Chapter 18: Someone To Stay
The Hogwarts Express, December 21st 1996
"What are you going to do?" Hermione asks as soon as we step into an empty compartment and cast a Muffliato to the closed door, knowing there's no trouble using a bit of magic on the train.
I shrug as we take opposite seats on the benches. "I dunno…I mean, I think I should see him…" I say unsurely. "I just…" I mutter. I just don't know if I'm able to face him, even though his letter suggests that he only wants to apologise.
A couple of days ago, on Thursday night, to be exact, I received a letter from Regulus. I didn't really have much time to talk about it with Hermione before this morning, since yesterday we had a busy day with all our classes during the day and Slughorn's Christmas party in the evening.
Hermione lifts her brows a bit. "You never told me what exactly did he say to you when you went to see him in the summer?" She asks with a gentle voice.
I swallow and look away, remembering his words like it was yesterday. How bad they had felt, especially since at least partly, he had been right. I know I didn't kill my godfather, and I'm not the reason he's gone. But I didn't close him out of my mind, and I blindly believed the visions to be real…
"Harry? Did he…he blamed you for Sirius's…death, didn't he?" Hermione asks very quietly, an anxious look in her eyes.
I frown at the floor and take a steadying breath before nodding lightly. "Yeah."
Hermione lets out an outraged scoff. "He shouldn't have. Harry, that was –"
"No, Hermione. He was right," I say tightly and look at her. "Not…not completely, but…I'm partly to blame." I say, clenching my jaw.
Hermione shakes her head hastily. "No. Harry, no, you're not. You know who did this. You know who's behind this all."
"Yeah." I only say wearily, not wanting to talk about my godfather's death. I look out of the window, to the snowy countryside whirling under my gaze as the train pushes forward.
After a short silence Hermione speaks again. "If we're going to determine whether or not you are going to meet him, I think we should hear it again," she says with an expectant look.
I give her a wry glance, but comply since I really need her insight in this.
I pull the folded piece of parchment from my pocket, open it, and read the letter aloud after clearing my throat.
Potter,
I am aware that I might be too late, but I hope you will still take this into consideration.
I would like to apologise my behaviour the last time we met each other, as I now understand what I said was harsh and caused purely by my own unhappiness.
To settle matters, if it isn't too inconvenient for you, I would be grateful if you could meet me during the holidays.
R.A.B.
Hermione chews her bottom lip in thought as I push the letter back to my pocket. "Well?" I ask impatiently.
Hermione hums in thought. "Well, I think you should go," she says slowly. "He obviously wants to apologise in person, and he even has admitted in there that what he said last summer was unreasonable," She continues, nudging her head towards my jacket pocket where I've slipped the letter.
"Yeah…" I say, going over the letter in my head once more. "Yeah. I'll meet him." I say more firmly.
Hermione looks excited. "Great! I'm sure it goes well, Harry." She says with a reassuring smile, and then gives me a meaningful look. "And you know…You might even have an interesting Christmas..."
I arch a brow at her. "As interesting as your night with McLaggen?" I ask, unable to hold it in anymore, now that Ron's not around. I have to admit, I was stunned when I first heard that she was going to take McLaggen to Slughorn's Christmas party, at least until she told me why. Apparently, she only took him as her date to annoy Ron.
I'm still not sure if that's better than if she was willingly dating the bloke, since now she's only trying to make our friend jealous.
The plan hadn't gone exactly how Hermione had thought, as it seemed that McLaggen didn't have any other aspiration for the evening than to snog my friend senseless and…well…probably to get into her knickers. So…she basically spent the night hiding from him.
Hermione groans. "Don't remind me, Harry. I think my lips are permanently bruised because of him," She says with an uncomfortable shiver.
I gape at her. "You actually snogged him?!" I yell just as the door – which we apparently forgot to lock – opens. Ron stands there, with Lavender peeking behind him to our compartment.
"W-What?" Ron mutters quietly, looking from me to Hermione, confusion written all over his face.
Lavender seems to understand the situation more quickly. "Ooooh, you snogged Cormac? At the party?" She gushes, an excited look in her eyes.
