Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The lemon is a fruit that grows on small evergreen trees from the flowering plant family Rutaceae, native to Asia, mainly northeastern India. Lemon juice boasts a long tradition of use as an astringent, diaphoretic, diuretic, gargle, lotion, and tonic. It’s also rumored to counter feelings of fatigue, lack of focus, and mood swings, with only one fundamental flaw: it has a horrible taste.

Back then, James didn’t know any of this (realistically, he still doesn’t); he just knew that his mother made a lemon pie that was out of this world, which is why he was devastated (in the way children lose pieces of their heart over the smallest things) when he asked his mother to make it, and Effie informed him they were out of lemons.

“But Mom! I want the pie now!” he exclaimed whiningly, stamping his foot firmly on the chair he was standing on, making a low and worrying thud on the already old wood.

Euphemia, mother of the little rascal, was a chubby and beautiful woman. She had dark skin, because of long work hours spent every day under the burning sun, round, deep brown eyes and brunette hair that would frame her face exquisitely if she didn’t perpetually put it up in a bun. But really, her best feature was the genuine kindness that radiated off of her in waves. James adored her; there was a genuine understanding between them, and Euphemia had always encouraged her son to express his emotions, for better or worse. This is why James was always so animated. When he was happy, he shouted. When he was sad, he shouted. When he was angry, he also shouted. And when he was frustrated because there were no lemons for the pie, he stomped his feet on the chair.

“Figlio mio, I know you do, but it’s Sunday, and the market in town is closed. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

With a pout, and a temporarily broken little heart, James walked out of the house, in some sort of childish protest. If she’s not making the pie, then she doesn’t deserve to have me around which wasn’t true, he knew that very well. He would give his mommy the world if he could. But still, he left said mommy peeling onions alone in the small kitchenette of their dining room, which, admittedly, is for the best in this case, since he was of no use whatsoever.

He stopped after a few steps, turning to his right, where Villa Black loomed over their small house.
It hadn’t been called that before, because it hadn’t always existed. Things only get names once they exist: something young James had learned from that enormous house.

Black Manor was three floors high, with a fully white exterior (which clashed with the owners’ name, even young James had noticed that) except for the doors and windows, which were indeed black. Every detail reflected a simple, yet majestic elegance.

It was so big that when the construction workers finally finished, and James had seen the completed product, he expected an entire soccer team to move in. But as it turned out, he wasn’t going to live every child’s dream, and the owner was not, in fact, Cristiano Ronaldo.

James had only caught a glimpse of the owners a few weeks prior. They arrived in a black car, one of those he’d only seen in American movies: long and shiny. Out of it stepped only four people, a beautiful mom, a stern dad, and two, almost identical children (though one was slightly taller, and probably older, than the other).

He hadn’t had the chance to talk to them yet (but he sure will), as those kids always seemed to have a lot to do, he reckoned. They did anything but play, which was James’s favorite activity, especially in summer. You can forget how exaggeratedly hot everything is if you think very little about it.

Those kids did strange things though, like balancing books on their heads and guessing the names of differently shaped kitchen utensils. It couldn’t be a game to them, they didn’t seem very happy doing it, James noted from the small window of his kitchenette, adjacent to what looked like a living room window in Black Manor. The one he used to spy on the new, and only, neighbors.

Just as James stood there, his feet planted on the ground outside his own front door breathing in the thick air of mid June and thinking about those mysterious kids, one of them, the younger one, he recognized, came out of the manor and sat on the steps between two tall, white Doric columns that preceded the door. James saw the boy sigh and lower his head onto his knees, he looked either sad, or perhaps angry.

James decided to finally take this chance to talk to him. But strangely enough, for the first time in his life, he felt shy.

So, he opted for more of a… stealthy approach.

He crept up slowly to a plant in their garden, hiding behind it to watch the boy, at least until he mustered the courage to talk to him; however, in doing so, James noticed that this little plant decorating Villa Black’s garden was actually a citrus lemon tree, which made his face and heart lit up instantly, soon forgetting about meeting the boy on the stairs.

James began stuffing the small pockets of his shorts, one lemon in each. Then he lifted his shirt and folded it forward, creating a sort of pouch, which he filled with more lemons. Oh, he could already taste the sweet cream of lemons in his mou—

“Hey! What are you doing?”

James looked up to find the boy standing before him, clearly having left the steps. He was a bit shorter than James, very pale (no wonder, he never goes outside), but he had such large, blue eyes that James thought…

“Your mom must have cut holes in the sky to give you those eyes.”

A very confused pause passed between them. And then.

“Huh?! What… what does that mean?” The boy asked, baffled by James’ nonsense. He then looked down, noticing first the lemons in James’s shirt, and next the lack of said lemons on the little tree in his garden. For a moment, there was complete silence. Only the wind swooshing around and faraway birdies singing.

Then the boy took a deep breath, as James watched him closely.

“MOM, SOMEONE IS STEAL—” James immediately lunged forward, covering his mouth with a hand, but in doing so, he dropped all the lemons, except for the ones in his pockets.

“Hey! Why are you snitching on me?!” James whispered frantically. The boy tried to respond, but his voice was muffled by James’s rough, dirty hand.

“Because you’re stealing our lemons,” said the raven-haired boy, matter-of-factly, with a slightly calmer tone when James trusted him enough to let go.

“Regulus! What’s all this noise?” came a voice from afar. James looked up, squinting towards the door of the Villa, where stood the elegant, beautiful (but very stern looking) lady who had gotten out of the car weeks earlier, and was now addressing her son. “Come inside. Your brother finished his piano lesson; it’s your turn now.”

Regulus.
What a strange little name. Seems perfect somehow. Fitting for a strange little boy.

She said nothing more, didn’t even wait for Regulus to follow her. She just went back inside, after merely looking disapprovingly at the two boys. To James, she seemed like a Disney villain, but that wasn’t a nice thing to say about someone’s mom, he supposed.

“Your mom seems… strict.”

“She is.”

“Hm… well, see you around, Reg?”

“My name isn’t Reg.”

“Alright, Reg.”

“Hey! Give me back the lemons!”

But James was already running away, with his skinny, fragile, wobbly legs, clutching the two lemons he’d managed to grab and the ones still in his pockets.

[…]

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and the cicadas were singing in the background as James enjoyed his mother’s lemon pie, to which he had conveniently not mentioned the details about where he got the main ingredient from.

“I’m glad you like it, Jamie,” Effie said, with the sweet smile that set her apart from all the other mothers, her hands busy washing the utensils used for the recipe, “Thanks for helping me make it.”

Poor James didn’t even have time to reply when there came a couple of weak little knocks at the door; the dining table was only a few steps from it.

Effie stood up to open it, looking down with curiosity and surprise when she found the two children from the house next door at her doorstep.

“Oh… good evening,” began the woman, voice sweet and inviting.

“Reggie said—” the boy started, before realizing how rude he sounded, that’s not how his mother raised him; “excuse me, good evening.” Then again, “Reggie said that the boy who lives here stole some of our lemons.”

She observed the smaller boy hide now completely behind his brother, probably being the Reggie in question, and probably afraid of facing the consequences of speaking up.
Euphemia turned to her son with a disapproving nod that clashed with her perpetually gentle gaze, especially when directed at her son. “Jamie, is that true?”

James shook his head quickly, his cheeks stuffed with lemon pie. His mother instantly recognized the lie. Again, she had a deep bond with her son, which also meant she was a living lie detector, much to James’ misfortune.

Euphemia sighed, visibly softened by the scene. She was a weak, weak woman when it came to her child. How could she not be? He was adorable.
She knelt down to the two boys’ height, showing them a smile just as warm.

“I apologize for my son’s behavior. May I make it up to you by offering you a piece of the pie we made with those lemons?” she suggested.

The two pale little faces lit up, and before Euphemia could even make room for them to come in, the older boy grabbed his brother’s hand and pulled him inside the house, towards the table.

They looked around in awe and curiosity for a few moments, studying their surroundings. That house felt so familiar and warm, yet it lacked all the fancy (and quite unnecessary) cold grandeur that haunted their own.

“Ciao, my name’s James,” James introduced himself with a beaming smile, extending a hand smeared with lemon cream to the boy now sitting beside him.

Without missing a beat, Sirius grabbed it firmly, returning the smile. “I’m Sirius, and this is Reggie, my brother.”

James leaned over slightly to look at Regulus with a mischievous grin. “Hi, Reggie.”

