “No, it was– I was a baby when it happened. Do you not…?” 

Regulus shrugged. “I don’t know anything about you. Should I?” His eyes narrowed.

“It was– all the newspapers wrote about it.”

Regulus tipped his head. “I’m afraid I don’t stay up to date with wizard news. I’ve carved my peace, I see no point in ruining that.”

Harry nodded. “Alright. Is that why Dumbledore sent me here?”

“You mean, you don’t know why he sent you here?”

“Should I? He doesn’t really tell me why, I just do things.”

Regulus sighed. Just as daft as he’d always been then. “Well, I don’t know why you’re here. Dumbledore sent you to the wrong place.”

Harry looked resigned for a moment before he offered Regulus a smile. “Sorry about that. I’ll pass it on.”

“Stop apologising,” Regulus found himself saying, “Only apologise for things that were your fault. Even then, do it rarely.”

Harry, inexplicably, nodded. “I’ll keep it in mind, sir. Thanks.”

Something about being called ‘sir’ by this skinny James Potter lookalike unsettled Regulus deeply. It reminded him too much of his own youthful days now long, long gone.

Regulus stood up to leave and paused. Turning back to Harry, he said, “Come back and collect your things from my living room. Then you can catch the train.”

Harry nodded, standing up almost delicately, as if he was trying to take up as little space as possible. Regulus waited, and then followed him out of the cafe, tipping Martha generously on the way out. It would keep him in good spirits with the locals.

They walked in silence. Harry seemed content to look around, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and Regulus tried to watch him out of the corner of his eye. Once you got over the initial appearance of James, this boy was nothing like him. Regulus didn’t let himself dwell much on the long-dead past, but James had never been this reserved, this small, this polite. He had been full of a buoyancy. Harry just seemed tired, bags under his eyes and a ticking gaze. He reminded Regulus of a rabbit. 

As they approached the house, Regulus considered asking him questions. Was he a student? Did he not have aunts or uncles? Why, of all places, was he here? And, most importantly, why was he so relaxed? He didn’t know Regulus from Adam, and the general jumpiness would lend itself to a general air of mistrust. Instead, Harry seemed content to follow him in silence, wand tucked away. What was wrong with this boy? He was going to get himself killed.

Harry politely wiped his shoes on the mat and stepped into the living room, smiling a little bit at the owl. “Hedwig,” he muttered fondly as he hoisted his trunk onto his back, “Did you miss me?”

Regulus watched him gather his things and then followed him to the door. 

“Thank you very much, sir. I’m sorry to bother you here, it seems so lovely. I’ll tell Dumbledore he got it wrong.”

Regulus waved him off, irritated again that he was apologising. “Not your fault. He’s a daft bastard.” Harry smiled tentatively, and Regulus felt a faint pride at evoking it. His mouth moved without his permission. “Why don’t I walk you to the train station? I’ll get you a ticket back to London.”

Harry started turning away. “Oh, no, thank you, that’s alright. I’ll find my own way there, no need.”

Not bothering with a response, Regulus turned around and locked the door behind him. Harry was only a kid, all sharp and gangly with those bags hanging off of him. He looked so young, standing there and trying to disappear out the front gate. It would only be right of Regulus to bring him to the station. It was a small town, but he should make sure the kid got on the train. Made it to London safe enough. “Here, I’ll take that bag.”

“Oh, it’s not heavy.”

“Well, that’s good for me, isn’t it? And I’m not touching the bird.” Again, Regulus saw a faint smile, something of James’ smirk lurking around the edges.

After a half hour of silence, Regulus decided to break it. “Are you working, then?”

Harry shrugged, readjusting the owl’s cage. “Tried to get a job for the sumer but I don’t have the muggle paperwork for it.”

“Just for the summer? No long term career?”

“I’m going back to Hogwarts in September, wouldn’t be any point finding something long term.”

Regulus cut him a glance. He was still in school? He thought this was a recently-graduated-no-place-to-stay thing. “Why not a job in Diagon Alley?”

“Tried that too,” Harry sighed. “Didn’t want to take me on since I brought too much attention with me. Everybody’s trying to lay low.” He shrugged.

Well, that was interesting. Trying to lay low? Regulus had never regretted cutting himself off from wizarding news, but perhaps he’d missed something.

At some point along the walk, Regulus noticed Harry eyeing him, too. Perhaps the boy wasn’t as trusting as he’d thought.

Good. He’d have a better chance of making it. Especially if Dumbledore was leading him. God knows you needed self-preservation if that fool was ‘guiding’ you.

When they reached the train station, after having lapsed into another round of silence, Regulus strode to the ticket window before Harry could. “One ticket to London, please.”

The very old ticketmaster looked up at him with tired eyes. “Five pound sixty, that’ll be.” Regulus counted out the funny little muggle notes and handed them through. “Train’s in an hour.”

Regulus turned to Harry and stuck out his hand for a handshake. “Good luck with your studies.”

“Thank you. Sorry about the mix up.”

Regulus gave him a cheery smile before leaning close, out of sight of the ticketmaster. “If you tell a single soul about this, about me, I will hunt you down and you will have a very, very short career ahead of you.”

Blinking, Harry nodded. “Understood, sir.”

