Chapter Text
Barty
06/07/1977
Dear Reg,
I don’t believe a word of your last letter. You’re friends with James, who until last week was insufferable and arrogant? Everything is fine with Sirius?
You seem to forget that I was with you the first few days at Potter Manor. I expect my next letter to recount what’s actually happening. You haven’t talked with Sirius at all, have you?
I’m great, if we want to keep lying to each other.
No, as we expected, I hate it here. I’m bored to death, and not only that, but life is positively dreadful.
Nothing could make me like living in Berlin, not even mum’s prayers.
Mum is happy, though. She smiles a lot, the city reminds her of a time past and fun and excitement. She took on the role of personal guide, she wants me to explore the city. She has many happy memories of both times she visited it, and you should see her light up as we walk around. The city reminds her of a time past and fun and excitement, and she tried to pass it on. Unsuccessfully, definitely unsuccessfully.
Berlin is peculiar. It’s interesting and strange at the same time to see how society is not strictly divided between Muggles and Wizards, they coexist intertwined in a way I’ve never seen before.
That’s probably why they asked for Father’s help, even if I continue to be baffled as to why anyone would ask him specifically for help. As if he’s capable of doing anything good.
He carries us around to those formal receptions and dinners, parading his perfect little family. I’ve become an exemplary son overnight.
But enough about my perfect life.
Tell me, how are the Potters? I’m glad they are being kind and welcoming. That, I believe.
Don't get too gloomy in my absence. I know it must be hard to go about your days without the sheer brilliance of my presence to light up your world but try.
Talk soon,
Barty
P.S. Tell Sirius that if he doesn’t behave, mysterious mishaps could start to happen.
No, but seriously say hi from me and try to spend some time with him, please.
08/07/1977
Dear Evan,
I’m starting to see why mum likes Berlin. It’s characteristic that there isn’t a strict division between the Muggle and Wizarding parts of the city. Their societies are interdependent, it’s incredible. Many more weird happenings and accidents occur, but it seems the Muggles don’t even notice them, as if accustomed to it.
The city is cut in two. A high wall divides it because of some clashes over Muggle affairs of state. I, and most of the Wizarding population, reside in the West, and it’s close to impossible to cross on the other side. The Wall is a constant presence, looming in the distance, impossible to forget. Most people here hate it, they’ve had enough of war and fight for freedom and reunification. Wizards too. The others were telling me that the Wizarding world isn’t divided and that the diplomats of the respective countries are working around the clock, collaborating with the Muggle ministries to restore peace.
And you? How are you liking Los Angeles? How is the diplomatic tour going? Are you able to stand the diplomatic dinners better than I can?
Father, as you can imagine, is in his element, dragging us to dinners and receptions that are simply unbearable, filled with his hypocrisy. And if I dare make a comment on our routine, he lectures me on how I should consider this a great opportunity for my future and that I should be grateful, etc.
I can’t believe I have six more weeks of this, how can you stand it?
Last night’s reception turned out less boring, though. I met two boys, the sons of officials of the Ministries of Germany and Denmark, and the daughter of the Swedish ambassador. Their names are Damien, Cedric and Lavinia. They’re our age, they all go to Durmstrang and they’re crazy, let me tell you. Apparently, they spend these dinners sneaking out with stolen bottles of Firewhiskey, that’s why I hadn’t met them before. That’s precisely what we did last night, we explored the palace we were in, and made ourselves at home in a deserted ballroom.
Cedric is reading The catcher in the rye like you. Have you finished it? I know you want to tell me about it. I’ll listen, you know I will. You can write to me and rant all you want, I’ll be happy to read it.
I’m about to go out with them now, write back soon.
Take care,
Barty
10/07/1977
Dear Rodolphus,
I’d love it if you sneaked out of the country with a kangaroo! I bet Slughorn would allow it as a pet, just because it’s you.
I, on the other hand, haven’t met any interesting animals, if we don’t count my father.
He meticulously plans my days, schedules meetings and appointments that seem to blur into a monotonous one, but what a tragedy would it be to miss a chance to network and impress all those important people, right?
At least I’ve met the other guys, they’re right menaces like you.
Yesterday we snuck out at night and we went to that district Damien knows, Kreutzberg. He’s our guide in Berlin. Cedric didn’t want to come, but Damien could convince just about anyone to do what he suggested.