Regulus immediately pouted, hiding against his brother’s shoulder. James scoffed, with a triumphant look on his face.

In no time, all three boys were digging into Euphemia’s pie, laughing and chatting together, even Regulus (who seemed to be reluctant of everything, like adults) visibly relaxing thanks to James and Sirius’s constant, contagious chatter. They bonded quickly in only a few minutes.

“Say, ‘hmm delicious!’” Three little heads whipped toward the doorway, where Euphemia held an old camera in front of her face, though it wasn’t big enough to hide the delighted expression of a mother witnessing a heartwarming scene.

James and Sirius chimed together, “Hmm delicious!” holding their dessert forks high, while Regulus clung to his brother’s arm with both hands, but unlike the other two boys, his were clean.

[…]

That photo stayed pinned next to James’s bedroom window for twelve years, attached to a small corkboard with a red pushpin.

Chapter Text

On mornings like this one, James deeply regrets moving his bed to the opposite wall from the window, because when the sun rises on the horizon, the first thing it touches passing through the glass of the circled glass is his eyelids, slapping him awake with a strip of golden light cutting straight across his closed lids, merciless, as if the whole sky had decided he had slept enough.

He groans sleepily, turning his head to the other side, but God knows how light his sleep has always been— there is no use; one small disruption and he is fully awake. So, after one minute of mourning the few more hours of sleep he could have gotten had his bed been better positioned, he sits up, stretching his arms above his head.

James always takes his time when he wakes up. His mother once observed that the only time of the day he wasn’t rushing and concerningly hyperactive was in the morning. He has this sort of little ritual of calmness: wake up, wash up, get dressed, eat. After that? He is a whole 7-year-old after five Santal₁ juice boxes for the rest of the day.

“Morning, ma’,” James says as he enters the kitchenette, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.
Euphemia is wearing one of her usual homely dresses, long and ordinary; it’s a deep purple with a few little red flowers here and there.

“Is that a new dress?” James asks, pouring himself some coffee into a mug before sitting down beside her. Euphemia is topping and tailing green beans on the wooden dining table, seemingly having already eaten (a morning person, like mother, like son). He finds himself basking in the unusual mix of smells of green beans and black coffee.

“Yes, do you like it?”

“You look like a nonna,₂ ma’,” he informs her, holding back a chuckle as she side-eyes him, apparently not happy with the comment.

“Well, I am not young anymore. I’m impatiently waiting to actually be a nonna.”

James doesn’t hold back the chuckle this time. “I’m not making you wait too long, I promise. Besides, I’m too young right now; I’d be an incapable father.”

Euphemia would argue that 19 years is not too young, by her family’s standards, but she is not actually trying to pressure her son into fatherhood.

So they just sit like that. That’s where Euphemia and James’ bond starts, in the lazy slowness of the morning— no words are needed; they listen to the birds chirping together, James watches her trained hands cutting whatever vegetable they are having for lunch, and Euphemia glances over at him every once in a while to make sure he is eating enough before starting his day.

And then, abruptly, James is ready to just go.

“I’m going to see Remus; I’ll take the bike.”

He kisses her cheek one last time before rushing to the door, where he quickly shoves on his worn out shoes and gets out of the house— most times, slamming the door behind him out of enthusiasm.

The bike ride from James’ house to Remus’ farm is approximately 40 minutes (30 for James’ fast legs) on sunny days, when the dirt road is not muddy.

When he gets there, he is sweaty and a little out of breath; it’s the start of summer, so the air is becoming mercilessly hot, especially in their region.
When he arrives at the farmhouse, James doesn’t knock— he never does. Of course not; that shit’s for visitors. Remus is his best friend.

“OH DARLING! GUESS WHO IS BACK FROM—”

Remus swings the door open, looking at him unimpressed. James is a creature of habit, and Remus is a creature who finds his habits terribly idiotic. “Jail?”

“Oh darling,” he continues, still attempting a raspy, and deeply rough voice. “You bailed me out, remember?”

Remus smiles a little, because, well, it’s James— his stupid best friend. He opens the door some more, stepping aside.

“Come in; Pete is coming over too. You know, at least he has good manners; he texts me beforehand.”

“Pft. Who needs good manners when one has Remus Lupin’s heart wrapped around their fingers?”

[…]

This might actually be Regulus’ personal inferno.

They have been stuck driving on the same endless road for hours now; there are no road signs, no people, no trace of civilization for kilometers, and there are no clouds in the sky, which means the sun is hitting directly on top of the car roof, which also means that it’s hot as fuck. To top it all off, the leather of the seats is also getting warmer by the second.

“Can’t you turn on the AC?” Regulus snaps after a while.

Sirius sighs. “It’s broken. Sorry.”

Regulus huffs, more out of frustration than annoyance. Of course it’s broken; he is driving an old beater, a Fiat Ritmo Abarth— who even owns one of these anymore? Well, his brother, apparently.

He turns his head to stare out of the window as he has done until now, trying to distract himself from the uncomfortable feeling of sweat slowly forming on his forehead. At least the wind is aggressive enough to dry it up almost instantly.

They have been in the car for two whole hours now; he doesn’t remember the way to Nisa₃ ever being this long, but he was a child then. It’s been too long since they went there for him to trust his memory of it.
Also, he is probably uncomfortable because of the entire situation. Let’s just say that child Regulus did not have to deal with the presence of a brother who showed up at his house only the night before, asking him (more like begging, to be honest) to come with him to their childhood summer house to restore their relationship after disappearing and going no contact with their family for a year.

Regulus groans at the thought of his parents waking up to find he had snuck out (for a whole summer). He is kind of glad that his phone is dead right now; he can deal with his mother later, after a shower, maybe in the evening, when it’s a little cooler and he is alone.

The silence between them is weird, though. Not awkward, because Regulus has never been chatty, and Sirius himself sometimes liked the quiet moments; it just… feels weird. It feels like hundreds of words are hanging inside the car, in the silence, and, well, of course they are. Regulus wants to tell him to fuck off; he wants to ask him where he has been, why he left his little brother behind, why he couldn’t wait just a little fucking longer so they could leave together. He wants to tell him how much it hurt him and how angry he is at times.

Did you start missing me only recently? No, fuck that.

“How are things going at school?” Sirius asks abruptly, breaking the intense silence— dissipating the tension just a little.

“I passed all my exams, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answers a little bitterly, because Sirius shouldn’t care and shouldn’t ask; it’s a little late for the whole caring, older brother act.

“I had no doubt about that.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“I meant with your friends,” he clarifies, a lot less aggressive than usual. By now, when Regulus starts getting bitchy, Sirius bites back, but he is probably on edge, wanting to make things right. As he should.

“They are fine. Barty got suspended only twice this year.”

“He is improving,” Sirius says, sounding mildly impressed. Regulus knows he isn’t; he doesn’t care.

“And Evan passed his exams too. Barely. But he did.”

“Good, that’s good.”

They fall into silence again. Small talk never works with those who are used to big talks.

A few minutes later, Regulus is sound asleep, lulled by the rhythm and tender sound of the song Sirius is listening to, Reunited by Peaches & Herb. His talent to fall asleep anywhere is one of his very few blessings. He dreams; he doesn’t remember what exactly, he just knows that he wakes up with his heart begging for mercy. Like always. He has the impression that only in his dreams does he understand himself.

“We’ve arrived, come on,” Sirius, the one who shook him awake, tells him, grabbing the bag that was at Regulus’ feet.

The younger brother sighs, getting out of the car and going to grab his backpack— the only thing he was able to hurriedly fill with clothes and other necessities with such short notice and little time to do so.

Regulus walks to the front of the house, since Sirius decided to park the car on the left side of it for some reason.

He looks up at Villa Black standing magnificently in front of him. Even though it’s not as big as he remembers, it’s still quite opulent. He notices the grass in front of the steps has been trimmed recently; he wonders if his brother told the housekeeper about their arrival. He then sees the small lemon trees near the polished mailbox where he and his brother used to put secret little notes for each other, because their mother never looked at it.

They go inside, separating as they get to the second floor, since both know where their respective bedrooms are. Regulus gets to his own and drops the backpack on the bed. He looks around to find it clean, tidy, and soulless, like everything their parents owned. Like everything in Regulus’ life has always looked.

“Reg.”

He turns around to find his brother standing at the doorway, a tired look on his face, which is understandable; he had been driving for almost eight hours.