Hermione stares stonily at the pair in the doorway.
"Oh, Hermione, can I go tell Parvati?" Lavender continues, even though we all know that Parvati – and every other person in the train – will be told anyway before we even have reached the King's Cross Station.
Hermione shrugs stiffly. "Be my guest."
Ron seems to not notice that his girlfriend leaves to see her friends, since he's busy gaping at Hermione, his face red with…anger, and hurt.
I feel utterly ashamed by my mistake. I certainly did not make things easier for anyone. I clear my throat, trying to steer the conversation away from the topic, hoping that we could all forget about it. "Hey, mate, you gonna join us?" I ask carefully, but it seems that Ron's still having a staring contest with Hermione.
"Ron?" I ask again.
Ron flinches, and turns to look at me. "No, I'm…I'll go find Lav," He mutters and then leaves the compartment, closing the door behind him as he walks stiffly away.
I close my eyes in embarrassment as I lean forward and bring my hands up to rub my face. "Shit…I'm sorry…" I say, not able to look at Hermione.
She sighs, and I imagine her giving me a reprimanding look because of the swearing. "…It's okay, Harry. It's not like you planned for him to hear that…right?" She asks, tentatively.
I lift my head quickly, and give her an incredulous look. "Of course not!"
"Okay, okay," She says then, in a calming manner. "Then let's just…forget about it. I'm sure Ron will forget about it as well…" She says simply, looking anything but assured by her words.
"Yeah." I mutter, not really believing her either.
The train ride continues more or less in silence, and only when Ginny, Neville, Seamus and Dean join us in our compartment, we are able to let go of the unfortunate incident and enjoy the rest of the ride with our friends.
The Burrow, December 22nd 1996
"You sure you didn't see them together?"
"Yes, I'm sure, like I told you already," I say, and then mutter, "a million times."
"I'm only checking!" Ron says with irritation, obviously hearing my every word. We're at the Burrow's kitchen, helping Mrs. Weasley to prepare dinner by peeling a mountain of sprouts. We've managed to already go through the suspicious encounter between Snape and Malfoy I witnessed at Slughorn's party, and we've moved – again – to what happened between Hermione and McLaggen.
Yesterday, after we arrived here, I talked with Mr. Weasley, and told him that I had been writing with Sirius's brother – not really explaining it further – and that I'd like to meet him, if it wasn't a problem for them. Mrs. Weasley had overheard our conversation and decided that I shouldn't be going alone, as we might as well all go and take the poor man something to eat.
And now we're making dinner for an army to take with us before we go there. Apparently Mrs. Weasley has visited Grimmauld Place a couple of times during the past month, supplying Regulus and Kreacher food, as Lupin has been on a mission somewhere.
"Aaah, George, look at this. They're using knives and everything. Bless them." Fred says with amusement as the twins enter the kitchen.
"I'll be seventeen in two- and a-bit months' time," Ron says grumpily, "and then I'll be able to do it by magic!"
"But meanwhile," George says as he sits down at the kitchen table and puts his feet up on it, "we can enjoy watching you demonstrate the correct use of a — whoopsadaisy!" He says as he flicks his wand, making the knife slip in Ron's hand and making it cut his thumb.
"You made me do that!" Ron growls at his brother, sucking his cut thumb. "You wait, when I'm seventeen —"
"I'm sure you'll dazzle us all with hitherto unsuspected magical skills," Fred says with a bored voice.
"And speaking of hitherto unsuspected skills, Ronald," George continues, "what is this we hear from Ginny about you and a young lady called — unless our information is faulty — Lavender Brown?"
Ron narrows his eyes at his brothers, his cheeks slightly pink before he turns back to the sink. "Mind your own business."
I try to ignore Ron and his brothers, not really wanting to participate into their bickering.
"What a snappy retort," Fred says simply. "I really don't know how you think of them. No, what we wanted to know was… how did it happen?"
"What d'you mean?" Ron says, turning back to them, looking suspicious.
"Did she have an accident or something?" George says with a slight grin.
