Chapter Text
Regulus' stomach feels bubbly with a mixture of excitement and nerves. He's been sleeping in fits and starts all week, and today he gave up completely when the sun was barely peeking out from behind the clouds. He'd made his way into the kitchen to see if he might bother the lovingly nicknamed Mr. Kreacher as he prepares breakfast, but the old house keeper was nowhere to be found — even for an early bird such as himself.
Regulus snatched an orange from the overflowing fruit bowl, making his way onto the patio so he might methodically peel it to the soothing sounds of birds chirping and the wind rustling the surrounding trees. With daybreak slowly blooming, the scorching French summer heat wouldn't hit its peak for another few hours, allowing him a little while to freely bask in the outdoor without worrying about his shirt sticking to his back, or his shoulders burning under the harsh sun rays.
Summer is beautiful — the leaves are impossibly green, the fruit and flowers dotted all across the property make splashes of vibrant oranges and reds and pinks and purples and every colour in between. He'll never run out of subjects to paint as long as he lives, that much has never come into question; but he'd be lying if he said sometimes he didn't feel suffocated by it, preferring to sequester himself to the cellars for a while, the cool stone keeping him merciful company. Sirius jokes about him being a complex summer flower to cultivate; can't let it get too hot for long periods of time lest it wilt, and periods of refreshing reprieve must be regularly provisioned.
Admittedly Regulus is more likely to be in bed with a book or his journal in the mornings until the very second the bell rings to call him down for breakfast, but, despite the sleep deprivation, being up and outside this early is sort of nice. There's a peacefulness to the calm, open solitude. It almost makes his nervous stomach settle. Almost.
He peels and eats his orange, more for something to do than actual hunger or thirst, then when he hears sounds coming from inside, he joins Kreacher for a modest breakfast at the small kitchen table. Ordinarily breakfast would be served out on the patio for all the Black cousins to enjoy, but with Regulus being the sole permanent resident of the villa this year so far, there's no need for a lavish spread, and Regulus enjoys the quiet and steady company of the old house keeper. He's sure he'll miss the peace when his brother and his fabled guests arrive, but it's hard to appreciate it when his body feels pulled taut as a fish on a line.
He's pacing the upstairs, wondering if he should've agreed to help Pandora run some errands in the nearby town to distract himself, and if it's too late to hop on his bike and try to catch her anyway when he hears the car. During the school year Sirius graciously lends his obnoxiously big pickup to a family friend who keeps it up and running while he's absent, but he always insists on driving himself back in from the airport, always clamouring to get his hands back on his baby.
Regulus watches the car approach from the balcony, the music blaring — another Sirius staple. As if the whole ordeal wasn't over the top enough, he starts honking along to the beat, before he sticks his head out the open driver window and whoops loudly. Regulus rolls his eyes but there's a small fond smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he steps back into his room and makes his way down the stairs to greet the newcomers. One could say he skipped down the steps, although he would vehemently deny this observation.
He gets to the door just as the car is pulling up, Sirius promptly hopping off and running full tilt towards Regulus, arms open for a hearty embrace.
"Hiya, Reggie!!" He shouts with unbridled affection.
"Sirius, jeez," Regulus squeaks, winded as his brother's arms wrap around his torso, squeezing like they haven't seen each other in years instead of months. "Oh my god, yes, yes, hi, can I please breathe now?"
"No," Sirius squeezes him further for what feels like the longest second of Regulus' life, until he finally lets him go with a quiet, "Missed ya."
"I missed you, too."
"C'mon," Sirius says, ruffling his hair, to which Regulus makes a face. He's the younger brother by barely two years, there's no need to treat him like a kid when they're all adults now. But alas. "Come meet my mates."
Regulus looks nervously at the three boys, Sirius' fellow "Marauders". They formed the band during Sirius' first year away at uni in the UK and have been inseparable ever since. When Sirius heard they were going to have unoccupied rooms at the villa this summer due to their cousins' plans to be elsewhere for probably the first time in their lives, he immediately jumped on the idea of bringing his friends along. And really, why would three college age blokes refuse free room and board in the lovely French countryside?