The district has a bad reputation among Muggles and I think you’ll understand why.
No rules apply, no societal norms. It’s not Muggle society, it’s its own world.
Populated by all kinds of people, from mohawked punks with safety pin piercings to dreadlocked anarchists with anti-establishment slogans emblazoned on their clothing.
Speaking of which, I can't help but picture you last year with blue hair, you would have blended in perfectly with this crowd.
Father found out but didn’t seem to care. He’s glad I’m networking with other promising young wizards. As long as we’re together, I think we can get away with just about anything. He hasn’t noticed that they’re more like rebels in disguise.
I bid you farewell, I have another meeting with some diplomat or other.
Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
Barty
13/07/1977
Dear Cas,
I’m sorry about your swarm of annoying cousins following you everywhere. I can almost hear your sighs of exasperation and see the twinkle in your eyes as you contemplate setting fire to everything in sight. Please, don’t.
In the parcel I owled with this letter, you can find an amazing record. I’ve heard this song the other night in this club - no, definitely club is not the word, it was a dingy dimly lit basement. It’s full of gigs on makeshift stages in underground basements and abandoned warehouses covered in graffiti. You’d love it here.
Anyway, the record will probably distract your cousins, so you’re welcome.
As for your seemingly infinite Aunties, it sounds like they would probably survive a fire, so feel free to try, I won’t stop you.
And you can tell this letter is from your beloved boyfriend and soon-to-be fiancée if it’ll placate your Aunt Doria. I’ll sacrifice myself for you.
I, against all odds, am fine. I’ve been sneaking out to gigs whenever I can. The bands I'm listening to are incredible and the energy is unreal. I’ve developed a liking for punk rock.
I’ll probably go out less from now on, though. Father lectured me at length about how I’m betraying his trust, tarnishing our reputation, and making Mother suffer. And while I couldn’t care less about his trust and reputation, Mother truly does become sad when we fight. So, I’ll try to keep the peace.
Yours,
Barty
17/07/1977
Dear Dora,
I’m really happy that you like your courses and thank you for the dried Bétel de sagesse you’ve sent me, I’ve put them in my room.
I knew you’d have appreciated Marcus’s tales from Egypt. You’ll have to do the Scarab runes for us when we’re back at Hogwarts, so research and learn them, please. But I’m sure you’re already doing it and don’t need my suggestion.
The other morning, me and the other guys were bored, and there was Cedric telling us about the cities composing the White Magic Triangle - he’s interested in the history of magical places and cartography - and Damien simply said, Let’s steal some Floo powder and go. So, we went.
We visited Turin first. Muggles consider the places as sights to see, but you can actually feel the magic buzzing. And, obviously, at that point, we had to go to Lyon and Prague too.
Turin is regal, Lyon hums with ancient magic, Prague looked haunted, but in the best way. Every corner seemed to hide a mystery, a possibility. Wizards and Wizarding places are all over the city and the magic you breathe seeps down your bones. It has been my favourite, with the oldest building and its layers of history.
When we came back, we said that we went to a museum and our parents believed it, despite Cedric’s splinted eyebrow. Damien claimed he knew how to apparate, well, he technically does know. It worked, kind of. Cedric has a different opinion.
I wish you’d been there with me, I’m sure you would have loved it. We could go back together, and I’ll take you to all the places I think you’d like.
Love,
Barty
19/07/1977
Dear Marcus,
I’m glad you’re having fun and thank you for the protective amulet. Merlin knows I could need it.
The pharaohs’ tomb spells sound fascinating, as do the guardian magical creatures. Please, in your next letter, go more into details on the Echoing sands trap and the Gilded chains of Ra. And could you send me representations of the Sandkuljers and the Sunjackals?
Life here hasn’t been dull either.
We have been to these abandoned buildings that the punks took over and where they created their own communities. They are great, their houses are homes, their places are full of workshops, events, benefit concerts to raise awareness and funds for homelessness, anti-fascism, environmentalism. They make posters and zines, which they distribute. They’re hungry for change.
Berlin is so political.
Punk rock is a tool against the oppressive regime of East Germany, a rebellion against the status-quo, a call to arms.
No Gods No Masters, as they say,
Barty
22/07/1977
Dear Reg,
Thank you for the real recount. I’m truly happy for you, and I’m proud of you and Sirius.