Oh no…I have a bad feeling about this…
"What?" Ron asks incredulously.
"Well, how did she sustain such extensive brain damage?" Fred says with a wink.
Ron growls and throws the sprout knife at Fred, who sniggers and turns it into a paper airplane with a lazy flick of his wand.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley has just entered the kitchen to see Ron's knife performance.
"RONALD!" she screams furiously. "Don't you ever let me see you throwing knives again!"
"I won't," Ron says, "let you see," he adds, speaking under his breath as he turns back to the sprout mountain.
Mrs. Weasley is already explaining the twins about who is going to stay in which room during the holidays, since Lupin will most probably stay here from Christmas onward, as the full moon is on Christmas Eve. Fred and George assure their mother that if it will become too uncomfortable, they can always floo over to their apartment for the night.
Grimmauld Place, December 22nd 1996
I walk through the green flames, entering the kitchen in Grimmauld Place after Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny and the twins. Mr. Weasley, Bill and Fleur are still working, all of them joining us for dinner as soon as they get off from work.
Regulus is there, sitting with…Tonks, of all people, at the long kitchen table. The place looks very different from what it was during my last visit. Gone are the stains, the empty liquor bottles, the stacks of newspaper. Even though the same pots and pans hang from the ceiling above, the large wooden table is spotless, as is the rest of the room. It is almost unrecognisable.
And he looks different, somehow. Healthier, brighter. There's a ghost of an amusement on his features, as if he's shared a laughter with Tonks before our arrival. Regulus greets us stiffly, as usual, and his eyes linger at mine for longer than with the others, before he tells us to make ourselves at home.
As Mrs. Weasley busies herself with the stove – much to Kreacher's apparent annoyance – and tells the rest of us to go upstairs as she finishes with dinner, we leave her be and follow Regulus and Tonks towards the second landing, where we enter the library.
After a while of awkward small talk, the twins inform they'll go visit their old bedroom on the third floor, hinting that they might've actually left something in there. Ron, Ginny and I exchange a suspicious look, but say nothing. Who knows what they're up to…
Ron suggests a wizarding chess game after another silence, and none of us seem really enthusiastic about that, since at least Ginny and I know how brilliant Ron's at it.
"I actually was wondering, that…um…" I say and glance at Regulus.
His brows twitch upwards. "Yes?"
I scratch my neck, feeling anxious. "If it's okay for me to visit Sirius's room?"
Regulus seems surprised, but nods. "Of course. Do you want me to…?"
"Yeah. Yeah, okay," I quickly say, grateful that Ron has managed to talk Ginny into that chess game after all, and thus have their attention focused elsewhere.
Although, as Regulus and I stand up and walk towards the library doors, I notice Tonks's stare following us, a knowing smirk on her features.
We make our way upstairs, both of us silent, only our steps echoing in the staircase. We stop on the third floor to listen to the noise carrying out from the guest room Fred and George are occupying, and when all we can hear is laughter and discussion – and not, well, explosions – we continue upstairs to the fourth and topmost landing.
There're only two doors, and as I step into Sirius's room after Regulus, I realise I've never been in the room before. Regulus waves his wand to light the lamp on the bedside table and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The room itself is spacious with dark wood flooring and a large, four-poster bed with red hangings and a golden duvet, placed almost in the middle of the room. On the left side of the room there's a small reading nook; a comfortable looking armchair in front of a large bookshelf, next to a pair of tall windows, framed by red and golden curtains. On the right side of the room, next to what I presume is a bathroom door, there's a large desk against one wall and a wide wooden wardrobe against another. But what is the most interesting part in the room, besides being decorated with a vibrant red and gold theme, the entire wall behind the writing desk is filled with different kinds of posters and pictures, some of them moving and some not.
I take a couple of steps closer to see the moving pictures, and instantly recognise a large, framed photograph of my father and Sirius, grinning widely at the camera, their arms thrown over each other's shoulders. I smile at the two young men in their school robes, old enough to be in their last years at Hogwarts.