Regulus wrinkled his nose. “And stop calling me ‘sir.’”

With a wave as Regulus walked away, Harry sat down on a little bench and gazed out over the tracks. 

He looked very small sitting there, Regulus thought. And worryingly unfazed by the threat. Still, he couldn’t get the image of James Potter out of his head. Vibrant, loud, confident James Potter. He even thought of Lily, stern and soft in equal measure, from what he could recall. This boy seemed neither– almost tucked in on himself. 

Regulus spent what felt like an age in the doorway of the train station, warring with himself. Harry paid him no notice, but Regulus had a sneaking suspicion he knew he was there. Finally, his feet started to move.

Harry looked up at him, hand straying to his back pocket. Good. He had some form of self defense.

“How about you stay with me for a little bit?” Regulus found himself saying. “I can keep an eye on you and you can–” he waved a hand around, “--study, or whatever it is you do.”

Harry looked at him, silent for a minute or two. Eventually, he said, “Alright,” and picked up his trunk. 

Regulus led him back to the house and wondered if he’d just made a terrible mistake.

Chapter Text

The first few days were… odd. Regulus had set Harry up on the sofa while he cleared out the spare bedroom.

The boy moved like a ghost. Often, Regulus found himself forgetting Harry was there, and then he’d appear in the doorway with a cup of tea and an offer to help. Out of habit, Regulus declined, but by the third day he finally relented.

Ushering Harry in, he told him, “Not too much to do now, just make up the sheets, mostly.”

Harry nodded, taking the sheets and climbing onto the bed, stretching the corners out. Regulus watched him for a moment.

“There are spells for that, y’know.”

Harry smiled, slightly embarrassed. “I’m not old enough for magic outside of Hogwarts yet.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows. How old was this child? He was practically a newborn; what was Dumbledore doing sending him off to the middle of Scotland to find some stranger by himself? Regulus could have been an axe murderer– and then what would he have done?

“That light bulb doesn’t work either,” Regulus told Harry as he finished off the sheets. “The shop opens again tomorrow, it’ll be working by the end of the week.”

Harry hopped off the bed and shrugged. “No rush, there’s light in the window.”

“Don’t you have reading to do before school starts?”

“I’ll get it done in the daytime. Really, don’t trouble yourself. I’m alright.”

Regulus squinted at him, but left without saying anything.

He’d fixed the light before Harry got into bed.

Regulus had never been one for breakfast, in all honesty. It seemed a waste of his day when lunch was right there. Still, he figured that with a growing boy in the house he should make some effort. He started with eggs and toast, something he could do with a flick of his wand. Easy, simple.

 Harry scarfed it down, spreading honey on his toast when he thought Regulus wasn’t looking. Disgusting, but Regulus made a note to put extra jars on the shopping list.

After a week, Regulus eyed Harry (washing up, as he’d insisted on doing every morning, even though Regulus had shown him where the muggle dishwasher was) over his newspaper and said, “If you’re going to scarf down all my honey, you might as well help me with the hive.”

Harry finished the last plate and unplugged the sink. “You make your own honey?”

Regulus didn’t bother answering, getting up from the table and heading to the cupboard by the back door. He took out a pair of overalls and a sunhat and told Harry to put them on.

“These’ll protect me from the bees?” Harry asked, looking down at them skpetically. 

“They’re charmed,” Regulus responded, and muttered a similar spell for his own jumper. “Come on.”

Harry hurried to pull the overalls on over his clothes as Regulus strode out the door. He turned around just in time to see Harry– one leg caught in the overalls, one hand flattening the hat onto his head– topple into the doorway before stumbling out after him.

For a moment, he looked so much like James that Regulus had to turn away.

“Keep up,” he teased, as he led Harry to the back of the garden. Behind the lavender bushes, there was a single beehive. He’d considered getting another one, but figured he didn’t have the need since it was only him in the house. Now though…

Oh, what was he thinking? This was temporary. The boy wouldn’t be here forever.

Harry came to a stop beside him, looking apprehensively at the hive.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “See those gloves, there?” He pointed. “Put them on. Don’t want sticky fingers.”

Harry did.

“Now, I’m going to open the lid…” Regulus pulled the top of the hive up and the gentle buzzing of the bees filled the air. Harry instinctively flinched back. “Don’t worry, they won’t sting you, they’re just curious. I want you to reach in and break off a bit of the comb there, see?”

Silent, Harry leant towards the hive. Keeping his face turned away, nose scrunched up, he reached in.

“Can’t grab something if you can’t see it, Harry.”

Pulling a brief face, and then smoothing it over with a glance towards Regulus, Harry grabbed a piece of honeycomb and took it out.

“Brush off the bees and place it on this tray, here.” Regulus handed him the tray he kept stored under the hive. “Good. We want to fill the whole thing.”

“The whole tray?” Harry said, incredulous. “I have to do that again?”

Regulus huffed a laugh, and Harry smiled slightly– the James smile, the one that pulled at only one corner of his mouth. Regulus felt a gentle pang between his ribs.

It was funny, he hadn’t been aware that he still knew what James’ smile looked like. Until Harry had shown up at his door, Regulus’ impressions of his school days were hazy, wiped from his memory. With each day that passed, he remembered a little more. Certain things Harry would do that brought it clanging back in sharp focus. Just the other day, he’d sprawled himself onto a chair, looking so much like Sirius that Regulus had to leave the room and collect himself.