I’ve become a prisoner. Father has taken it upon himself to impose what he calls necessary restrictions on my freedom. Meaning, I’m under house arrest, with a curfew of 7 PM. Of course, I broke it last night, but it was worth every second of the lecture I received this morning.
Back to us, last night we went to this gig in favour of East Berlin liberation and later visited a squat house where we managed to lend a hand. I’ve met artists and activists who spoke fervently about their vision for a different world. It was refreshing to see people unafraid to use their art and their voices as instruments of change. They talked about the arrests, the constant fear of being silenced to speak against the repressive regime. But despite it all, they refuse to back down. It’s a generation seeking change.
To witness firsthand how music can create a powerful message, to see people unapologetically embracing their individuality and challenge authority at every turn was fortifying.
I've met people here who understand what it means to be truly free, punk is more than just a rebellion, it’s a revolution.
Such a stark contrast to the stifling conformity of my life under Father's control.
Don’t worry about me, the consequences were nothing new, I’m okay and I’m almost perfectly healthy.
Say hi to everyone from me, and I expect to be kept updated.
Until then, farewell
Barty
24/07/1977
Dear Cas,
Happy to be of service. Don’t think I won’t ask for anything in return, I’ll think of something.
We went to a protest yesterday, to support all the people we met in Kreuzberg.
It turned into a riot. It was the police’s fault, really, for we were all very poised and well-behaved. There were only posters, a few anarchist flags and the chanted sound of Smash the State, but the police tried to repress it. When we marched closer to the Wall in front of the military area, the police threw tear gas, and all hell broke loose.
We used magic to make everyone able to breathe normally, the gas remained levitating just above our heads without reaching us. People were wide-eyed, looking at the phenomenon. The police got worse, though. The protesters began to fight, Lavinia punched a soldier. I didn’t think she had it in her. She reminded me of you, just like when you punched Mulciber, I saw it all over again and started laughing like a lunatic. Another soldier then took it out on me because he thought I was making fun of his friend. I got beaten up pretty badly. We all were, but we healed ourselves for the most part before coming back home. Just a few scratches haven’t faded yet. We fought back. You would have been proud.
As we had used magic, though, we knew we had to flee. We saw ministry officials apparate in an alley behind us just as we were running away.
Our parents suspected it was us, but they didn’t have proof. My father was furious, even if he restrained himself in front of others. Their parents too, the ambassadors were worried about a diplomatic incident, can you imagine an international disaster all because of us?
I just know they weren’t hexed when they got home like I was. Father was beyond himself. He was called to consult on upholding the Statute of secrecy, and his very own son was the one to break it. He didn’t know it was me for certain, but he probably didn’t care, any excuse to experiment with some hexes, I guess.
Worth it. We healed the other participants, they probably think they hadn’t been beaten up that badly.
You would have found yourself right at home.
Write back soon,
Barty
26/07/1977
Dear Evan,
I’m so jealous you heard the Ramones live! How’s the punk scene in New York?
We’ll move to Copenhagen in a few days. I’ll miss the others. Yesterday, I evaded my prison with them and-
26/07/1977
Reg,
I’m in London. Can I come to yours?
26/07/1977
Reg,
Thank you, and please do thank Euphemia and Fleamont again from me as well.
See you tomorrow,
Barty
27/07/1977
Dear Evan,
Sorry it took me some time to reply to your last letter.
I’ve come back. I’m alone and free for the next three weeks.
Mum came by with the Floo earlier and mentioned she wants to do back and forth trips, but I’ll dissuade her. Besides, she’s still scared to travel the magical way, and Copenhagen is too far to do the trip often.
I’m at the Potters’ right now, with Reg eyeing this letter over my shoulder.
Back off, Reg. I know you’re reading this.
Okay, here I am again. I’ve kicked him out.
He’s okay, so you don’t need to worry, but you’re right not to trust his letters too much if you’re receiving ones similar to mine. He’s actually doing quite well I’d dare say. It’s great to see him safe, happy and carefree.
Reg says hi.
Apparently, the house didn’t allow me to lock him out of his room, so he’s back to torment me and I better seal this letter.
See you soon,
Barty
01/08/1977
Dear Cas,
It’s true that I’m back home. Father let me know he’s not going to drag me back. To be honest, he’s probably glad I left. I was tarnishing his shiny reputation and showing how much he is indeed not a perfect father.