There's another, smaller picture, also from Hogwarts, where Sirius is surrounded by half a dozen girls who fawn over him, batting their eyelashes while Sirius winks at couple of the girls, biting his lip and looking smug as hell. I huff at the picture and shake my head in amusement.
"Brother sure liked the attention back then…" Regulus mutters wryly, and only then I remember he is in the room with me. Regulus's gaze flickers to another picture, and he becomes solemn. I follow his line of sight, and see a picture of the brothers, taken obviously after Sirius escaped from Azkaban and after Regulus came into this time. They are at Grimmauld Place, in the drawing room, leaning against a sturdy, but intricately detailed dresser, neither of them looking at the camera as they're busy laughing at something, perhaps something one of them had said.
I can't help but smile at the picture. Both of them look so carefree…and happy.
"That was my birthday, actually," Regulus explains as I examine the details of the picture. Both men are wearing dress robes. "Last May," he continues quietly.
I glance at him, suddenly curious. "Oh?"
Regulus's lips twitch upwards. "Yeah, my brother insisted to organise a ball in my honour, even if it was mostly the two of us. Though he managed to get some of the Order members to pop by as well…" He says pensively.
I clear my throat. "That explains the dress robes," I say lightly.
Regulus's lets out a small chuckle. "Yeah. Fun night. At least after brother stopped dragging me to dance with him," he says, his smile fading as a small frown takes place between his brows.
And I know where his thoughts are. It's not exactly easy to look at the picture, to see my godfather so joyful, and not think about the fact that he died only a month after it was taken.
"I'm sorry." I blurt out, turning to look at him, away from the photograph.
Regulus arches a brow at me. "I was in the impression that it was supposed to go the other way around," he says dryly.
I give him a helpless shrug. "Still am. Sorry." And it's the truth. I'm sorry he lost his brother. I'm sorry I lost my godfather. I'm sorry for playing a part in what happened to him, even if it was Voldemort's doing. Even if it was Bellatrix who ultimately killed him.
Regulus sighs, and then fixes a hard look at me, making my pulse speed momentarily. "Look. Potter. I…I know you're not to blame for this, for what happened to my brother. You're not the reason Sirius is gone. I know that. And I apologise if I made you believe so. I apologise that I…that I hurt you," He says steadily, and then swallows. My gaze flickers briefly at his bobbing throat as I process his words.
"I…thanks." I manage to say, my throat constricting as I move my gaze back to his eyes. I can feel my shoulders sagging slightly, as if a heavy lift has been taken away.
He studies my features, an inscrutable look in his eyes before he turns his attention to the writing desk, to a stack of small photographs piled neatly on the table.
"They're the only ones that came off." He says, and after seeing my puzzled look, he continues, "from the wall." He points at the wall behind the desk, and only then I notice small empty spots in the midst of all the posters and larger photographs.
"Sirius enjoyed annoying our mother, putting most of these up with Permanent Sticking Charms, and other spells, so thoroughly that he himself was unable to take them off afterwards," He says with a small smirk playing on his lips, as he glances at some of the posters featuring Muggle bands, motorcycles and…bikini-clad girls.
A small laugh escapes from my throat. "Yeah, seems like he had a lot of nerve," I say and stare at a poster where a bikini-clad girl leans against a motorcycle, staring coyly at the camera.
Regulus clears his throat. "You can take them," he says and gestures to the stack of photographs.
"Oh. You sure…?" I ask, my hand moving towards them hesitantly.
"I am," he says curtly. His expression then turns into a wry one. "And, well, seeing that you own everything in this house…" he says, a sly smile curving his lips.
I roll my eyes at him. "You know it's not like that…" I grumble dryly, and Regulus huffs a laughter, backing away to lean against the bed post.
I take the photographs and follow Regulus, and take a seat on the bed, where I spread them, wanting to see as many as I can in one view.
A surge of emotion stills me, numbs me. There are so many of them. So many with my mum, dad, Sirius, Lupin…even Pettigrew looks young and innocent, untroubled in the pictures he's included. There's one where my parents kiss and Sirius stalks behind them, trying to startle them, but they end up attacking Sirius, bringing him down to the living room floor in, what I assume is, Godric's Hollow.