It's not that Regulus isn't happy Sirius seems to have made such good friends while he was away. Of course he's happy for his brother. But he won't lie and say he's excited necessarily about having three strangers in his house. Strangers who all know each other, who already have comfortable dynamics he's somehow meant to fit into. It's… daunting.
He does his best approximation of a polite smile as Sirius drags him over to where the others are dutifully unloading the car. They work as a very cohesive unit, probably due to experience with transporting their equipment for shows and stuff, a well-oiled machine at this point.
"Lads," Sirius starts, one hand on Regulus' shoulder, a tether and a comfort. "This is my brother Regulus. Reggie, these are the lads."
"James Potter," says the tall dark haired one, reaching out for a handshake. He has thin rimmed round glasses that match his gold nose ring, the warm colour nicely complementing his dark brown skin. "Drummer extraordinaire."
Sirius laughs. "Okay, Prongs, humble much?"
"I know my worth," James winks at him, and Regulus promptly looks away. Thankfully he's saved from having to come up with a response by the blonde boy with the round ruddy cheeks.
"Nice to meet you, man," he says offering his hand as well. "I'm Peter Pettigrew. Erm, first guitarist?"
"You don't need to introduce your instrument, it's fine. James is just a show off," says Sirius, but Peter just shrugs, shooting Regulus a friendly smile as he steps back to allow the last member to come forward to shake his hand. The boy opens his mouth to introduce himself but is interrupted by a very big yawn, which makes his friends chuckle, even Regulus' tense lips pull up at the corner. It's disarming in a way, a show of vulnerability that eases the knot in Regulus' stomach a bit at meeting all these new people.
"Excuse me," the boy says politely. "I'm Remus Lupin. I mostly play the bass, I guess."
"You guess?" Regulus finds himself asking.
"I— Well, I play a lot of things, mostly classical. But for the band, yeah I usually stick to bass guitar."
Sirius clicks his tongue, shaking his head good-naturedly. "Our Moony could be a whole one man band if he wanted to."
"Yeah," Peter agrees with a nod. "I'd say he could rival Jacob Collier if he wanted to."
"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," Remus laughs a bit awkwardly. One hand reaches up towards his hair before he seems to catch himself and shoves in his pocket instead. "Anyway, it's nice to meet you Regulus. Thank you for having us."
Regulus just nods, sure that if he opens his mouth he won't be able to hide that he's in fact not all that pleased to be sharing his home with three strangers, even if they are his brother's best friends, and Sirius is absolutely over the moon about having all the people he cares about under the same roof. Three whole months is a long time, though, so maybe he'll get used to them as time goes on. He can only hope that's sooner rather than later, for his own sake.
"Alright lads," Sirius announces with a clap of his hands, "let's go on a little property tour, shall we? Then I'll show you to your rooms and you can get settled, unpack, take a shower, etc, etc. And maybe a nap for Mister Moony, yeah?"
Regulus takes that as his cue to safely retreat back to his room for the time being. As he escapes towards the stairs he hears a voice say, "You didn't tell us your brother was so cute, Sirius."
To which his brother responds with, "James. Do not," his voice sharp and cutting.
First order of business on Remus' list as soon as he's shown the lovely guest room he'll be spending the next three months in is taking off his sweaty binder and breathing a sigh of relief. He's pretty sore from all the uncomfortable seating on the travel journey over to France, and his back pops loudly when he reaches his arms up up up, taking a much needed stretch after hours of being boxed into various vehicles.
He takes a moment to feel the breeze coming in through the open balcony doors, the refreshing feeling of it against his warm skin is heavenly. He really should be smart about it and unpack before he hops in the shower, especially since his luggage packing method is non-existent and he's bound to get annoyed when he has to dig for the items he wants when it's time to get dressed again, but he's tired and sleepy and he just wants to get clean so he can take his overdue nap.