After we used magic at the protest he tried to make me a recluse, I could swear that he put spying spells on me. Over my dead body.
The next time I snuck out, he was beyond himself. So, I took the Floo and left. The only thing I’m sorry for is mum crying. She locked herself in the other room, she was scared.
Anyway, together with this letter, you’ll find another one from your beloved boyfriend. You can leave it around for your aunt to find, I think she’ll love it.
You’re welcome,
Barty
“My beloved,
Every day I feel your absence more profoundly. Soon we will be reunited, I count the days until we shall be together again.
Words cannot convey the depths of my despair in your absence. Each passing moment without you feels like an eternity, my heart yearns for the warmth of your smile. Though miles may separate us, you are always with me in every beat of my heart and in every breath I take. Fear not, for my love you know no bounds, transcending time and space.
Until the day that we are reunited,
With all my love,
Forever yours,
Bartemius”
****
Regulus, 16/08/1977
It’s not only the light that makes Potter Manor feel like a home. It’s not the collection of colourful childish drawings reminiscent of a younger James, hanging proudly on the kitchen wall. It’s not the gallery of portraits honouring generations of the family. It’s not the pictures of a growing James, and a grown Sirius. It’s not the assortment of trinkets brought back from trips around the world. It’s not the family pictures displayed on bookshelves, furniture, and tables, invading every surface, adorning every corner.
It’s all that, but intertwined with the sounds filling the house. It’s the clanking of pots and pans when Effie is in the kitchen. It’s the echo of running steps on the stairs, it’s the music coming from Sirius’ bedroom upstairs, the clinking of Monty’s alembics, the humming of old songs. The laughter. Especially the laughter. Invading the space when the family is all together.
Potter Manor feels like a home.
Just not his home yet.
It’s been eight weeks since he moved in with the Potters.
The cadence of time had been mysterious. Its pace fast, then slow.
Moving in had been a whirlwind. The secret escape, the Potters’ hushed conversations about his future, the letters from his parents. But luckily, they didn’t want blood traitors back. He was safe. Bellatrix was now the sole, proud Black heiress.
The first few days have been hectic. The Potters didn’t want him to feel lonely, so they made sure he was never alone.
Effie brought him to Diagon Alley and to Muggle London to buy everything he needed and anything he liked. Books, robes, his favourite foods, things to decorate his new room too, which now had posters, new records and a record player, and a cozy green duvet.
Monty shares his passion for potions. He brought him to see his factory, to buy potions’ ingredients, they have sometimes even worked together, side by side. There is a laboratory in the house furnished of all kinds ingredients, including rare ones. Monty values his insights, challenges him on how to modify the potions and has even taught him a few advanced ones.
Effie often enlisted his help in the kitchen, or in the gardens, and tasked him with finding and fetching various objects around the house, whether it was books she needed or candleholders for the dinner table. He suspected it was all to familiarize him with the house he had initially felt hesitant to explore and rooms he had been wary to enter.
Potter Manor is the opposite of Grimmauld Place in every possible way. His old house was pervaded by a gloom that even the imposing windows never seemed able to dispel. In Potter Manor, light is an unwavering companion, dissipating the shadows that used to cling relentlessly to his every step. Bustling activity instead of sombre silence, enveloping warmth instead of cold seeping down the spine.
He feels more at home than he’s ever felt with his parents in Grimmauld Place. Even more than at Hogwarts, as there was always his family’s shadow looming in the distance, reminding him he had to come back every summer.
Now there aren’t any more shadows, there aren’t any more days to spend in that dreadful house, he has a new place in the world. A new place where he was welcomed with open arms, and where everyone tries to make sure he’s as comfortable as possible.
Yet, he still can't shake the feeling of being a guest. He knows this is not temporary. The Potters and his brother will be in his life indefinitely. The bond that the family has is so tight, though, and the love they share so deep. He sees it, and he doesn’t know how or if he could ever be a part of it.
Not that his family house felt like a home anymore. It hadn’t in a long time. Certainly not since Sirius left. Not really ever since Sirius hugged him on the 9 3/4 platform for the first time and told him, “It’s not long until Christmas, you won’t even realize. Time will fly by”. It didn’t. Everything was different without his brother. And now, in a real home, witnessing a real family, he realized Grimmauld Place was never truly a home. A home is different. Home is where the people that love you, and whom you love, are. Even when he was little, his home was Sirius. Just Sirius. Not Grimmauld Place, not their house in France.