There's one where the Marauders are outside, playing some sort of piggyback game by themselves, in what looks like the middle of an orchard. Similar to what the Weasleys have, but still different. I wonder where the picture has been taken.
There's dad and Sirius again, in their Quidditch gear, their brooms tossed over their shoulders, hairs windswept as they beam at the camera. I wish I'd seen them play…
"I'll be downstairs…" Regulus says quietly, and I give him an absent nod, absorbed in staring at the pictures in front of me.
A while – twenty, maybe thirty minutes later, I pocket the pictures, opting to continue looking at them later.
As I walk downstairs, a delicious whiff of Mrs. Weasley's stew carries to the stairway, and instead of going back to the library, I decide to return to the kitchen, my stomach rumbling agreeably. I walk past the third floor where I still hear Fred and George chattering, past the second floor where I assume Tonks, Ron and Ginny are still, engaged into the chess match, and then, on the first floor, as I'm about to walk past the drawing room, I stop in my tracks. The door's open, and Regulus is there, crouched in front of the Black family tapestry, his fingers brushing the textile.
I frown and enter the room, closing the door behind me. "Hey." I say quietly, and walk to him.
Regulus gives me a conflicted glance before he looks away, dropping his hands to his sides as he straightens up.
"What's –" I manage to say, my words stopping in my throat when I see where his fingers had been.
Under Sirius's scorched name, in the tapestry, there's his date of birth, and under that, there is – there should be – his death date. But the spot is empty.
"Harry," Regulus says quietly, and I can't even focus on how him calling me by my first name makes my stomach jolt, as words merely tumble out of my mouth.
"What is this? What are you…Is this you? Wh – I mean, shouldn't there be –" I stammer, not really knowing how to continue. What the hell is going on? Why isn't Sirius's death date there? He is dead. I saw him die.
Regulus lets out a weary sigh. "Listen. I don't know if I should be telling you this, since nobody else believes me, but –"
"You're saying he's not dead?" I ask sharply, interrupting him, a sliver of hope running through me, quashed by desperation and disbelief.
Regulus lets out a small wince, his eyes trailing over the room before returning back to me.
"Yes." He says quietly, giving me a challenging look.
But this is – what – is not – I mean, this is nothing to be argued with…Sirius died. He's gone. I was there.
Whatever the hell Regulus thinks, is…wrong.
"You're…" I say, and swallow hard, having a hard time to gather my thoughts. "You're..." Wrong – I want to say, or in denial, but I…can't. I give him a long look before I speak, quietly and very deliberately.
"Prove it."
Regulus appears to be startled by my words, and he frowns faintly before he speaks.
"The last words my brother said to you, was ordering you to get out, take the prophecy, grab your friend Neville, and run," he says slowly. "Then he started duelling our cousin."
A cold shiver runs up my spine, because I remember the words, I remember how he looked at me, with fear and with a fierce protectiveness. I remember every word. And somehow, Regulus knows them too. Of course, it is possible that some of the others at the Ministry might've heard Sirius, but I doubt it. There was too much of noise coming from everywhere, and no one near us at that moment, the moment before he ran to duel Bellatrix.
"I-I…" I say, my voice faltering, an overwhelming feeling taking over. "…How would know that?" I whisper, gaping at him in shock.
Regulus's brows knit together in a deep frown as a pained look flashes in his eyes. "I've seen him. At first, I thought they were dreams, but they're not. Not after I saw this," He says and looks at the tapestry, at the empty spot.
"I've talked with him. About a lot of things," He continues calmly, studying my reaction.
I can only stare ahead with a stoical look. How can this be possible? I try to wrap my head around the thought as Regulus proceeds to explain to me how he thinks his brother is being trapped, not yet moved on, but not with the living anymore. That he's struggling, trying to stay there, trying not to go to the voices that are calling for him. That there has to be some studies about the Death Chamber in the Ministry, that there has to be a way for him to come back.
"You're not saying anything." Regulus says after a short silence.