It takes him a moment to figure out how to work the shower, but when he steps under the water he immediately starts to feel his tight muscle unwind, and by the time he hits the bed his eyes are so heavy it takes but a few moments for slumber to take him.
It seems his brain has finally taken pity on him, because when he wakes up to the sound of a bell echoing through the villa, he actually feels decent instead of gross and groggy, no cold sweat from nightmares this time. He's not complaining, he just wonders if it's incidental or if it's the magic of the quaint French countryside. If he's honest it's probably the former, but there's something romantic about the latter that makes him want to indulge in the fantasy a little, sue him.
Lunch is a light fare of freshly sliced prosciutto sandwiches and juicy fruit, served in the shaded outdoor patio. It's frankly a bit ridiculous, how idyllic it all is. Remus feels like he's inside a bloody painting, it's very different from the British summers he's used to. Maybe he'll get used to the cloudless blue sky and the million shades of green around him the more he sees it, but he sort of hopes it never loses its spark.
"So, where's the resident cutie?" James asks between bites of the monstrosity he's concocted out of bread, pork and fruit. Dipped in honey. Remus honestly isn't sure his taste buds could ever tolerate such a thing.
"Regulus is just shy, he'll come down eventually," Sirius offers. "And stop hitting on him when he's not even here."
"Oh, so that means I can—"
"Actually," Sirius promptly cuts him off, "don't hit on him at all, yeah? I don't need you adding him to your endless string of situationships."
"Sounds like someone's jealous," James sing-songs mischievously.
"I'm not dignifying that with a response," Sirius retorts, which makes Pete snort loudly.
Remus isn't one to judge someone for how they choose or don't choose to conduct their sexual and romantic affairs, however he's also been James' friend for quite a few years now, and he knows his friend's various partners haven't always been… treated the best. Sure, if he wants to get involved with Sirius' brother, warm his bed for a little while and then fuck off back to Great Britain at the end of the summer he's free to do so, of course. But considering his track record and the lack of consequences on his part given such an arrangement, things could go south very easily and he'd really not rather get caught up in all that. He's in France for fuck's sake! He finally made it out of that dreadful island! He just wants to laze about, do some sight seeing, maybe even write some songs he doesn't hate for once. They're not in school anymore, Remus doesn't need to get caught up in their drama only to try and set a good example so he doesn't lose his scholarship.
"So," Pete starts, gesturing to the vast grounds sprawling from their perch between the trees. "Do we really have this whole place to ourselves?"
"Sure do," Sirius responds. "Well, you might see some people milling about every now and then that we hire to take care of the property, but they mostly stick to their tasks, so they won't bother you. Kreacher is the one you'll see a lot, he's the big man in charge. We've honestly been trying to convince him to retire since Uncle Alphie passed, but the bastard insists he's happy to keep taking care of us 'children' as long as his body allows him. To be fair he's the best cook I've ever met, so I'm not complaining about that. His wife comes in every few days to help with the laundry and some other cleaning tasks, he only really cares about keeping the kitchen spotless."
Remus nods, making a mental note to try and keep his mess contained to his room. "You mentioned they live in that cottage out back, yeah?"
"Sure do. Have since I was born. They're basically a part of the family; Uncle Alphie had them in the will and everything. Kreach says that he's going to take his share and leave us to fend for ourselves one day if we don't behave, but he's stuck around this long, so," Sirius shrugs. "Plus I know for a fact the bastard is a lot more sentimental than he lets on. You should see the way he looks at the goddamn copper pans Uncle Alphie gifted him one year."
"Is it the same way you look at your beloved matching leather jacket and trousers?" James asks, smirking.
"Listen, gag gift or not, they are statement pieces and I will not hear a word against them."
"If you say so," James shrugs in mock nonchalance.
"I do in fact say so."
"Okay, Mister Attention Whore."
"Pot meet kettle," Pete interjects cheekily, pulling a chortle out of Remus, although he chooses not to weigh in when both Sirius and James shoot him twin betrayed looks, which just makes him laugh more. They're such idiots, but they're the best friends he's had. Never a dull moment with these two.