It’s not that the memories Harry was trawling up were bad, it was just… new. Regulus hadn’t let himself get sentimental, or nostalgic, since he’d first started running. No point missing the past when you couldn’t bring it back.

But Harry reminded him of the days he’d had before it all went to shit. When the world had been confined to a castle and a common room, when his life had seemed to stretch, infinite, before him.

Harry fills the whole tray without complaint. He fills it again every morning after that.

It’s two weeks before Harry starts actually taking up space. They’d gotten over the ‘sir’ thing fairly quickly, but he’d tiptoed around the house as if worried he’d remind Regulus he was there.

Regulus left him to it. Teenage boys were like that, he supposed. He remembered doing it himself.

Still, it’s almost a relief when Harry forgets himself and thumps down the stairs. He comes into the kitchen and yawns, still in his pajamas.

Regulus steadfastly does not stare, not wanting to spook him. Harry always dressed himself before coming downstairs, as if uncomfortable with the idea of Regulus seeing him vulnerable. 

Harry puts the kettle on as Regulus plates their breakfast, the two of them working together in sleepy silence like a well-oiled machine. Harry grabs the orange juice as Regulus grabs the forks; Harry sets down the teapot and mugs as Regulus gets the milk and honey. 

It occurs to Regulus quite suddenly that they’ve got a routine. He knows how Harry takes his tea (with an obscene amount of honey), and Harry knows which page of the newspaper Regulus likes to start on (muggle sports– a guilty pleasure he would never admit to). They’ll eat in silence, and then Harry will go outside to collect the honeycomb, and Regulus will start on his task for the day while Harry disappears to do… whatever it is teenagers do.

It seems they’ve settled in. Perhaps this was turning out to be more long-term than Regulus had first anticipated.

He clears his throat. He supposes he should start making an actual effort to get to know Harry, if the boy’s living in his house. “How’s the reading going?”

Harry stares at him, perplexed. “Fine? Would you like to see it?”

“Would I–? No. No, thank you, that’s alright. Just…” Regulus trails off, looking anywhere except at Harry. “Just wondering.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He takes another bite of toast. “It’s nothing spectacular, really. The Care of Magical Creatures book we have this year is interesting, some cool pictures.”

“Hm?” Regulus makes a sound of interest. “You’re just reading… your textbooks?”

“Well, Binns gave us chapters to get through before September. Says we’ll start with a ‘review.’” Harry rolls his eyes.

That gets Regulus’ interest. “Binns is still alive?”

Harry grins. “No, actually. Teaches as a ghost.”

Despite himself, Regulus chuckles. Barty had always muttered darkly about Binns, saying ‘one day he’s just gonna get up and leave that wrinkly old arse of his in the armchair. Wouldn’t even notice, just keep on teaching.’ It seems he’d been right all along. “Who else do you have?”

“McGonagall, of course. Flitwick, Sprout, Snape, Madame Hooch for–”

“Snape?” Regulus interrupts, eyebrows shooting up.

Harry scowls slightly. “Potions. Probably before your time, I suppose he’s young, in comparison.”

Regulus shakes his head. “I know Snape– knew Snape. He was a year above me in Hogwarts.”

Harry’s eyes widen slightly. “That would have been–” He cuts himself off to take a gulp of tea, and looks at Regulus consideringly over the rim. “Did you know my parents?”

Regulus pauses, pondering how much he wants to tell Harry. How much he remembers, really. “I did, in passing.” Lie.

Harry nods, quiet. It makes Regulus want to tell him more. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten a lot of it,” he says with a smile, though he knows it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “James was…” Magnetic. Loud. Joyous. Funny. “...boisterous. I liked Lily.” She suited James, and James suited her. Proud, clever, brave, kind. Never took shit from anybody. “They were Gryffindors, though. I didn’t see much of them.” Almost true. Not quite, though, and he felt a guilty pang as Harry nodded. “You should really find Sirius, my brother,” Regulus tells him, apologetic. “He’d know more than me, he was a Gryffindor.”

Inexplicably, Harry’s face falls. Regulus wants to name the emotion flickering around his eyes as grief, but that doesn’t make sense. “You don’t… know?” Harry asks, hesitant.

Regulus feels a sudden spike of fear. “Know what?” He doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to know.

“Sirius is dead. Happened earlier this year.” There’s a tightening of Harry’s face as he says it, and he avoids Regulus’s gaze– stares out the window instead.

Regulus can’t speak. There’s a horrible ringing in his ears and he feels like the floor is suddenly a long way away. Sirius is dead? The whole room has tilted sideways. He can’t hear his heartbeat over the ringing.

But it– it had been months. And he hadn’t– he hadn’t known. He always thought he’d feel it, when Sirius died. Some invisible tether would be pulled taught, then cut, and he’d feel it in his ribs. That star would wink out, and Regulus’ world would be that much dimmer for the loss.

But he hadn’t even known.

He was struck with a hysterical urge to check the sky, see if the star had gone out. Or maybe check if it had gotten brighter– had taken back what it had given Sirius all those years ago, that unnatural magnetism and luminosity. The candle at midnight showing Regulus the way.