“I’m gonna go talk to the housekeeper. Inform her we are here and whatnot, you know?”

Regulus simply nods. “I stopped at an autogrill₄ while you were sleeping; I bought sandwiches and candies. That will be our dinner for tonight. I’m gonna go grocery shopping tomorrow morning.”

Regulus nods again. Sirius sighs.

This is already going very well.

“See you later.”

Regulus lies down on his bed, facing the ceiling, and something inside him moves. Well, technically it doesn’t; no organ of his should be moving around inside his body, but as much as the situation is weird and slightly uncomfortable, it’s… nice. He likes Nisa, always has, and Sirius is his brother, and this is basically a vacation, right? He feels… anxious and good at the same time. That’s what’s moving inside him. That being said, he can feel the layers of hundreds of thoughts and feelings in his subconscious that he is not dealing with, and hopefully won’t for a while. The small part he is aware of is already giving him an aneurysm. He decides that he shouldn’t be overthinking on an empty stomach, so he goes downstairs to eat.

Sirius comes back twenty minutes later. Regulus finishes eating from the other side of the 3-meter polished glass table, so he stands up, but as he is leaving the dining room, Sirius stops him.

“Reg?”

“What?” he asks, turning only his head back, the rest of his body ready to flee.

“I’m glad you came.”

Sirius always hits him in the weakest points. That’s the dangerous part of having a brother, of having a soul connected to yours. They know— they always know.

[…]

James came back around noon so he could eat with his mother and his friends, because Remus and Peter never passed up the opportunity to eat Euphemia’s delicious food. That woman should be a chef, Peter often says at the dining table, to please her and because it’s true, which always earns a kiss on his cheek and an eye roll from James, the ever-jealous man.

They stayed in James’ room all afternoon, chatting and drinking soda. Euphemia is glad they aren’t big fans of drinking for no particular reason.

Around dinner time, Remus and Peter decide to go home, but as the latter is standing near James’ window, he freezes for a moment.

“James?” he asks, looking towards Villa Black.

“What?”

“I think they came back.”

James looks at his friend, confused, until realization hits him a second later. He stands up, rushing to the window himself to take a look, and as it turns out, the light of one of the bedrooms is on. James can see from there that there is a bed and a bedside table inside, but no one can be seen in it. He doesn’t really know what he is feeling; it’s just a house, it’s just a light that has been off for years.

“Weren’t they gone for like nine years?” Remus asks from behind them, much more uninterested in the whole ordeal.

“Yeah,” James offers an answer distractedly, staring at the corner of the room, expecting someone to enter at any second.

“Well, whatever,” Peter says, fully standing now and going to get his jacket. “See you soon.”

They exit the room and James doesn’t even bother waving at them, too focused on the view from his window.

He wonders if the Villa was sold. There is no fancy car in front of it. How could he not notice someone had arrived? Are most of them gone for the evening? Are the brothers there? He has too many questions for someone who knew those people for such a short amount of time.

Three summers, to be exact. Three summers that tormented his childhood and teenage years.

He remembers clearly the September of the first summer they didn’t show up— James was distraught.
He always wondered if the skinny evil woman didn’t come back with the boys because James distracted them too much, because he taught them cuss words and convinced them to play in the mud.

After a few years, when he started accepting the fact he wasn’t going to see them again, he also came to the realization that he could not be such a bother to a rich family on such a large scale, especially not by having only three months a year to corrupt their children.

He runs downstairs, to the only person who has all the answers. “Mom!” James exclaims with urgency. He finds Euphemia washing the dishes. She looks up at her son, a little alarmed.

“What is it, Jamie?”

“The Blacks, the owners of the Villa: are they back?” he asks expectantly.

“Yeah.”

James’ heart skips a beat. Anticipation. He is feeling anticipation.

Chapter Text

Regulus wakes up early, way too damn early for his own liking, but it is quite difficult for a city boy to adjust to the countryside and its sounds, he realizes.
One would presume that the city is just as loud, if not more, with the constant cacophony of people and cars, but a filthy rich city boy doesn’t necessarily have to worry about that. His parents’ penthouse, for example, is way too high up for the city to disrupt his peace.

Now, the bird sitting on the threshold of his bedroom window, chirping away his sleep, accompanied by the orchestra of crickets somewhere in the proximity of the house, are way too close not to bother him.
Regulus sits up in his bed with a sigh, immediately staring daggers at the incriminating pettirosso who woke him as soon as he spots it.

The staring contest lasts all of five seconds before Regulus decides to stand up and take a shower to wake up fully and wash away the disgusting sweat caused by the heat (and the lack of air conditioning).

He doesn’t try too hard to be quiet, knowing that Sirius can’t be woken up before eleven in the morning, no bombs nor hurricanes get him to open his eyes this early. He has been like this his whole life, so he doesn’t expect him to have changed in the year they have been apart.

Regulus doesn’t like it when his brain reminds him of that. He doesn’t like it when it thinks, in general. Somehow, it has been having difficulties forming any positive thought ever since he turned fourteen. His best friend Barty told him it’s normal, and that this condition is commonly referred to as “adolescence”.

After washing up and changing his clothes into something more comfortable and breezy, he sits at the dining table, where he eats a pack of M&M’s for breakfast, staring outside the window on the right side of the house, where he can clearly see the path from which they arrived yesterday.

One thing he loved about that house, as a child, was all the sunlight filtering through the windows. They used to live in a mansion too back in the city, at the time, one with very few apertures and a Victorian style that made his days constantly feel dull and numbing. He would have died of boredom without his brother there, pulling pranks on the babysitters, laughing a little too loudly, and causing ruckus after ruckus. That’s why whenever they stayed at Nisa for the summer, where there is no dark corner in the house, where the wind can get in to raffle your hair every now and then, and the sunlight kisses your cheek when you pass a window (depending on the time), Regulus felt like he was in heaven.

A couple of sudden knocks at the door interrupt his train of thoughts and memories. He chews slowly, looking at the door with his eyebrows furrowed— who could be knocking at a (former) abandoned house this early in the morning?

The knocking happens again, so Regulus stands up and decides to see for himself. He opens the door to find a chubby woman and, standing behind her, a— boy? The lemon boy. God, he doesn’t even remember his name but he remembers his stealing habits, a true example of Regulus Black’s bitterness. To be fair, he also remembers a lot of other instances where they interacted and no lemons were involved.

“Good morning, Mr Black. I’m Euphemia, I don’t know if you remember me—“ she starts, a soft smile on her face. She is holding a bucket of water in one hand and a cleaning product in the other.

“I do.” Regulus interrupts, clearing his throat.

She smiles a little more, “That’s good to hear, it was a nice surprise to see you two back.”

Regulus nods silently, looking down at her.

“Well, Sirius asked me to come and clean the house this morning. Since I wasn’t expecting you, the last time I did it was a few weeks ago, you’ll have to forgive me.”

Regulus nods again, but adds for good measure, “It’s okay.”

“Where is he? If I may ask.”

“In his bedroom, he is asleep.”

“Oh, that’s fine. We’ll be quiet, and I’ll leave the second floor as the last one to clean, so he has time to wake up.”

Regulus nods again, because really, what is he supposed to say? Euphemia looks up at him expectantly, and so does the boy behind her, even though calling him “boy” feels wrong with his tall and slightly broad appearance, not to mention the little stubble on his chin, in a Flynn Rider style. The grin he sports also reminds him of the Disney thief.

“Oh, right. Come in.” He offers, stepping aside immediately, and they both enter the house, but the boy pointedly looks at him— only then Regulus notices he is also carrying a bucket and a couple more of cleaning products.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in the studio.” Regulus informs the woman, trying to have as little interaction with the other boy as possible, for some reason.

He goes upstairs, to the third floor, where his father’s studio is. He grabs his phone from his pocket to find several missed calls from his mother, at which he sighs. He has been avoiding this, but he guesses he should talk to her before she calls the police and files a report for a missing person.

He takes a deep breath, then presses the call button.

“Ma-”

“REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK, T’ES FOU OU QUOI?!” Regulus hisses, holding his phone away from his ear for a second.

“Je peux expliquer.”

“Je veux pas d’explications! Tu rentres à la maison, immédiatement, c’est clair?”

After a few beats of silence, in which Regulus counts his mother’s harsh breaths, he then answers cautiously, and quietly, “J’peux pas, maman.”

“Et pourquoi ça? Parle!”