Then Sirius stopped being his home too.
But now they live in the same house again, and they are rebuilding their relationship left in ruins, with the bricks they threw at each other in the past. The harsh words, the haunting silences.
It’s fragile and delicate the bond they’re rebuilding. After years of barely talking, and only arguing when they did, it's a slow process. But they are trying.
In the first days upon Regulus's arrival, they didn't even talk to each other, as if scared of breaking the feeble equilibrium they'd created at the end of the school year when Sirius unexpectedly sought him out and proposed he come to live at the Potters. Then they tentatively began speaking and suggesting activities to do together. They flew and played Quidditch, taking turns being the keeper. They do Muggle movie nights, where Sirius has introduced Regulus to his favourite movies. Sirius has introduced him to Muggle foods too, the Potters' pantry is stocked with all kinds of delicacies. They set out to spend two nights a week alone, to learn to be in each other's company again.
They are close on a deep level, they are intertwined in a way that feels visceral to Regulus, but on the surface, they have been two strangers for too long.
They are attempting to make up for time lost and commit to having a conversation. He discovered that Sirius' favourite singer is Bowie, he doesn’t' like to speak French anymore, or play the piano. Regulus still does, the Potters have a great piano, but Sirius seems happy to accompany him and listen as he plays.
In the mornings, Regulus is strangely bonding with James, on the other hand. Sirius is the last one to get up, and, one morning, he and James found out over breakfast they were both curious about the Potters' library, which James wasn’t acquainted with either, so they are exploring it together, section after section.
This morning, they are in the section on charm creation, which caught their attention the day before, when they were looking at the one on protection spells.
Regulus' eyes roam along the packed shelves. He picks up The Unconventional Sorcerer Enchidrion and flips through the pages. It explains how to create spells apt for only the most unusual and rare circumstances.
"How to protect yourself from a Solitary Grendel attack," Regulus reads aloud, chuckling.
"Useful, but how many wizards have ever found themselves in that situation?" James says with a laugh.
"Incantations Formation: Most Suitable Vocables for Self Defence and Counter Spellcasting," James reads from the cover of a big tome, "Seems interesting."
It does. "Can I see it?", says Regulus, and James hands him the book.
It's a study on the most powerful word and word combinations for spell creation, it seems indeed very interesting, he will take it.
"Elements Manipulation: Most Apt Idioms for Unique Spells," James has picked up another book. "I'll read this. I didn't like the one on crystals, I don't think I'll finish it."
"Which one was it?"
"Comprehensive Theory of Crystal Powers and Properties."
"Could I borrow it, then? I would like to lend it to a friend of mine, I think she would like it."
"Of course," James smiles.
Regulus sits down as James walks along the shelves. The rustle of the flipped pages and the shuffling of books are the only sounds that can be heard. At some point during the summer, the silences between them have become comfortable.
After a while, James breaks it.
“How did it go last night with Sirius?” he asks with a soft smile. The night before was one of his and Sirius’s appointments.
“Good, I think,” he says hesitantly.
“What did you choose to do?”
“We went stargazing on the roof. The night was perfect, there wasn’t a cloud in sight,” he says, smiling. He and Sirius used to do it all the time as kids, and learning about astronomy was one of the few things they both liked among all the topics their tutors taught them.
“Did you like it?”
“It was nice, I guess. We hadn’t done it in a long time.”
Not since the third year, if not even before that. There had been stretches of silence the night before, and between him and Sirius, silence hasn’t become completely comfortable yet. Regulus envies Sirius and James’s relationship. They’re so free around each other, their deep closeness is palpable.
The door of the library bursts open, and Sirius appears.
“Hi,” says Sirius with a small smile, remaining at the door, “Would you like to play Quidditch together?”
“I don’t,” says Regulus. Sirius nods, looking a bit deflated.
“Because Barty is arriving soon,” Regulus quickly adds. He wants to make sure Sirius knows it’s not because he doesn’t want to spend time together, and indeed Sirius smiles at him.
“I do, Pads!” says James, “I’ll be right over.”
“I’ll go get the quaffle,” Sirius grins and runs off.
“There is a section on rune creation here,” says James looking at some bookshelves ahead of Regulus. “We could look at these tomorrow, if you’d like.”
Regulus smiles and says, “I’d like that.”