Sirius was dead, and he was alone. The first person to ever really know him. The little light Sirius had nursed in that dark and awful house, the only reason Regulus had ever had the courage to get out, to leave, to save himself. Gone. Ash. 

“Regulus?” James’ face loomed over Regulus. “Regulus. What’s wrong, are you alright?” He had somehow gotten from his chair to the floor. He blinked up at James.

“James?”

“No.” The face looked apologetic. “Sorry. Just Harry.”

Right. Harry. Harry Potter, who was living in his house. Regulus pulled himself up and sat back down in his chair.

“I’m really sorry,” Harry continued. “I should have worded that better, I didn’t–” He cut himself off. Regulus looked down at his half-finished food. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

He reached to take a sip of his now-tepid tea and noticed his hands were shaking. The kitchen seemed like a scene in a play, seen from very far away. His own hand looked foreign.

He looked up, slowly, to Harry’s worried gaze. “Maybe you should lie down,” he suggested.

Regulus nodded. 

Quietly, focusing on every movement, Regulus brought himself upstairs and into his room. Sirius was gone. He closed his blinds and took off his shoes. Sirius was gone. He got into bed and pulled the covers over himself, curling up and shutting his eyes. Sirius was gone.

***

Regulus slept through Harry’s knock for lunch, and woke up to the smell of pasta some hours later. Harry was creeping through his dark room, steaming plate in hand, hunched in apology. Everything the boy did seemed to be an apology. Sorry for moving, sorry for speaking, sorry for breathing. Regulus remembered doing it himself and wondered what had happened in Harry’s life to lead to this. James would never have allowed it. ‘Chin up and laugh through life’ seemed to be James’ and Sirius’ motto.

There was a sharp pang in his chest when he thought of Sirius. Still, Regulus had not gotten this far by allowing his emotions to catch up with him. Process them as fast as possible and get back on your feet was the only way to survive. Everybody dies. This shouldn’t be different.

“I’ll come down,” he told Harry, starting to pull the covers back.

Harry shook his head. “Best if you didn’t.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows and Harry looked ashamed. “Whole kitchen smells of burnt onions. I tried to make bolognese sauce, but it didn’t quite work out.”

Despite himself, Regulus smiled slightly.

“So…” Harry gestures at the bowl. “Just plain pasta. With some butter and cheese.”

“Surpised you even managed that.”

Harry smiles. “I have my moments.”

Regulus is struck with an uncharacteristic sense of gratitude. “Hit the light on your way out. Thank you, Harry.”

The pasta isn’t bad. Overcooked, certainly, but it could be worse. Regulus eats the whole bowl and remembers to breathe. The world keeps turning.

***

After a few days, Regulus gets the courage to ask Harry about Sirius. Harry has taken to wandering out to Regulus in the garden in the mid-afternoon, usually bringing some atrocious excuse of a sandwich with him. This time is too much ham and not enough cheese flopping sadly out of two slices of very squished bread.

Regulus looks at the sandwich being offered to him, then back up to Harry.

“Look,” Harry starts, but Regulus only sighs and takes the plate. He finds a nearby stump to sit on, and removes his gardening gloves as Harry flops down on the grass in front of him, scarfing his own sandwich down. You’d think the boy was never fed in his life.

Regulus breaks their usual silence towards the end of his own sandwich. Harry has long since finished and has procured a book out of somewhere, but he looks up when Regulus speaks.

“How did you know Sirius?”

Harry closes his book and tilts his head at Regulus. “How do you know I knew him?”

“The way you looked when I mentioned him. You keep a lot of emotions in your face.” Regulus fights the urge to advise him to stop that. It was perfectly natural, and probably healthy. Both Sirius and James had done it, after all. 

“He was my godfather,” Harry said after a moment. “I only met him in third year, after he escaped Azkaban.” Regulus blinked. Of course Sirius had ended up in Azkaban. Fitting, really. “He was your brother?”

Regulus gave Harry a side eye. He already knew that, there was no point to asking. “You’re not very good at being subtle.”

Harry looked down and smiled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll still answer.” And wasn’t that annoying, knowing that it was true. “Yes, Sirius was my brother. He was everything I wasn’t.” Regulus was silent a moment, looking back towards the house. “Your dad took him in after fifth year. Or was it sixth year? He wasn’t built for our house, anyway. Didn’t fit the way Mother wanted him to.” Harry nodded, as if he understood. He couldn’t, but Regulus appreciated the sentiment. “James was good for him, loathe as I was to admit it. He was so…” Regulus waved his hand, trying to encapsulate all that James was. “...bright. They were like two peas in a pod, it made me so jealous,” he laughed. “But it kept him alive. And that’s all I could ask for, really.” He turned to Harry, wanting the conversation to be over. Before he could open his mouth to tell Harry to bring the plates inside, he spoke.

“You remind me of him,” Harry said, contemplative. “Sometimes I forget, and then you walk into a room, and it hurts all over again.”

“We’ve always looked very similar, I suppose.”

Harry shook his head. “No. Well– yes, you do, but more than that. You have the same kind of… gritty optimism.” Regulus stared at him. “Although you’re far more cynical. But I think you’re funnier,” Harry continued and turned to look at him, smiling.