“Je suis avec Sirius. On est à Nisa.”

“Non.” She says immediately.

“Maman.”

“Non! J’ai dit non! On vient te chercher.”

“Maman, Je rentre pas maintenant. On va bien, j’ai pris mes livres, j’ai aucune raison de rentrer et j’en ai pas envie, pas tout de suite en tout cas.” He says more firmly, maybe a little desperately, he knows because his mother stills on the other side of the call. Many seconds of silence pass between them, and he briefly feels like he is in a car with Sirius, except that this call will not last 7 hours. She knows Regulus is pleading. Regulus knows he is pleading, too. They both don’t know what to do with that.

After God knows how long, she speaks again, seething.

“Je ne vais pas perdre un autre fils à cause de cet imbécile. Tu as des responsabilités ici, un avenir à construire. Pour septembre, je veux que tu sois dans cette maison, sinon je viens te chercher moi-même et je te ramène de force.” She says finally, hanging up before Regulus could even process what was said. Well, that’s all he will get for now, which is a lot more than what he had expected.

[ . . . ]

James doesn’t know what he expected, honestly. He huffs, scrubbing the inside of the empty fridge of Villa Black, getting lost in his thoughts.

Regulus grew up the way he presumed, the way James imagined he would. He is still very pale and skinny, his facial features are still delicate and gentle (but a little more refined), in contrast to his gaze that had become icier, colder; but that was to be expected, he grew up, like we all do. James’ own gaze is probably different too.

His hair is a little curlier, probably a few inches longer than the last time James saw it. He carries himself gracefully, like he is unable to do otherwise. James can’t imagine him ever being any other way— again, even as a child, Regulus was a little prince. Even his voice, something he can’t change to his own liking, is velvety, silky, but he speaks with determination nonetheless; it makes you want to lay your head somewhere and ask him to tell you a story, close your eyes and let every pitch caress your ears.

He wonders how much Sirius changed, if at all.

James finishes cleaning the fridge, as his mother returns to the house— she had gone to get more cleaning products and tools. They are using all the supplies they have at home, so they should probably get some more in the next few days, especially if she planned to clean the house for the entirety of the Blacks’ stay.

He wonders how long that will be. Are they back for the whole summer like old times or are they here for a quick visit? He would have asked if Regulus had the decency to at least talk to him. But no, all he did was glance at him a couple of times, unphased, and discuss with his mother about the cleaning. It’s not like James is mad, he just feels… a little disappointed. He had waited years for the brothers to come back, to play with them, to be a pillar of their routine, to be the heart and the core of their lives. He doesn’t expect them to have felt the same, especially after so many years, but he would have liked something more than a glance.

“Jamie?” Euphemia calls from the living room, where James can hear her sweeping the floor.

“Yes?”

“Go ask Regulus if they know how long their stay will be, I need to know how thoroughly I’ll have to clean every week and which products I’ll be using. Oh, also, ask him if they need any home cooking services, I wouldn’t be mad if I had to cook for a few more heads.”

James smiled. He thinks, at times, that he and his mother have some sort of special connection that most children lack with their parents. Either that or Euphemia could simply read his mind, which he wouldn’t put past her, many times she had said just the perfect thing only she could come up with, and only he could need to hear it in that way.

“‘Course mom, I’m going.” He assures as he walks towards the stairs.

When he gets to the third floor, he has to look around for a second to identify the studio. Fortunately, there is only one door open, so he has no chance to get it wrong.

James smiles, resting his side to the frame of the door, crossing his arms to his chest.

“Hi Reggie.”

Regulus is sitting in the black leather chair of the work desk. He looks like that’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, the mahogany of the work desk and the library behind him suits his whole persona.

“Can I help you?” He asks. Again, with indifference. James’ smile cracks a little.

“Mom’s asking how long you’re staying and if you need her to cook for you while she’s at it.”

Regulus looks down for a second, before shrugging and assessing him again.

“I’m not sure. Sirius planned the whole thing. But we are probably leaving in early September. And yes, tell her we do need it, we will give extra compensation for the additional service, of course.”

“Alright.”

A second pass. Then two. Then a few more.

“Are you not going to tell her?” Regulus breaks the silence, looking confused.

“I will, but not right now.” James responds, still looking at Regulus with that little smile that is losing its spark due to the other boy’s demeanor.

“Well… shouldn’t you leave me alone anyways?”

His smile drops, and his heart sinks a little. What the fuck? Why is Regulus being like that? Obviously he had a mean streak even as a child, but back then it was kind of cute and especially not cold. It feels like James is the only one in the room talking to an old friend, while Regulus is just talking with a stranger whom he has never seen before.

“I don’t work for you.” James states, calmly, but his face gives away how offended he is.

Regulus raises an eyebrow at him, but James knows he’s right— he helps his mother clean sometimes, but in the contract she signed, his name is nowhere to be found.

“No, you don’t. Which means you have even less reasons to be here right now.” Regulus answers.

James can’t believe it. It’s like a statue of immense value is slowly crumbling at his feet. His silly dreams of being friends with Regulus and talking to him again are slowly distorting in his mind, his heart is beating a little fast, and with every pump of blood it pushes out a different memory he had preciously encapsulated of that little boy with blue eyes.

“You’re a proper asshole.” James retorts back.

“So I’ve been told.” Regulus replies, without missing a beat, with a glint in his eyes that James can only recognize as something similar to pleased, which throws James off a little bit, because who would be pleased to know they are “a proper asshole”. Regulus Black, apparently.

“Wait, what?”

“Wait, what?” Regulus mocks him, “I am an asshole, I can’t imagine why you would think differently. You don’t even know me.” Regulus observes, matter of factly, but James is still thrown off by this whole normalization of inconsiderate behavior. He is speechless.

“Why are you staring? Do you want an autograph or something? I’ll do fan service later, I told you to leave already.”

And James does, because he has nothing nice to say, or think, for that matter. He goes down the stairs almost as if he were in shock, which, to be fair, he probably is. Regulus Black is an experience, and James only found out about it today.

[ . . . ]

“Well, that was harsh.” Evan comments the second Regulus unmutes him on the call, but he can hear the smirk on his voice, the same way he can hear Barty laughing in the background, seemingly not near Evan.

“You know he can do much worse than that, love. Looks like he was holding back to me.” Barty adds to the conversation, still away from the phone.

Regulus rolls his eyes, “He entered my father’s studio calling me Reggie like we were best mates. I mean, what was I supposed to say? Besides, his smirk really annoyed me. Actually, I’d say it was creepy. God, he stressed me out in my own house.”

“Well anyways,” Evan cuts in quickly, “how is the whole big brother restoration going?”

But before Regulus could answer, Barty also adds (because of course he does, he hates Sirius more than anyone else), “I can’t believe you actually snuck out to stay with the bastard in the middle of nowhere for a whole summer. That’s why we can never leave you alone. If we had been awake we would have successfully deinfluenced you from going.” Which earns him a very enthusiastic eye roll from Regulus.

“I don’t know, it’s our first day here and he is still blissfully sleeping in his bed.” He answers Evan’s question first. “And fuck you, Barty. I like it here.”

“Yeah sure, I bet he didn't even hire a private chef.”

“I don’t think he would have had the money anyways. He drives a fucking Fiat Ritmo Abarth now.”

“What?! Who even owns one of those anymore?” Evan comments, horrified.

“That’s what I said!” Regulus shouts, feeling understood and just as much horrified. “I mean, he has never been the brightest, I’ll give him that, but what’s the point of running away if you’re going to live a miserable life anyways?”

“He is just stupid.” Evan agrees, munching on something. A few seconds pass before Barty has to make his presence known again.

“Anyways, don’t be too mean to the country boy, maybe you can get one to finally deflower you once and for all. What happens in Nisa stays in Nisa you kno—” Regulus hangs up and looks up to the ceiling, crossing his arms to his chest.

Very few seconds pass before the phone rings again.

“I’m sorry, okay? I was joking, it was just a joke.” Barty says, through laughter.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Evan dismisses his lie. “Look, just— don’t let Sirius get to your head. He has no right being all dramatic and shit now. If you feel good around him again and are ready to forgive him, do so, be happy. But don’t start doing shit just because he has a way into your heart.”

Sometimes, Regulus wonders if Barty is the problem. On his own, Evan seems to be very self actualized and wise at times, but when he spends too much time with his boyfriend, he becomes a total idiot.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

“Reg.”