“I’ll join Pads, see you later”, says James as he leaves.
Regulus goes to sit on the couch in the living room, scrolling through the pages of the book he picked. Pandora would like it, he will bring it to Hogwarts.
The minutes pass. Barty is running late, so he starts reading from the first page.
He has read a couple of chapters, when the flames in the fireplace turn green. As soon as Barty steps out of the fire, Regulus runs to hug him.
“What’s wrong?” says Regulus.
“My choice of curriculum subjects, apparently,” says Barty agitatedly.
“What about it?”
“It’s not in alignment enough with becoming a leading something at the Ministry,” he says, as he strides out of the room and up the stairs.
“He doesn’t even care what. It just has to be an illustrious position,” adds Barty. “And dropping History of Magic is out of the question, it’s paramount that I take it. And Advanced Arithmancy, of course.”
Regulus grabs Barty’s hand as he’s still talking and makes him stop. He opens his arms, and Barty throws himself into them.
“We’ll find a solution,” Regulus murmurs.
“How?” murmurs Barty.
“I don’t know yet. We’ll figure it out.”
When they enter Regulus’ bedroom, Barty immediately throws himself on the bed. “I should have failed some O.W.L.s on purpose,” he says.
“You should have. I would have been number one in our year,” Regulus sits on the ground and starts looking for the Sex Pistols’ record. Barty likes them.
“I’m not sure it would have been you anyway,” says Barty, and Regulus finally sees a smile appear on his face. God Save the Queen has started playing in the background.
“Your transfiguration of that cat into a lion has been passable at best,” adds Barty, grinning.
“What? It was excellent,” exclaims Regulus, jumping on top of Barty and staring to tickle him. “I clearly remember you jumping when the lion roared.”
“That was you. You’re projecting.” Barty laughs and starts retaliating, attacking Regulus.
“It wasn’t me!” Regulus shrieks as Barty forces him to curl into a ball.
“Admit it.” Barty is on top of him, continuing his torture.
“Stop!” says Regulus, breathless from the laughter.
“I’ll be generous this time.” says Barty grinning, climbing off Regulus, “But I want a confession in return.”
“It was you,” Regulus giggles, as he jumps up and sprints out of the door.
He hears Barty running after him and shouting, “That’s not true!” as he descends the stairs.
Regulus laughs as he runs all the way out of the house, down the garden lane, passes the quidditch hoops where James and his brother are, hearing Barty getting closer and closer. He gets to the orchard, when suddenly he’s tackled, and both he and Barty tumble and roll on the grass. He tries to push Barty away, but he immediately imprisons him and resumes the tickling, making him plead mercy.
They are both crying with laughter and breathless. Barty rolls over, stretching out on the grass. “It’s… not… true…” he says panting and laughing.
“It… is…” says Regulus laughing, out of breath too. Barty gives him a nudge on the arm, evidently out of energy.
Regulus closes his eyes as he catches his breath, feeling the warmth of the sun softly burning his skin. The air is filled with scents of wildflowers, freshly cut grass and the sugary smell of ripe apples fallen from the trees around them. The only sounds are the chirping of crickets and the shouts of James and Sirius echoing in the distance. A backdrop accompanying many of his summer days.
Hurry gave way to quiet and repetition, and the summer is passing slowly in the hot still air. Time seems to have slowed down over the summer, it flows idly, unhurriedly.
Many afternoons have been spent just like that, lounging in the gardens, basking in the scorching sun with no particular plans.
The gardens have witnessed Quidditch matches, races, talks, strolls, bonfires and stolen butterbeers.
And Regulus meeting the other two marauders. Not for the first time, that was a long time ago, even if the feelings of anxiety mixed with excitement were the same at eleven years old as they were then, at sixteen, in a garden, under the sun, with an old brother that still felt like a new one, when they met once more, all over again.
Remus wasn't as wary as Peter was. Unexpectedly, because not even Sirius was friendly with him up until recently, Remus warmed up to him immediately and Regulus thought with a smile that probably his brother spoke positively about him.
Peter seemed shy at first, but by the second hour together, he was the loudest of the two, laughing and bombarding him with questions. Remus shared his love for classic books, and they discovered they read just as much of the same ones. He hadn’t liked James. But this James, making sure he eats breakfast, including him in the conversation when he's quiet, seeking him out to make sure he isn't lonely, is not as arrogant as Regulus thought he was.