“I think you’ve got me confused with somebody else,” Regulus told him, matter of fact.

Harry outright laughed (laughed! The gall!). “You just don’t want to admit it. But you are, you’re hopeful.” He went to stand and made a considering face. “In a very odd, depressing way.”

“Oi.” Regulus whacked him on the shin. “Respect your elders.”

Harry kept laughing as he bobbed back to the kitchen, practically bouncing along. Regulus watched him go, some warm and bubbly feeling beginning to settle in his stomach. It was nice to have somebody around, he admitted to himself. Even if he was a cheeky, teenage bastard. 

And maybe… maybe he had been happier with Harry these past few weeks. He had rather liked the extra pair of hands, and the boy had a calm quality about him. He was unobtrusive. Regulus often wondered where he’d gotten that particular trait from, because neither James nor Lily could ever have been described as a wallflower.

Still, maybe it wasn’t so terrible sharing his space. He supposed it was doing them both some good.

Because there were other things he noticed, sometimes, in Harry. That he flinched when he shouldn’t, and made himself smaller than he was. But in the past few weeks he was apologising less, daring to spread out across the house. He was making dents in the sofa, and Regulus suspected he was working up the courage to touch the bookshelves. He was finally starting to move around the house like he was allowed to be there.

Regulus was almost proud. He’d never admit to it, of course, but he suspected Harry saw him as ‘safe,’ and that was… well, it was nice. To be somewhere safe, for somebody. He hadn’t known it could feel like this. Quietly content.

Regulus shivered, fighting off sentimentality. He shook his head and turned around, back to his plants. He had flowers to prune.

Chapter Text

The summer passes quickly. Eventually, an owl arrives for Harry while he’s out– Regulus had sent him down to the shops to pick up a few bits and bobs. Plus, he’s trying to gently nudge Harry into friendship with the shopkeeper’s son. He’s a few years older, but far closer in age to Harry than Regulus would be. It can’t be good for a teenage boy to be rattling around a quiet house with a middle aged man. Growing boys need things to do, surely. People to waste time with.

Regulus dries the letter and leaves it on the table for Harry to find. He heads back out to the shed, where they’ve collected planks of wood that he’s now trying to fashion into a fence. The July heat has dried it out enough, but Regulus really knows very little about wood cutting. He supposes he could whip it up with a spell, but then he’d be left twiddling his thumbs with nothing to do. Regulus has learnt from experience that it’s better to drag these tasks out.

Harry wanders out to him some time later, holding the letter. 

Regulus notes this, but waits for Harry to bring it up himself, starting small talk to try to ease him into it. “Get the flour and eggs?” He’s found that Harry can be skittish, sometimes won’t answer direct questions, gets spooked if Regulus brings things up without preamble. And if he’s holding the letter and coming out to Regulus, he probably wants to talk about it; it’s too important to wait until dinner, but he’s standing in that hesitant way of his that means he’s not sure he wants to have the conversation.

“Yeah, Midge kept trying to bring up you, actually.” Harry winked. “You know she’s all alone in that little cottage, said it’s been hard work since Charlie moved out.” He now had a teasing grin as he leant toward Regulus. “Said to tell you she could use an extra pair of hands,” he finished with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Regulus turned to him fully with his hands on his hips. “Said that, did she? With that same inflection?”

“Well,” Harry shrugged, “it’s what she meant.”

“She did not, don’t put words in her mouth,” Regulus scolded, but he was smiling slightly. He suspected Harry was trying to nudge friendships onto him the same way he was. “Charlie’s moved out?”

“Yeah, sometime last week. Off to university, had to move all his stuff into the dorms.”

“That’s nice,” Regulus said and turned back to the wood. He could tell Harry was gearing himself up to speak again. No need to pressure him.

“Actually, speaking of…” Regulus turned around slightly and tried to school his face into something neutral. A muggle woman had told him years ago that his face was ‘off-putting in vulnerable conversations.’ Whatever that meant. “I’ve gotten my school list for next year. Do you know any way for me to get to Diagon Alley from here?”

God above, was that it? Regulus had been positive it would have been a letter from Dumbledore or somebody, coming in and upsetting this fragile peace they’ve managed for themselves.

“What? Harry, of course.” Regulus tried to keep the incredulity out of his voice. He was not entirely sure it was working. “I’m not connected to the floo system but we can get the train.”

Harry looked relieved. “Because it’s alright if not, I can get books from the library and everything once I get there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Regulus turned around fully to his wood and picked up the hammer again. “We’ll go tomorrow to avoid the rush.”

He could tell Harry hadn’t left after that. Confirmation came after a few moments of silence when Harry hesitantly said, “But aren’t you…dead? You can’t really be seen wandering around with me in Diagon Alley.”

“I have my ways,” Regulus said, evasively. “Get started on that bread dough if you have nothing else to do.”

Harry’s bread that evening was abysmal, as usual. Although, in his defense, it rose a centimetre more than last time and tasted almost edible.

He also wasn’t done talking about the Diagon Alley trip, coming to bother Regulus while he was making dinner. “But, what exactly are your ways?”

“I’m not talking about it, I thought I made that clear. I’ll have a disguise.”