Regulus looks up again, towards the door, to find his brother still in his pajamas, standing on the threshold of the door. Regulus sighs quietly, “I’ll call you guys later.” Then he hangs up.

“Sorry, I think I overslept a little.” Sirius starts, with a lazy smile. “I was thinking of going grocery shopping back in town. Do you wanna tag along?”

Regulus usually wouldn’t go, to be honest, he doesn’t even want to now— it’s just fucking groceries and Sirius can handle that on his own, but he knows why Sirius looked for him first thing when he woke up. He knows that, morally, he doesn’t really have a choice.

“Yeah.”

“Great! I’m gonna go get dressed then. 30 minutes and I’ll be ready.”

Chapter Text

Regulus waits for Sirius in their father’s studio, mindlessly scrolling on his phone, but mostly bored out of his mind. Not like what they were planning to do was any more thrilling. Honestly, the only good thing about Nisa was the peacefulness and the slowness of the environment, but Regulus himself had to admit that there was not much to do there, neither in town nor inside the house.

At least he would have had the time and energy to catch up on holiday homework and reading.

“I’m ready, let’s go.”

Regulus stands up, mumbling a ‘finally’ under his breath before seeing what Sirius meant by being ready. His feet freeze on the spot, as he folds his arms across his chest, giving his brother a visibly judgmental look.

“You’re going out in a rural town in the middle of nowhere… dressed like that?”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Sirius asks, sounding genuinely lost, as he turns around to give Regulus a 360 spin, as if he needed to.

“First of all, you’re wearing a leather jacket in the middle of summer.”

“It’s short sleeves!” He counters immediately.

“And a Red Hot Chili Peppers crop top.” Regulus deadpans.

“Yeah, cause it’s hot.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow at him. It’s absurd— but honestly, it’s not his problem, he’s tried putting some sense into Sirius’ head (and so has their mother for about eighteen years), but he was just born completely detached from reality. Besides, it would probably be fun to watch his brother argue with a scandalized elder.

“Whatever, you’re a lost cause. Let’s go.”

They go down the stairs together, and Sirius does not stop talking for a second about ‘all the fun things they could do downtown’, at least not until they get to the first floor and he sees lemon-boy at the kitchen counter.

“James?” He hears his brother say, voice clear and loud but… somehow uncertain.

James— that’s his name, Regulus remembers now. Oh, how he hated James. Sirius was enamored with him from the very first moment, so much so that Regulus had grown jealous of their friendship when he was a child. In such a short time those two had become inseparable; well, at least for the time they stayed at Nisa.

They spent every waking moment of those three summers together, sometimes even excluding Regulus, and that started more than one argument between the two brothers. Not to mention when they got back to their home. All year long Sirius kept repeating James’ name in the same way you try to insert a high register word in every sentence the first week after learning it. Lemon boy became his brother’s annoying hyper fixation: “we should buy some for James”, “I’m gonna teach James this game next summer”, “James would never say something like that”.

Luckily, Sirius slowly grew out of it, especially because they never came back to Nisa so he never had the chance to get the other’s number. He remembers that first week of June, when their parents told them they weren’t going to Nisa for a long while. Sirius refused to touch his food for a week, not even Regulus was able to convince him to eat something. In the end, their mother took matters in her own hands, and forced the food down Sirius’ throat.

“Sirius.”

James is looking at him with a crooked smile that he is so clearly trying hard to contain, as if he would burst otherwise. It’s honestly pathetic. Actually, it’s crazy, Regulus thinks, they are acting like long lost lovers.

“Fuck, it’s been so long, hasn’t it?” His brother says, starting to walk up to the other boy, almost as if in a trance.

“Yeah, man. I never— I’ve wondered—“

“Our parents. It was their decision. I’m still not sure why, it was probably work-related, they stopped going on vacations for a long time after that summer.” Sirius explains, and somehow, all three of them know what James was about to say and why Sirius needed to fill him in.

James nods, “yeah, i understand.”

They look at each other for a while, big smiles on their faces, and it’s weird watching them, for Regulus. He feels like there is something he is missing, like the two of them are having a telepathic conversation at a frequency that he can’t reach. He hates it, but with less passion and childishness as he did back then.

“Are you two done?” Regulus asks, rudely interrupting their little moment, but he doesn’t care.

Both of them turn their heads towards him, but only Sirius speaks at first. “Right, of course. Do you remember him, Reg?”

“We already—”

“No, I don’t.”

Regulus lies, because his brain is supplying him with more memories by the minute, so his conscience is letting him know that those words are not the entire truth.

James, who was interrupted by Regulus’ cold response, looks back at Sirius, poking his cheek out with his tongue— a nervous tic, maybe?

“We already talked while you were asleep. He seems to have long term memory loss.”

“Hey! My memory is just fine, asshole!” Regulus bites back immediately, offended; and James smirks at him, not like he did before though, no, it’s a mean smirk this time.

“Doesn’t look like it to me.”

And Regulus manages only a glare before Sirius interrupts them. “You guys are feisty, I love it! It’s like old times honestly, but with a bit of swearing.”

“James, are you done here?” Euphemia asks from the living room door, unknowingly interrupting their dispute, before noticing Sirius and Regulus’ presence.

“Oh, Mr Black. Good morning.”

“‘Morning Euphemia. Thank you so much for your help, we would be lost without you.” Sirius says with a soft smile.

“Oh, don’t mention it, dear. It’s just my job, really. I see you are talking to James. It’s so nice seeing you three back together. You were a wild bunch back then.”

And Sirius just smiles fondly, nostalgic even “yes, that we were.”

Regulus sighs, looking at his brother with pleading eyes. “Can we go now?” He cuts in, in a low voice, and Sirius nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah, of course. James, you should come with us!”

“Wait-! That’s not what I—”

“I mean, of course, only if you want to.”

“Sirius—”

“Yeah, sure!” James agrees enthusiastically, looking back at his mother, but the woman was already waving him off with a smile, reassuring him.

“Go figlio mio₁, don’t worry, you’ve done enough already.”

“Great! Let’s go then!” Sirius exclaims happily, patting James back as he walks him outside towards his car, leaving Regulus standing near the doorway, a mix of shock, anger and frustration taking place on his face.

[ . . . ]

James is overjoyed. He doesn’t even know why he had been worrying so much. Regulus is a little shit, but he has always been, it was Sirius who truly wanted James’ friendship from the beginning, sometimes his brother would simply tag along, so maybe his mistake was: trying to communicate with the wrong Black brother.

Regulus looks pissed off, James can see it from glancing up at the rearview mirror of the car they are in, which is… not at all what he had expected from the Black family. James is not a judgmental person, God knows he has no right to speak on matters like this one, he himself has never gotten much money growing up, but he expected the son of a multimillionaire to drive something better than a Ritmo Abarth, alright? Sue him.

“So… what’s with this vintage piece?” James asks, looking at his friend, who is already chuckling at the question.

“It’s all I can afford at the moment,” he says, which doesn’t really help clear up the confusion in James’ mind, nor his expression, because when Sirius glances at him again, he adds “I’ve been disowned.”

“Oh.”

It’s all James can say. He didn’t know that people still do things like that, the whole notion sounds so… antiquated and stupid.

“What happened?”

“He ran away.” Regulus cuts in, and Sirius’ expression instantly changes. James feels like he should drop the subject, they are here, together, and that is all that matters. But he hates the somber look on his friend’s face.

“I’m sure you had your good reasons, Sirius.”

He hears an offended huff from the backseat, and James is tempted to tell Regulus how mean he is being, but he has a sneaky feeling that the younger boy would only take satisfaction in that, so James opts for a different strategy.

“I’m guessing that you were not disowned, then.”

“Pft, of course not. I’m not that stupid.”

“Right. Just evil, that’s why they could never disown you—“

“James.” Sirius says, sternly. He can hear his hands gripping the steering wheel, and that cold stare he is giving the road is probably meant for James. Maybe he has gone too far, that’s still Sirius’ (mean) younger brother after all.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, more to Sirius than to the one he supposedly should be apologizing to.

The rest of the car drive is silent, if not for the voice of David Bowie in the lowest volume in the background.

James feels like he has fucked up and enters a mental loop of self deprecating thoughts, right until Sirius stops the car and claps his hands together with the brightest smile on his face.