I rub the bridge of my nose, feeling stunned, speechless. What should I say to all of that? I begin to shake my head in bewilderment, while Regulus's posture stiffens, his expression turning blank.
"Hey, I don't –" I try to explain, trying to tell him to give me some time to think about this, but the door opens, and yet again someone interrupts us.
"Oh, Harry, Regulus…dinner's ready." Mrs. Weasley informs kindly and then turns to walk back downstairs.
Regulus gives me one last expressionless look before he swiftly turns and walks towards the kitchen.
I could have handled this better. Bloody hell.
The Burrow, December 26th 1996
"Really, Molly. You are too kind," Lupin says for what feels like the hundredth time.
I was invited to the Weasley residence for late Christmas dinner. A dinner, that usually takes place on Christmas day, but because of Lupin's…illness, it was decided to be kept later. And it's not that I mind, since, well, I didn't have any plans for the holidays to begin with.
As I glance around the large table in the crammed kitchen, I amuse myself with the thought what my brother would say to me if he saw me right now. What he'd think if he saw me sitting amongst these people, not really bothered by my surroundings in a way I would have been in the past – although, I have to say the place seemed a bit odd at first – with Mrs. Weasley's handmade Christmas jumper on top of my pressed shirt, a clothing which apparently everyone here wears during the Holiday.
I sit between Ms. Weasley and Potter, opposite to Ms. Delacour, who occasionally flashes a wide sweet smile at our direction, making the young woman beside me bristle with irritation, while Potter and his friend Weasley struggle to keep their faces from colouring as they clear their throats loudly. A part-Veela, that goes without saying.
We haven't traded many words with Potter, and it is obvious he has been avoiding my gaze since I arrived here. I know I shouldn't have said anything to him. I should've lied. I should've told him that the tapestry was merely malfunctioning, that it was only doing so because my brother was disowned. Anything would've been better than the truth, it seems.
It is not difficult to keep the feelings of irritation and disappointment to myself. I really wasn't counting on him to believe me. No one has. Potter, on the other hand, has not mastered the art of shutting his emotions away, if the confusion and frustration radiating from him have anything to go with.
I'm relieved that no one else has taken interest in his odd and sullen behaviour, as everyone is busy focusing on Lupin's and my cousin's inaudible and tense interaction, in which my cousin sends the poor man several glares, while Lupin, sitting opposite to her, tries his best to ignore them.
After dinner, everyone retreats to the brightly decorated living room, to listen to the wireless, to play Exploding Snap, and overall relax. My cousin bids me and everyone else her goodbyes, as she is due to a night shift at the Hogsmeade village. As soon as she's gone, Lupin retreats to stand in front of the fireplace, a stricken look in his eyes as he stares at the dancing flames.
At first, I do not really pay attention to anyone as I sit in the corner on one of the two large sofas, contemplating the right moment to take my leave, but as Mr. Weasley and Potter – situated in the armchairs close to me – start discussing something regarding the Malfoy Manor, an inspection, or so it seems, my interest is piqued.
"I checked, Harry," Mr. Weasley says with a low voice. "I went and searched the Malfoys' house. There was nothing, either broken or whole, that shouldn't have been there."
"Yeah, I know, I saw in the Prophet that you'd looked…but there's actually more to it," Potter says quietly.
He then proceeds to explain something that is even more interesting. Something about overhearing Severus offering his help to the Malfoy boy, about making an Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa.
"Has it occurred to you, Harry," Mr. Weasley says kindly, "that Snape was simply pretending — ?"
"Pretending to offer help, so that he could find out what Malfoy's up to?" Potter says quickly, a tense tone in his voice. "Yeah, I thought you'd say that. But how do we know?"
"It isn't our business to know," Lupin says suddenly, turning away from the fireplace and facing Potter and Mr. Weasley. He glances at me, knowing that I've been listening to the conversation as well. "It's Dumbledore's business. Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us."
"But," Potter says, seeming hesitant. "Just say — just say Dumbledore's wrong about Snape —"
"People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus." Lupin says simply.