“Okay, but people will recognise me, and they’ll want to know who I’m with since they’ve never seen you before.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, nobody will recognise you. You’re just another student getting school supplies.”

“They will, I’m Harry Potter.” Harry was insistent. Regulus thought this was a little vain of him, in all honesty. “My face has been on newspaper front pages since I was one, I can’t go anywhere without recognition.” This made Regulus pause. 

“You can tell them I’m a bodyguard, if you’re so important. I’ll be mute.”

Harry laughed incredulously. “Bodyguard! Why the fuck would I have a bodyguard?!” Regulus looked at him sharply. “Sorry,” he added, quieter. “That just doesn’t make sense.”

The rice started boiling over on the stove. “Then come up with a better lie, Harry,” he snapped and rushed to turn the heat down.

“Fine.” There was a moment of sullen silence as Regulus fiddled with the extractor fan. “And you’ll probably want me to tell my friends the same thing then, will you?”

Regulus spun around. “Friends? You’re meeting up with other people?”

“Of course I am, I haven’t seen them all summer!” Harry exclaimed, voice rising.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? This compromises the whole plan, makes it so much harder to lay low.”

“Well, I didn’t know I’d have to lay low. You’re the one who’s always saying I should meet people my own age.”

“In this village, Harry,” Regulus tells him, annoyed. “Not in any situation that could compromise me.”

“If you didn’t want to be compromised you wouldn’t have taken me in in the first place,” Harry snaps. “You won’t even tell me how you plan to disguise yourself, how should I be expected to come up with a cover?”

“Polyjuice potion. I have some stored up.”

Harry scoffed. “Of who?”

Regulus waved his hand. “Just people, around. You can say I’m a chaperone or a caretaker. Uncle, if you’re so worried about what people will say.”

“So I’ll just lie to my friends.”

Regulus raises one eyebrow, face cold. “Well, you wouldn’t be telling them the truth now, would you?” he asks, voice low.

Harry looks at him in silence for a moment. “No, I don’t suppose I would.” He turns around to leave the kitchen. “Maybe it’s better if I go alone.” He almost sounds disappointed, but Regulus is probably imagining it.

Regulus lets him go and leaves his dinner outside his bedroom door. There’s a clean dish on the drainer in the morning.

“Ready?” Regulus asks after breakfast.

Harry looks up. He’d been avoiding Regulus’ eyes all morning, shrinking in on himself again like those first few weeks.

Regulus himself wasn’t much better. He regrets being so cold with the boy, but he doesn’t know how to explain himself. He didn’t mean it as a threat, not really, but he doesn’t know why he’s so put off by the idea of Harry telling his friends about him. What would he say? Would taking this tentative peace he’s found outside of this little village suddenly render it null? False? A figment of Regulus’ imagination?

“Ready for what?” Harry asks, snapping him back into the moment.

“Diagon Alley.”

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

Regulus smiles slightly and picks up his polyjuice potion. “Can’t leave you to fend off the adoring masses all alone,” he tries.

Harry smiles slightly, still hesitant. “I’ve cancelled my friends. Said I’d see them in school.”

“Oh.” Regulus looks at him, startled. “That’s a long wait though, isn’t it?”

Harry shrugs. “Only two weeks.”

“Still…” There’s a guilty churning in Regulus’ stomach as Harry goes to get his coat. Wasn’t he the one saying it wasn’t healthy for a teenage boy to float around here all the time? Harry should be out with his friends, dicking around. 

They take the train to London since Regulus got rid of his floo powder years ago. It’s a long ride, longer than Regulus remembers, but Harry is pleasant company.

“What are your friends’ names?” Regulus asks eventually.

Harry looks at him suspiciously. “Ron and Hermione.”

Regulus nods, not sure what else to say. “Like the greek myth?”

“The what?”

“Hermione?” Regulus raises his eyebrows. “Daughter of Helen of Troy? Menelaus?” Harry looks at him blankly. “You know, Troy? The Illiad?”

Harry just shrugs. “Heard of it.”

“Good God,” Regulus rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “What are they even teaching you at that school?”

“Oh, did Binns teach you greek mythology?” Harry snarks.

Smiling slightly, Regulus responds, “No, unfortunately. Had to learn that on my own time. I have a load of books in the living room.” He pauses. “If you’re interested.”

Another shrug. “Maybe.”

They lapse back into silence after that, but Harry seems to be watching him out of the corner of his eye. Patiently, Regulus waits.

Eventually: “Did you have friends at Hogwarts?”

Regulus whips around to face him, mouth open. Harry is only looking at him innocently, unrepentant. “What– of course I had friends. What daft fucker doesn’t?”

“Language.” Harry smirks. “What were they like?”

Regulus just stares at him for awhile. In truth, all of Harry’s nosy questions had brought those long buried memories of his Hogwarts days closer to the surface, and he knows he could reach out and grasp them if he wanted to.

Not that he was going to tell him that. “It’s been a long time, Harry,” he says, unable to keep the wistfulness out of his voice. “Not worth thinking about now.”

Harry leant back and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘not that long.’ Regulus chose to ignore it.