“Here we are, finally! It’s been so long.” He says, a second before opening his car door and getting out, leaving James just a tiny bit shocked at how much power that man holds, all the suffocating uneasiness gone in an instant because of his excitement. James smiles as the tension leaves his own body, before following the Black brothers out of the car.

He notices them taking a look around, probably feeling some wave of nostalgia (or maybe something else, who knows what Regulus Black feels anyways, if he feels anything at all), so James takes it upon himself, the proudest citizen of Nisa, to guide them through the town.

Nisa is a small rural town with a timeless feel to it; it’s magical to James how it seems to be stuck between the past and the present, in a perpetual calmness dictated by both the citizens (who are mostly elders) and the warm colors of the houses, the signs of the shops, and its flora.

It’s a coastal town. The houses cling to the cliffs above an endless sea, where small fishing boats can be found in the distance, and everything, literally everything there moves at an unhurried pace— even the children, who mostly play hide and seek and tag in Piazza Castello₂, never seem to actually run from anything, even less from one another.

James starts walking them towards, and then between, the cobbled streets, pushing his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“We are going to the piazza, that’s where most of the shops are anyways; up here it’s only the houses.”

James explains, glancing back at the brothers every few steps, to watch the curiosity and admiration bloom on their faces.

With a smile, he continues talking, knowing they are listening.

“I don’t know if you remember, but the piazza is not very big. I don’t even know why it’s called ‘Castello’ since we have no castles around here… but there is a fountain at least—”

“I remember the fountain—!” Sirius chirps in excitedly, “isn’t that the one we jumped into back then?”

And James smiles enthusiastically, “yeah, it’s that one. Then you pulled Regulus in with you.”

To which the younger just shakes his head in disapproval, but James can see it, he remembers very well now.

“Man, that was fun… Oh! So is Luigi’s candy shop still open? The one right on the left of the fountain, you know?”

James nods, the excitement vanishing from his smile a little and he pulls his lips in a thin line, before adding carefully, “Luigi died last year, but he left the shop to his daughters.”

“Oh… that’s sad, he was so nice.”

“Yeah… and, well, my ex works there, so like—”

“Your what?!” Sirius asks, with a shocked smile. Even Regulus perks up at that information, which is a weird reaction coming from him, but James doesn’t question it, he just smiles sheepishly at Sirius.

“Well yeah, man. You know, the town's not too big, you always end up with the same people at some point, but we didn’t end it on bad terms so it’s fine, really. She works both at the candy shop and in the baretto₃ close to it.”

“I need to see her. Oh James, you dog! You were out here stealing hearts without even thinking of me.”

“I was always thinking of you, Sirius.”

He can hear Regulus clicking his tongue before muttering, loud enough to be heard, so James knows it’s on purpose.

“That doesn’t sound gay and questionable at all.”

To which, both James and Sirius burst out laughing simultaneously— James is not gay, he is very much attracted to women, and even if Sirius were attracted to men, there is no way they could dream of it. It’s just the way they are, their bond goes beyond the boundaries of romance and human friendship, they have something else entirely, it has to be some sort of cosmic connection, James is sure.

Regulus just rolls his eyes at them, because that’s the thing he is good at, apparently. James doesn’t mind, he has always liked his mean streak, the real problem occurs when he opens his bitchy mouth.

“Where’s the mini market?” Sirius questions when they start to approach the piazza.

“It’s near the piazza, do you want to go there first?”

“Nah, I want to see your ex first.”

James chuckles, shaking his head “you were serious about it then?”

“I’m always Sirius.”

“Oh for fucks sake.” Regulus grumbles as James bursts out laughing almost hysterically.

“That’s such a good one.”

“It’s an old one.”

Needless to say, they enter Il Divino Bistrot first thing. It’s a classic baretto, the atmosphere is cozy and familiar, nothing there is really modern, let alone pretentious. There is a long counter on which can be found a cash register in one corner, and all the goods displayed on the rest of it, mostly croissants and cookies. The place is scattered with small black tables (the ones that look more like garden furniture than anything else) and two or three matching chairs for each of them.

There aren’t many people inside at the moment, just a couple of old ladies sitting in a corner, drinking what seems to be two cappuccinos, who are not paying any attention to anyone, just whispering old gossip between themselves, so James leaves them at it.

He walks towards the counter, Lily is standing behind it, writing something on a small notebook. She is ethereal, as always. Her curly hair is set in half up, half down that frames her round face exquisitely, and when she finally looks up, James smiles at the sight of her green forest eyes.

“Well well well,” She starts, with a playful tone “James Potter in the flesh. Why are you bothering me today?”

“I just missed you m’lady.” She rolls her eyes at the comment, and James gets some weird deja vu that he promptly ignores— this never happened before though.

“And who are the newcomers?” She asks, eyeing Sirius and Regulus with a friendly smile.

“These are Sirius and Regulus Black.”

“Oh!” She lets out, surprised, glancing at James. And he knows why. He has talked about the Blacks at least once with every person he has ever met, which is pathetic, one might say (someone like Regulus, for example), but it’s not something he feels ashamed of. He really liked those three summers, they shaped the meaning of friendship for him.

“Well, nice to meet you, I’m Sirius, the most charming of the pair. And this is my little brother, Regulus.”

She moves her gaze to the latter, studying his face. He looks like someone who doesn’t want to be around James, like a bitch. She likes him already.

“I’m Lily. The pleasure is mine,” she responds, before looking at the three of them without focusing on anyone in particular, “is there a reason why you decided to pay me a visit or…? Did you want a croissant or something?”

“I told you, I missed you dearly… also, Sirius wanted to see the mythological creature that is supposedly the woman who dated me.” To which Lily shrieks dramatically, putting a hand to her chest, covering part of her adorable pastel pink button up.

“James!” she whisper-shouts, “stop telling people about my mistakes. Every day I wake up and I hope you’ve lost your memory, so I can say I never met you.”

And the little shit that is Regulus Black snickers, but what’s worse is the complicit look that passes between him and her.

James gapes at her, shock and “fake” betrayal in his eyes. “Et tu, Lily? I already have a full time hater, I can’t handle two.”

“I’ve noticed.” She shrugs, glancing at Regulus with a smile, before focusing on James again. “But really sweetie, I’m on work duties. Buy something or send me a telegram, a carrier pigeon.”

“Is a text not enough?”

“The less I hear from you, the better.”

After that, they say their goodbyes to Lily, because as she stated, she is very professional and needs to focus on her work (even though there are little to no customers).

They go to the mini market and buy enough food for a week, Sirius picks out the junk food, such as candies and chips; Regulus shoves vegetables, fruits and overall real food in the cart, while James just walks with them around the shelves and comments on what are the best brands in his opinion.

James receives a call while they are at the checkout, his face lights up as he answers.

“Moony, hi.” The nickname seems to perk up the interest of both Black brothers.

“Right now?” A pause “Well I’m out with the Blacks at the moment, and I’m probably gonna help my mom with the cleaning of the Villa after this… maybe I can drop by later tonight?”

James nods before remembering that Moony can’t see him.

“Alright then. See you. Bye.”

“Who is Moony?” Sirius asks.

“Oh, he is my best friend. He is a farmer, he doesn’t live that far from our houses actually.” James explains, eyes fixated on his phone, “he was asking me if I could drop by and check on his horse.”

“You know… stuff… about horses?”

James chuckles, with a humble shrug “I mean, I’m not a vet, but my dad always had a passion for horse riding and he would always drop horses notions at random times… also, I’ve always loved prongs since I was a kid, I think he trusts me more than Remus.”

“Who is Remus?” Sirius asks again, seemingly more confused by the second.

“Moony is just a nickname I gave Remus when we were kids, and prongs is the name of the horse in question.”

“Oh, got it… can we come with you when you pay him a visit? Regulus loves horses.” Sirius smiles, and Regulus glances at him, widened eyes as if his brother just publicly revealed he committed a crime.

“I don’t love horses.”

Sirius looks at him with a questioning look “what do you mean you don’t? You begged mom to sign you up for equestrian classes? You’ve done it for years before dropping it.”

Regulus lets out a frustrated huff, before walking to the other side of the checkout, he starts shoving the items in the plastic bags all by himself.

“He loves them.” Sirius reinforces, with a knowing smile.

“Well, I don’t think it will bother Remus if he tries to ride Prongs, so sure, you guys can come along.”

Sirius looks happy, and James takes a moment to admire this man, who is so delighted to take his little brother to do something he loves. It's heartwarming.