"But Dumbledore can make mistakes," Potter argues. "He says it himself. And you" — he glances at me before fixing a firm look at Lupin — "do you honestly like Snape?"
"I neither like nor dislike Severus," Lupin says simply. "No, Harry, I am speaking the truth," he adds to Potter's sceptical expression. "We shall never be bosom friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon."
I lift my brows to that bit of information, as it doesn't sound anything the Severus I knew would do from the kindness of his heart. And the part about Severus making an Unbreakable Vow just seems…unbelievable. Something I will certainly bring up the next time I meet him. But even if the Vow's probably just what they'd said, a way to find out what the Malfoy kid is up to, there's no doubt that the man is scheming something.
The two of them continue arguing about Severus for a while, until Mr. Weasley suggests a nightcap, leaping to his feet to prepare eggnog.
As Potter and Lupin start to talk about Lupin's mission, and then about his youth and how he became a werewolf, I decide that that is my cue to leave and head back home after thanking my hosts.
I slip out from the kitchen door moments after Regulus, hoping to catch him before he reaches over the wards where he can disapparate. But he's there, standing on the porch, his back against the house, gazing up at the dark and starry sky. I suddenly feel goose bumps erupt up my spine that have nothing to do with the cold winter air.
"Hey," I say as he turns towards me from the sound of the door. "You're leaving already?" I continue, feeling uncertain. He hasn't as much as glanced at me during the whole night. And it's not like I've been actively trying to start a conversation with him, but it's just…it's been rather difficult, being around him after what he told me.
He studies me with an unreadable look, his hands in the pockets of his pressed trousers, the silver embroidered dark green Christmas jumper Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him making a bizarre contrast to his usually smart appearance. "Yes," He says quietly.
I know I came to see him for a reason. I know there's something I want to discuss with him. Something I need to say to him, but I'm at a loss of words.
Regulus clears his throat after a minute's silence. "What did Scrimgeour want from you? …I heard he came by earlier?" He asks with a hint of curiosity in his voice.
I lift my brows with a mild surprise, feeling relieved and disappointed at the same time. I take a step towards him, mirroring his stance and push my hands in the pockets of my jeans – it's not exactly warm outside, even with the warming charms Fred and George set up into the garden before dinner.
"Er…Yeah, he did," I say with a sigh. "Just what you'd expect, I reckon…Asking me to be the Ministry's mascot, to pretend they're winning the war against Voldemort," I say, unable to stop the bitterness seeping into my voice.
Regulus still flinches at the name, even though he's heard it at least once every time I've been in his company. He lifts a hand and threads it through his hair, and only now I notice it has grown longer since the last time I've taken a good look at him. He resembles so much of his brother, that it nearly hurts.
"I suppose you turned him down, then?" He asks as his eyes flicker over my face, watching my expression carefully.
I give him a shrug and a small smirk. "Don't see there could've been any other way…"
He nods slowly, still staring at me with a contemplative look, almost as if forgetting himself. I rub my neck as I start to feel a little too self-conscious under his gaze, and then he suddenly looks away, frowning at the frozen rose bushes at the end of the porch.
"I was actually just leaving," he says with an undecipherable voice, looking back to the house behind us. "Needed a bit of fresh air before heading back home," He continues and with a nod, he walks past me towards the apparition point.
I'm fighting an inside battle, the one I've been having since Sunday, when he told me about Sirius and what he'd said. I want to believe him. Even if it sounds mad. Even if it's impossible.
If there's even a small chance to get Sirius back, I know I'll do anything.
"Wait."
Regulus turns around with an inquisitive look on his face, instead of an annoyed one, which I had been expecting. "Yes?" He asks quietly, staying in place.
I quickly make the couple of steps to him and take a deep breath before speaking. "What you said about…about Sirius," I start awkwardly.
His expression remains neutral as he speaks, but I can hear anticipation in his voice. "What about it?"
"I'm…I…" I mutter and lick my lips, anxious to say it aloud, since that'll make it final. "I believe you. I want to believe you. That – that he's not gone. That Sirius's not gone." I say finally and look at him intently.