Regulus played Quidditch with them, always playing as chaser or keeper, trying not to fly too well, he doesn't want James to study him. He trains on his own, when they play together it's for fun and they do it as a makeshift team.
Regulus is also content to just read a book basking in the sun, alongside Remus, in silence, broken only sometimes with thoughts about a passage or an annotation the other has made.
When Barty comes, Regulus never reads. Barty and silence don't coexist. Regulus would have to petrify him to make him stay still for more than a few minutes.
Today is no exception. He turns towards Barty and squeezes his arm, "We'll figure it out, okay?"
Barty nods. Regulus encircles him with his arms and Barty hugs him back.
Regulus stands up and holds out his hand for Barty, "Peach?", he smiles.
“Of course,” Barty grins.
They walk through the orchard filled with the colours of the fruits hanging from the branches, the leaves are swaying in the warm breeze. In the middle, there is their favourite, a peach tree that has the sweetest peaches. They pick obviously more than one each.
The juice of the peach drips down Barty's chin and Regulus laughs.
"Have you seen yourself?", Barty retorts.
Regulus passes the back of his hand over his mouth and throws the peach's kernel at Barty, missing him.
When they go back to the house, Regulus says, “Go ahead, I'm coming in a minute."
He goes into the drawing room, then the other living room, then the library. Then it comes to mind that he should probably go to the kitchen. Indeed, he finds Euphemia there, intent on enchanting some carrots to peel themselves.
"Euphemia, may I perhaps ask you a favour?" he says hesitantly.
"Absolutely. Let's hear it," says Euphemia with a warm smile.
"Could Barty sleep here tonight? Would it be okay for you?"
"He fought with his parents..." he adds.
"Sure", she says smiling, "You can invite your friends, you don't need a reason. This is your home too now."
"Just ask us beforehand," she adds.
"Thank you," he says smiling.
"Can I do anything for Barty?"
"I wouldn't know what,” he says sadly. He wishes he, they, could do more.
Euphemia nods. "Let me know if I can help. For now, I will prepare the room beside yours."
"Thank you very much," says Regulus, with a bright smile.
"You don't need to be formal with us, you know", she adds, "And I told you to call me Effie."
Regulus nods and smiles as he leaves.
When he comes back into his room, Barty is on the ground flipping through Regulus’s records, he raises his head when Regulus enters. "Is this new?" he says holding the record Lust for Life.
"Yes", Regulus smiles, "Evan owled it to me yesterday."
Barty puts it on. "He also sent me a record, but not the same,” he says, “Mine was the Talking Heads' one.”
"Has he already told you his parents have decided to prolong the trip?" says Regulus.
"Yes, it's not fair! We haven't seen him all summer. Are they not bored yet?"
"Please. Evan's father?" says Regulus chuckling, "He loves his diplomatic visits more than life itself."
Barty looks at the ground and Regulus sees a shadow pass over his face. He goes to sit in front of Barty. "Do you want to stay here tonight?" he says.
Barty raises his head. "I already asked Euphemia, you can if you want,” continues Regulus.
Barty nods. "Thank you," he murmurs.
“Of course, don’t even say it.”
"So, do you like the Talking Heads?" continues Regulus.
"Yes," Barty smiles softly," You'll have to listen to them."
"I also like this record", he adds, "But I like mine more, Evan got it right."
"He always does," Regulus smiles.
Barty picks up his muggle camera, as he says, "I’ve sent him that poster we got him in Muggle London."
"But he's not home, where will he hang it?"
"He's obviously going to bring it with him wherever he goes," Barty grins, "I'm sure all those politicians and important people will like it."
"Especially at cocktail parties," Regulus chuckles.
"Perhaps it will induce them to put The Clash on. I've basically done Evan a favour."
"I'm sure they will," Regulus giggles.
The shadows suddenly shut, and Regulus finds himself in complete darkness. "What happened?" he exclaims.
"I’ve finished the film in the camera," he hears Barty chuckle. "It can't catch any light. To change it, you need to be in the dark."
"You could have warned me."
Regulus hears Barty giggle and some clicking noises.
"I’ll have to go back to muggle London, to bring it to develop,” says Barty.
"I'm coming too!" exclaims Regulus as the shadows open again.
"I wish Evan was here when we went last time," says Barty. "I even missed spending hours in bookshops."