James wonders how that conversation in the car would have gone if he wasn’t there to redirect Regulus’ anger. He has gathered that Sirius had run away, while the younger Black stayed in the house, which means a few things. Firstly, it was a toxic household, not just a strict one. And secondly, Regulus either chose to stay behind or Sirius left him behind— the latter hypothesis seems the less likely scenario from what James can observe. Sirius seems to be a good brother, he is putting in the effort, so it was probably Regulus who chose to stay behind and just blames his brother for the whole situation.

“Let me help you, Reggie.” Sirius’ voice calls out, returning James' thoughts to the demanding present.

He also grabs a few bags, walking between the two boys back to their car, still chattering away and making up for the lost time (at least with one of the two brothers) by sharing stories and jokes.

[ . . . ]

The day progresses uneventfully.

They get back to the Villa, where James continues cleaning as his mother makes lunch for the Black brothers, who, to her delight, invite the both of them to sit down and have a break, to eat something together before getting back to work.

The conversation is nice, nothing too personal, but both Sirius and James have a way to make everyone feel at ease and comfortable, their laughter loud, yes, but also contagious. It makes you want to open your mouth and speak, be part of their magic.

After the late lunch, everyone returns to their own tasks. James and Euphemia clean, Sirius sleeps (because apparently that’s what one does during summer vacation), and Regulus locks himself in his room, supposedly reading.

James learns he wasn’t lying when he gets to his own bedroom a few hours later, around dinner time.

He enters his room and drops onto the bed, exhausted. His muscles tired from cleaning for hours in the summer heat.

When he sits up to start undressing himself, James notices something interesting. The one bedroom that he is able to clearly see from his window is the one that Regulus claims as his… and surely enough, he is, in fact, reading. He is sitting on his bed, one arm wrapped around his legs, the other to keep the book close to his face. James can’t see the name of the book, and he doesn’t recognize it either.

He observes silently as Regulus stands up, abandoning the book on the desk near the window before crawling under the covers, that’s when James notices he is already wearing his pajamas.

Regulus turns off the lights and James should do the same. He doesn’t.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Regulus wakes up already livid. Well, technically, he usually woke up in his ‘unfortunately for all of us, God made me live another day’ mood, which is not as hateful and dramatic as the one he is in now.

The reason he is storming down the stairs in his pajamas is that when he went to grab the book (side note, his favorite book) he is sure he left it on the desk last night, it wasn’t there. And if Sirius thinks he can get away with stealing his things after one year of absence, he is utterly wrong— he has never been too keen on lending his belongings when they lived together anyway.

“Sirius.” Regulus calls for him, seeing him sitting at the dining table from the last step of the stairs.

“Yeah?” Sirius responds, the sound comes out muffled because of the food in his mouth; Regulus has the confirmation of that when his brother turns around in his chair and looks at him innocently with cheeks so stuffed he looks like a squirrel.

“Where is my book?” He asks, without missing a beat.

“What book?” His brother looks confused, but Regulus knows he is not to be trusted, he is no longer easily manipulated like when he was a kid and Sirius used to pull all kinds of mind-fuck pranks on him.

“The book, Sirius. My book that I left on the desk in my bedroom. The book that is no longer where I left it.”

“So the book that got away?”

Many seconds of silence pass between them. Seconds in which Sirius keeps his proud grin on his face and Regulus fights his homicidal instincts.

“No,” Regulus finally breaks the silence. “The book that you stole.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Sirius dismisses him, ferociously biting into a piece of pie, moaning as soon as he starts chewing.

“Reg, you need to try this apple pie Euphemia made. She is the goddess of food or something.”

Regulus huffs, annoyed, walking to the dining table because watching Sirius eating so animatedly did make his stomach growl. That being said, the book story is not over until he finds it, he will secretly search Sirius’ entire room if he needs to.

“We have an hour still, so no need to rush.”

Regulus sits down at the table, cutting a piece of pie and putting it on his plate. “What do you mean?”

“We are going to Moony’s, remember? So you can ride the horse.”

“That was your decision, I have no interest in riding his horse.”

Sirius waves his hand at him as he stands up, not even looking at his face while acting like everything Regulus says is not to be taken seriously.

“You do, and you are. I’m gonna go take a shower while you eat. Be ready in an hour.”

Regulus watches Sirius leave and is, very secretly, glad that his brother insisted on the matter. He is not a diehard fan of horses, in fact, the only reason he begged his parents for equestrian lessons in the first place is because most kids at his school were doing it. It was popular at the time, and young, naive Regulus of those years still cared about fitting in. But then, once he had enough lessons to ride a horse on his own, out of the riding arena, he did, for the first time without anyone around— and that was the most free he has ever been. It’s one of those moments when one’s heart starts beating fast not because they’re scared or anxious, but because they know they’re alive. He remembers it so well, the wind messing up his perfectly combed hair, the sound of the horse’s hooves hitting the ground, and the smell of forest all around him invading his lungs. For the first time he felt like the main character of his own story, it was addicting, for a while.

Unfortunately, as time passed, his parents put more responsibilities on his shoulders and the school he is attending, despite being a private one, has the highest standards for its students (even though they hardly fail anyone, too scared of losing the money all those rich parents so magnanimously donate). So, consequently, he hasn’t gotten much time for horse riding. It’s been a while, if he is being honest, and it does make him kind of sad in a way, but usually he has much more pressing matters to be worried about than a hobby he started purely because of social FOMO.

In any case, Sirius decided they were going, so he listened to him, begrudgingly (because he never liked agreeing to his brother’s requests), and found himself standing at the doorway one hour later, dressed according to their plans.

“‘Morning.” Someone calls from behind him, and Regulus rolls his eyes, recognizing the ridiculously cheerful voice.

“Hi.” Regulus offers halfheartedly.

“Are you excited?”

“No.”

And James chuckles, because he is weird like that, apparently.

“Am I a clown?” Regulus asks, finally turning around to face James.

“I don’t know, are you?”

“Well, you’re the one laughing at what I say.”

James shrugs, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans with ease.

“Then you must be naturally clownish.” He replies, with a small smirk on his face, as if he doesn’t fear Regulus will strangle him in his sleep one day. He is wrong. He should take that in consideration because he is oh so capable of it.

Once again, James Potter is saved by none other than Regulus’ traitorous brother. It feels like he waits for the perfect moment to ease the tension every time he is about to hit.

“‘Morning James. We are ready. Let’s go.”

And so they get in the car and start their surely brief journey towards Remus’ farm.

[ . . . ]

“Don’t, don’t you want me. You know I can’t believe when I hear that you won’t see me.“

Remus sings along the lines of one of his favorite songs, which is blasting loudly from the enormous speaker connected to his phone. Previously getting distracted by the absolute banger, he was also turning the hay with his pitchfork, which has now temporarily turned into a tall Elvis mic.

“It’s much too late to find when you think you’ve changed your mind. You’d better change it back—“

“OR WE WILL BOTH BE SORRY!” A voice shout-sings from behind him, and Remus doesn’t need to turn around to know that the off-key yell is his best friend’s doing.

“Don’t you want me, baby? Don’t you want me, oh-oh?” James keeps singing, even as Remus walks to the speaker and considerably lowers the volume.

“I brought you guests, Moony.”

And Remus would be absolutely fine with it, unbothered really, if the face he sees first weren’t a deadly slap to his face.

“Moony… What is it?” He can hear James asking from his side, and he knows why, he feels the color draining from his face immediately, and he would be able to come up with a lie to feed James if his brain weren’t short-circuiting at such a rapid speed.

“Am I that ugly? Am I giving you the frights?” The man in front of him asks, the one and sole reason why he is reacting like this. What's worse is that his voice is so angelic it makes Remus want to die even more. He prays that the ground under his feet will open and swallow him whole, responsibilities and animals be damned, even though he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, where the remains of his sanity are slowly depleting, that it’s not going to happen.

“No.” He breathes out, once his body starts functioning again. He clears his throat, and it takes him herculean strength to voice the next words a little louder. “You just— uhm, you— you reminded me of someone I knew.” He lies.

This feels like a whole fever dream. He doesn’t care that James has known him his whole life and will surely be questioning him later about this mysterious (nonexistent) person of his past.

“Right. Well… I’m Sirius, nice to meet you, Moony.” and Remus almost chokes.