I've had time to think this through. What Regulus said to me, my godfather's last words…there's no way anyone but me or Sirius could've recited them, word for word. And then there's the tapestry. And the missing body. It's just…It has to be true. I need it to be true. I need him back. I need him so much it hurts.
Something flickers in Regulus's eyes, relief, perhaps…or fear, maybe. Either way, he looks more open he has in a long time, his brow furrowing slightly as he swallows hard.
"I'm glad." He breathes after a short silence, not at all the withdrawn and imperious man he usually is around me and others. He looks younger like this, more vulnerable.
The silence between us stretches, and deep down, I don't want it to end. Because I don't want him to leave. Regulus too seems uncertain, like he's indecisive about something.
"I would like to – "
" – Are you sure you don't want to – "
We both start at the same time, and I let out a small chuckle as the corners of his lips turn upwards. I lift my brows expectantly, signalling for him to speak first.
His eyes run over my face, assessing, before he speaks. "I would like to request a meeting with you," he says tensely.
I give him an amused look. "A what?" I say, unable to stop the grin spreading. Is he asking me to stop by at Grimmauld?
Regulus rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean," He grumbles and then frowns, looking unsure. "Perhaps we could have dinner…"
As I feel my eyebrows lifting with surprise, he quickly continues, "To discuss my brother's circumstances, of course."
"Oh!" I manage to say between feeling stunned and gleeful and, well, disappointed. "Of course," I tell him, the grin persistent on my lips when he actually blushes.
"You can stop beaming like a loon, Potter," he says tightly, looking flustered.
I let out nervous chuckle. "Sorry, I…it just sounded a bit different in my head, I guess…" I say, grimacing inwardly at my wayward thoughts.
He arches a brow at me, suddenly looking sombre. There's an intense silence, as we both stare at each other, trying to read the other.
"…And what if it was? Different, I mean." He says finally, his voice quiet and careful.
My throat feels tight all of a sudden. Are we talking about the same thing here?
"Um...I, um…" I stammer, feeling the colour rising upwards from my neck.
A small frown appears between his brows. "Look, Potter – " he starts with a frustrated look.
"Yeah, I think I'd like that," I say quickly, not wanting him to take his words back.
Regulus's eyes widen somewhat. "Oh." He says, seeming too stunned to say anything else.
"Yeah." I say, feeling the need to fill the awkward silence.
Regulus clears his throat. "That's…good. I think," he says, looking still bewildered even though his lips curve up in a small smile.
I can't stop myself from mirroring his expression. "So…um…what about tomorrow?" I ask, struggling to keep the eagerness and nervousness seeping into my voice.
He notices though.
Regulus takes a step towards me, standing now so close that I could touch him if I extended my arm. Even thinking about it makes my heart beating faster. I release a shaky breath and let my gaze trail up his frame, until I meet his darkened eyes.
He gives me an almost imperceptible nod, his eyes dropping down to my lips for a long moment. "Tomorrow's good," he says quietly.
The anticipation is killing me. The mere thought of him leaning closer to me – not downwards since I'm now almost as tall as he is, which is strange, because it's so different from what it was almost a year before – makes me think all kinds of thoughts. Makes me feel curious, excited…itching…craving.
"What were you going to say? Earlier?" He asks, his voice so soft and so low it makes my head spin.
It takes me a moment before I understand what he is asking. "Um…I was…just going to ask if you'd like to go back inside to talk," I say, feeling out of breath.
Regulus gives me a small smile. "Tomorrow?" He asks instead, his eyes moving across my face, studying me.
I swallow down the disappointment and frustration I know have everything to do with him leaving and respond to his smile. "Tomorrow."
Regulus nods me goodbye and squeezes my arm lightly before he turns and walks towards the apparition point.
I stare at his retreating back until he vanishes into the darkness. Only after I hear the faint pop of disapparation, I release a loud puff of breath that changes into a quiet laughter.
I'm grinning all the way back to the house. Sirius is alive. And Regulus is…well, he's something, isn't he.
Definitely an interesting Christmas.