As they watched the somewhat dreary countryside flick past, Regulus allowed himself to wallow, only for a moment. It was always easier to remember in flashes– Pandora’s bright hair, Barty’s sharp laugh, Evan’s smirk, all the silver jewellry Dorcas had let him borrow before he’d acquired his own taste. A time he’d forced himself to forget. 

Remembering hurt slightly, like poking an old bruise. That time in his life had been far too painful to think about for a long time; the sore comparison between what he could have had and what he ended up with. But, after a few decades, Regulus was finally ready to admit that it had been good, what he’d had. Even if it was brief and overshadowed– he’d been happy, for a time.

He glanced back to Harry out of the corner of his eye. He hoped this ‘Ron and Hermione’ were like that for Harry.

***

Diagon Alley is just as bustling as it always has been. True to his word, Harry does get a few stares and a few nods, even one little boy asking for an autograph. Regulus watches, gobsmacked, as Harry gently signs his book and smiles at him. He’s patient, good-natured, and seems quite uncomfortable with all the attention. Not an echo of James’ ego to be seen.

They complete the list quickly, Harry happy to keep up with Regulus’ brisk pace throughout the shops. Diagon Alley made him uneasy with all those people, all those eyes. They only ran into trouble once when Harry turned a corner, and then promptly turned around again, pushing Regulus into an alleyway. 

“Malfoy,” Harry hisses. Regulus nods, since Harry has taken to telling him snippets about his classmates. Each little story is dripping with bias, Harry’s opinions scattered throughout.

Even if Regulus hadn’t known who Lucius was beforehand, he certainly would know now.

Finally, they drop into a pleasant-enough looking cafe, empty after the lunch rush. Regulus had heard Harry’s stomach growl particularly loudly and guiltily remembered that a growing boy needed three meals a day.

Harry objected whenever he said that, of course, claiming that he had ‘no more growing left to do.’ Obviously false, if the holes in his socks were anything to go by. Ugly things with his toes peeking out, instead of the usual wearing around the heels. Regulus included a range of socks with his next shop. Harry didn’t even try to pay him for them– an excellent development.

They got the train back, Harry snoring beside Regulus, to his utter mortification.

“Ah, isn’t he just a dear?” said the woman pushing the snack trolley as she stopped beside them. 

Regulus gave her a slightly bewildered smile. “This lummock? Can’t imagine who you’re talking about.”

“Enjoy it while you can,” she said with a laugh. “They’ll be grown and asking for loans in a heartbeat. Take an extra twix for him there, pet.” She smiled indulgently. “He’ll be gone before you know it.”

Regulus blinked after her as she creaked away with the trolley. That woman had just mistaken Harry for his son. 

Well, that was obviously ridiculous. Harry just happened to be staying with him, he was only a– 

Regulus paused and looked down. He was tucking the twix into Harry’s pocket, as carefully as he could to avoid waking the sleeping boy. Only a guest , his mind mocked.

Hm. Perhaps he needed a reevaluation.

***

The remaining two weeks seem to fly, and suddenly it’s August 30th and Regulus is checking that Harry’s packed everything. Hedwig is perched regally on top of the luggage pile by the door, ignoring Regulus mistrustful glares. He’d become somewhat suspicious of owls as the years went by– call it paranoia or some forgotten survival instinct. He didn’t like the way they looked at him. “And you’re sure you don’t want to take some of the honey?”

“It’ll only break in my bag,” Harry called back as he emerged from the kitchen, having insisted on shoving his sheets into the washing machine Regulus had bought years ago. He was willing to bet money Harry had forgotten to press ‘start’ again.

“If you say so,” Regulus said with a sigh.

Harry grinned at him. “Stop fretting, Regulus. We’ve double and triple checked everything. I haven’t left anything behind– your precious house is free of smelly teenager things.”

Harry had only recently started using his name in conversations. He kept tripping over it the first few times, unsure of himself, but seemed happy enough now. Regulus was inexplicably proud.

“I’ll keep finding those horrible holey socks of yours for months, probably,” Regulus told him, matter of fact, as he opened the door. “Go on, stick your trunks in the car.”

Harry looked confused. “Car? Are you dropping me to the station?”

“I’m dropping you to London,” Regulus corrected. “Making sure you get on the right train.”

“You really don’t need to,” Harry was saying as Regulus locked the garden gate. “I mean, honestly, I’ll make it alright by myself,” he continued as he shut the boot. “Where did you even get the car? Surely you can just leave me at the station here, I don’t want to cause any trouble,” he added as he slid into the passenger seat.

Regulus started the engine and wagged one finger at Harry. “These are the kind of excuses I’ve had enough of. I don’t care if you think you’re done with school, you are getting on that train and getting an education.”

“Who do you think I am?” Harry laughed. “Of course I’m getting on that train after being cooped up here with you all summer.”

“Oi.” Regulus hit the accelerator and the car lurched forwards. Harry grabbed the handle– frankly, dramatic. “It’s a road trip. It’ll be fun.”

“You haven’t left your house in twenty years, old man. I don’t even think you can drive.”

Regulus scowled. “I don’t want to hear it. Turn the radio on.”

Harry spent the rest of the drive explaining the intricacies of Oasis versus Blur, while Regulus asked him stupid questions to rile him up. ‘But what is a wonderwall?’ worked four different times. It was the happiest Regulus could remember being in a long, long time.