"I didn't see you doing it," Regulus chuckles.
Barty shakes his head, "It's not the same without him and his commentary."
"He also missed camping. He would have liked it," says Regulus.
"This year was my first birthday without him."
"But don't worry, you made it terrific anyway," adds Barty, grinning and ruffling Regulus' hair. Regulus swats his hand away and glares at him.
"I've missed him when I moved here," Regulus murmurs, remembering those days filled with apprehension.
Barty leans forward and hugs him tight.
"I don't know what I would have done without you," murmurs Regulus.
Barty squeezes him. "Terrible. You would have been bored to death, stuck with Sirius and James", he says, bringing a laugh to Regulus‘s lips again.
"You know", says Regulus, "I guess me and James truly became friends in the end."
"Gone forever are the days of smug, attention-seeking Potter, then?" Barty grins.
Regulus chuckles. "He's nice. He's still accompanying me in the exploration of the library," he says.
They go downstairs when dinner time approaches, and they find Euphemia in the living room. "Barty, are you staying with us tonight, then?" she says, smiling.
"Yes, thank you very much," Barty says.
"I'll go get an owl so you can ask your parents."
"It's not necessary, thank you."
"Did you tell them already?"
"No, but I don't have to."
She motions for them to go sit beside her. "I think you should ask, just in case," she smiles, "Or tell them, if you don't need permission."
Barty glances at Regulus.
"Won't they get worried about not seeing you?" says Euphemia.
"Not really," says Barty, shrugging.
Euphemia nods and reaches for his knee, squeezing it reassuringly.
"Still, I'd be more serene if they knew you were here," she says.
Barty nods, and he writes a letter for his parents.
“I’ll owl it before calling the boys,” she says with a smile.
He and Barty find Fleamont as they reach the patio in the backyard. "Hi boys. How are you, Barty?" Fleamont says.
"Good, thank you", says Barty, as they sit down at the dining table.
The sun is setting, the sky is a bright orange and the last sunrays filter through the vines of the pergola.
Euphemia comes back followed by Sirius and James. "I scored more than Sirius," James grins.
"I'd have you kicked out of the team if you didn't," Sirius laughs.
"And we were very close," Sirius adds.
"Were you?" Regulus smiles from ear to ear.
"Not that close!" exclaims James.
"Close," whispers Sirius.
"Interesting," says Regulus.
"It's not. You won't stand a chance against us this year," says James.
"We'll see," Regulus grins.
"By the way, Barty, if you want, we can train together sometimes," says James.
"And let you map my strengths and weaknesses? I don't think so.”
"Yes, don't let him," Regulus giggles.
"What have you boys found in the library today?" asks Fleamont, as they start eating. Fleamont often discovers something new about his library's collection when they tell him about their mornings' findings.
"Today we went to explore that section we spotted about spell creation. We apparently have a vast number of books about it,” says James.
"I read one, years ago. But I remember us having just a couple."
"No, we have dozens!”
As James recounts their morning’s adventures, an owl flies down and perches on a bench beside them, he has a letter with him.
Euphemia picks it up and reads it. "It's a note from your father, Barty, warmly thanking us for our hospitality."
Barty is looking intently at his plate. Regulus kicks his sheen under the table, making Barty jolt and glare at him. Regulus smiles and squeezes his leg, managing to make Barty smile back.
Regulus glances at Euphemia, who understands right away.
"Boys, you can leave when you want, dinner is over," says Euphemia.
Sirius's eyes widen, and he was surely about to protest, because they usually can't leave the table that early, but Euphemia gives him a look and he remains silent.
Regulus stands up and motions for Barty to follow him. They walk down the garden lane in silence.
"He's such a hypocrite," mutters Barty after a while.
"He is".
Regulus lies down on the grass in the middle of the garden, and Barty lies beside him.
"But who cares about him?", adds Regulus, turning to Barty.
The warm summer breeze caresses their faces, as they look up at the stars. The sky is clear, and the night is so dark that it seems that if you raise your hand, you could touch them.
Stargazing is one of the things Regulus has always loved. The sky is full of stories and myths that people have passed down for centuries, they transcend time and space. They fill him up when he feels empty.
"Do you want to hear something?" he says.
"Sure.”
"Pick one."
Barty points to a star on their left, and Regulus starts narrating the myth of Pegasus.