You see, Remus is not as obtuse as James is, he knows exactly what is happening, he knows by the way Sirius flutters his eyelashes at him and by the tone of his voice lowering just an octave; by the way he holds his hand out low between their bodies, as if personal space is not really a thing, because it technically isn’t when one is trying to flirt.

Remus takes his hand and shakes it, eyes fixated in Sirius’ own.

“Remus.” Is all he masters to say, the word having to slip around the heart that is now beating violently in his throat to come out.

“Disgusting.” Remus knows for a fact it’s not James’ voice, nor a comment he would make, so he surprisingly finds the strength to look away from Sirius.

There is someone else with them, another boy that looks alarmingly similar to the one that is making him question reality, except that he is most definitely a little shorter and his features much less soft and attractive than his brother’s. Right, these are the Black brothers.

“You’re Regulus… right?”

“Yes. And you’re still holding my brother’s hand.”

Remus’ gaze slowly travels towards the place between his and Sirius’ body, and as it turns out, Regulus is not wrong. He lets go of the other boy’s hand, chuckling in embarrassment (and taking a full step back), while Sirius seems to be doing the same, in amusement.

James looks around, it seems he does understand there is something going on, but he probably can’t pinpoint exactly the cause. Bless his soul, this is the only reason why Remus is always able to get away with stuff like this without James bullying him.

“Right, so, Regulus here wanted to ride Prongs.”

James says with a smirk, and a loud clap of his hands, seemingly eager to see the younger brother on the horse, and Remus suspects he knows why. Prongs is a strong, tall and brown Percheron horse, which is not at all used for riding; not impossible, per se, but it is very hard for a Percheron to agree on something like this. They are mostly used to help carry heavy weights and sometimes even take the sheep to pasture. So, James is probably eager to see Regulus fail in his attempt.

“You can, if you want to.” Remus starts, looking at Regulus. “But he hardly lets anyone close.”

A proud grin makes an appearance on James’ face, accompanied by a supposedly humble shrug, saying, “only I can get close without any problems.”

Remus shakes his head with a smile at his best friend’s behavior, “Yeah, yeah, then go see what the hell is up with that horse. He is walking weird. I can't find anything under his hooves so there must be something else.”

“On it!” James exclaims, jogging out of the barn immediately, leaving Remus with not one, but two Black brothers.

Regulus seems lost in his own thoughts, he is looking around and scrunching up his nose, clearly not at all used to this kind of environment. Remus himself has never once stepped foot in a mall, but he can see from the looks of it that shirt and those shorts are not items one wants to wear in a place that smells strongly of grass, hay and animals.

Sirius, on the other hand, is— looking at him. Remus’ breath hitches in his throat when their eyes lock into one another. He is confident, he knows he has Remus wrapped around his delicate, slender fingers; and that alone completely takes away his possibility of escaping. Not that he would want to. He knows for a fact that thousands of other men would kill to be in his position.

“Uhm… would you guys want… some coffee?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Remus nods carefully, they look so similar yet act so different. It’s almost weird to witness.

“Right, then. I’ll go grab some coffee for you.” Remus tells Sirius, before walking out of the barn feeling two sets of piercing blue eyes on him.

He already has some coffee ready in his moka, but it must have gone cold by now, so he throws the black liquid away in the sink before starting a new one.

“It’s cozy here.” Remus jumps, startled by the unexpected presence behind him.

He turns around to find Sirius looking up at him, a small grin playing on his lips, “so I do give you the frights.”

“Not at all.” He argues.

The other boy hums, easily convinced. He starts to walk around, studying the furniture and the environment of the place (or so it seems), and Remus knows that ‘cozy’ is nothing less than a code word for poor. It must be. Remus has nothing at all.

“So… you’re James’ best friend, right?”

Remus hums, nodding. There is an electric tension in the air, something completely unfamiliar to the farmer, he basks in it, in the pleasing unknown that only someone like Sirius could make him feel.

“It would have been fun to know you sooner. Maybe we could have all been a group of friends growing up. Maybe I could have gotten a nickname too.”

“You’re here now.” Remus tells him, and that seems to freeze Sirius in his steps. They look at each other with the same unreadable expression that betrays the surprise and wonder of both parties.

Sirius is the first to regather consciousness, and he smiles so beautifully. “So is that it? Are we going to be friends, Remus?”

Fuck, no. It’s what he thinks.

“Of course.” It’s what comes out of his mouth. He has a feeling that Sirius would have preferred another answer, but he doesn’t flinch, the soft smile stays on his lips and so does his gaze on Remus.

“Then give me one.”

“A what?”

“A nickname.”

“Oh. Uhm, James is better than me at those.”

“But I’m asking you.”

Oh, fuck him. Fuck his life. Remus looks down, he tries to think really hard on something. He tries to be like James for a minute, to find wonder in the ordinary things, he is taking it very seriously because he knows, somehow, that this is important. This is the boy James has always wanted him to meet, and Sirius himself seems to have regrets about not coming back sooner. Maybe this really is a new era for them. Who knows? Maybe this summer will change their lives.

“Pads.” Remus blurts out. He raises his gaze carefully, to find Sirius struggling to hold back a laugh.

“Pads? Why Pads?” There is no judgment in his tone, he is just comprehensively questioning this exact choice.

“My dog’s name is Padfoot. And James’ nickname is Prongs, because he really likes the horse, so I just… I thought it made sense, I think.”

Sirius seems to ponder it for a second, but ultimately accepts it very willingly. “I think it’s fitting.”

Remus immediately busies himself with the moka, from the noise it’s making, he knows the coffee is ready, and the farmer takes this opportunity to have a break from the intense eye contact that is consuming him.

[ . . . ]

Regulus officially hates Nisa.

That is a lie, he doesn’t, really. He officially hates James Potter and everything and everyone that is somehow involved with him.

Because why does his brother, the one that begged him to come all the way here in this fuckass town with him, give more attention to these strangers than his own bloody brother?

If that is his way of asking for forgiveness, he is doing a pretty bad job.

Regulus finds himself sitting on a low, unstable chair near the big door of the barn, scrolling on his phone with a bored look— he is so tempted to call Barty and let him know what is happening, just to fuel the hatred the boy arbours towards his brother; but if Sirius really redeems himself in the future, it will be hard to convince his best friend to not be too harsh on him… he discards the idea of calling Barty. Maybe he should call Dorcas, but she is way too clever to give Regulus what he wants, which is a session of gossip and hate speech. She will simply tell him something along the lines of: “give him time”, “you don’t really feel like that” or “you love him very deeply and you’re just jealous right now”.

He also hates Dorcas now because he has imagined her saying some shit like that directly to his face. His life lacks loyalty and peace. That’s his problem.

After God knows how long, he stands up and decides to go see this damn horse on his own. He walks out of the barn and is instantly hit by the sun aggressively shining on his eyes. He doesn’t like it, at first, he has to raise a hand and press it to his forehead, so that his outstretched fingers block the sun from hurting his eyesight again. Then he looks around, and his vision is delighted by basically only three colors: green, so much green, the infinite blue of the sky and the white of the few clouds that can be found far from the sun.

Regulus definitely doesn’t hate Nisa. How could he hate a place that looks like it came out of a Frederic Church painting?

“Hey Reg!”

Once again, his life lacks peace.

Regulus walks towards the small stable designated for maybe three or four horses, but there is only one inside. James is patting Prongs on the back, looking at the horse with a fond look on his face— he really does care for it then.

“I’ll tell Remus I think he has a normal sprain. It will be okay in a couple of days, he is just dramatic as fuck, right Prongsie?”

He then shifts his gaze to Regulus, and he waits for the idiot to say something. He looks like he is about to speak at any second, but he doesn’t, not for a long time, which results in them just staring at each other and it’s weird, very much so, but he cannot think, for the life of him, of something to say.

“What does he have then?” Remus’ voice comes from a few meters behind Regulus and thank God. Thank God this man exists, even though he is a whore that is trying to steal his brother.

“He just has a sprain, his ankle I think. If you hold it he starts to get fussy. It will be okay in a couple of days, guaranteed.”

Remus nods thoughtfully, and James adds, “no one should really ride him until he is okay again.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s obvious.” Remus sighs. “Well then, I haven’t much to offer, but I have fresh eggs and milk if you guys want to stay for lunch.”

“Of course we do!” Sirius says enthusiastically. “I’ve never eaten food that comes straight from a farm and not a supermarket.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and fights the urge to slap his hand on his forehead in exasperation. He doesn’t speak though, because he knows that ultimately he has no say in this.