“You don’t have to come in, really,” Harry assured as they approached Platform 9. “I know anonymity matters, and everything.”

Regulus stroked the beard that he’d been growing out over the last two weeks for this very reason. “Don’t be daft, I’m seeing you off. Remember that I’m Roman Blanc, alright?”

Harry nodded, and they stepped through the wall. Well, ‘stepped’ was an understatement, perhaps. Regulus had forgotten how unpleasant the ordeal was.

As soon as they stepped onto the platform there was a squeal, and a redheaded woman followed by what looked like an army of redheaded children bustled over to them. “Harry! So good to see you, it was such a shame to miss you this summer.” She gathered Harry up into a tight hug and then stepped back to look him up and down. “And you’ve even managed to eat enough! Ron said you were staying with an uncle of yours– this is him?” She turned her sharp gaze to Regulus.

“Roman,” Regulus introduced himself and held out his hand.

The woman shook his hand. “Molly.” Then she was turning to one of (presumably) her children to smooth down his hair, no recognition in her face. Regulus breathed a sigh of relief. The boy wrinkled his nose and ducked out of her reach, slinging his arm around Harry in a quick hug.

“Blimey, you didn’t say he was french!” the boy commented, and turned to stare at Regulus. He shifted uncomfortably in the attention, hands clenched tightly behind his back.

Harry shook the boy (Ron, Regulus was guessing, by the looks of it) off and shifted his weight under his trunks. “Keeping the mystery alive,” he said drily.

Ron laughed and turned away from Regulus, eyes scanning the train. “We’d best get on, mate, Hermione said she’d save us a seat.” He was caught in one last hug by Molly, wriggling until she let him go.

Harry turned to him and stood, somewhat awkwardly. “Well, bye. Thanks for everything.”

“Goodbye, Harry,” Regulus said, raising a hand for a handshake. Just as Harry went to shake his hand, Regulus changed his mind and went for a hug, managing to clatter into Harry’s trunk.

Mortified, he stood back and clasped his hands in front of him. Harry shoved his hands into his pocket and nodded. “Yep. Bye.”

He turned and walked quickly to catch up with Ron. Before he could think better of it, Regulus called out “Harry!” He turned and caught his eye. “You’re welcome for Christmas. I’d be… happy to have you.”

Harry nodded, a tiny smile on his face, and waved before hopping into the carriage. 

Regulus walked back to the car feeling inexplicably smaller. He couldn’t shake the urge that he’d lost something. The car felt emptier and the drive back home felt longer. The house was quiet when he entered– almost foreign.

And it wasn’t that Harry had been very loud, nor had taken up a lot of space. He’d spent most of his time attempting the opposite, in fact. It was a very simple feeling of loss, like suddenly Regulus remembered just how small he was in the vastness of the world.

It followed him in the next few weeks, catching in all the little details that had gone unnoticed. The shockingly large collection of honey jars in the pantry, the (completely expected) socks found under the sofa, the second cup of tea he’d poured accidentally one morning. Even his habits had changed; remembering to eat breakfast and making sandwiches for lunch. Regulus forgot to do the chores Harry had taken over and found himself muttering again to fill the silences.

Maybe he was losing his mind.

Or maybe, he mused one morning as he watched the starlings flounce from tree to tree, unhappy with the branches laid out before them, maybe he was lonely. In all his years, he’d never quite allowed himself to admit that, but saying it aloud wouldn’t change the truth. He was lonely.

The next day, Regulus dropped into the cafe and asked Martha if she knew of anybody selling a cat. Within the week, Regulus had acquired himself a kitten. She was a tiny little dark thing, splotches of brown scattered throughout.

Regulus named her Cleopatra.

***

The first letter arrived a few weeks into September. It was full of little anecdotes from Harry’s first days back, with crossed out vitriol about ‘bloody Malfoy’. It was the end, though, that Regulus found himself rereading with a soft smile. In his inelegant scrawl Harry had written:

And I wanted to thank you for letting me stay with you this summer. I really appreciated the time and space you allowed me to have.

Also, I took a loaf of bread on my way out the door when you weren’t looking. Sorry. That being said, it looked like it was ready to go out the door, with your fancy serviettes wrapped around it. I’ve included them in the envelope for you.

If you really meant what you said about having me back for Christmas, I’d love to. Hermione is quite put out that she missed you, says she should have ‘vetted you,’ whatever that means. You’ll have to meet the two of them, properly.

I think you’d like my friend Luna, too. She seems to know a lot about all the little hobbies you busy yourself with. She claims to make a fantastic sourdough.

I’ll be going now, don’t be too mean to Hedwig. Give her a biscuit or something, at least. She can sense your fear.

All the best,

Harry

Regulus tucked the letter very carefully into a drawer in his nightstand, where it would remain, along with all the others, for years to come. Then, he went downstairs and dutifully fed Hedwig a biscuit, before telling her that she could go out and hunt a few mice while he wrote his response. They had come to an understanding, he thought.

After he’d sent her off with the response letter, he fiddled around with the radio until it crackled to life, stuttering through some obnoxious song involving streets and back boys.

Regulus went out to the garden with a bounce in his step, just as the sun managed to peek through the clouds and light up his garden. Harry was coming home for Christmas.

[fin.]