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Devon was often the easiest part of England for Regulus Black to routinely connect to his safest parts of France, as the landing spots in Brittany didn’t put him directly in his parents’ or grandparents’ backyards, but also didn’t take him away from the Northern French coast.
After years of seeing just a small piece of the English county, he had decided to hike from coast-to-coast of the unfamiliar parts of the county. At least, that was what he told people he met along the way. It was a part of England that sat-nav placed close to Remus, yet no one he knew lived truly close by land-mass. This meant that in the tourist off-season he felt reasonably confident that no one he knew would accidentally turn up. He’d successfully done a few other shorter walks without being recognised, but it would go to figure that the exception would be directly after he had come back to England specifically due to the news of his mother’s death reaching him via newspaper followed by the executor of her will.
During his coast-to-coast hike of Devon, he had come to be somewhat covered in a combination of mud and dust from walking through Dartmoor. Most people had not been bothering to clean their boots or wellies every night. Once he’d reached the North Devon coast, though, he had become the odd one out, though no one particularly seemed to mind, especially while actively on the beach.
Instead, everyone on a Sunday afternoon seemed equally amused by the combination of the mix of people who had reached the coast via a walking path, the mix of people out because it was the weekend, and the small smattering of people who were tourists of the traditional variety, merely in the off season. Everyone who hadn’t been using the extensive walking paths looked rather well-off and rather put-together, something that couldn’t at the moment be applied to Regulus.
After the first hour, he had settled in to draw the scenery, and was far from expecting anyone to interrupt except, perhaps, to request he move–something he had absolutely no intention of doing unless it was someone with a uniform making the request, at least until the sun went down.
So, when someone stopped above him, they were immediately met with a guarded expression of mild irritation. This felt especially justified as the person entirely blocked out what sun the late February weather had graced them with.
“It is you.”
The statement was jarring to receive, even from someone who had spent quite a lot of time watching Regulus until he’d left the country for most of the past decade. Briefly, Regulus considered simply pretending he didn’t recognise James Potter, and then he considered doing that and pretending he didn’t speak English.
In the end, irritation won out. “Évidemment.”
“Are we still on such bad terms?”
Reglus ex-boyfriend, and as far as he could tell, his estranged Brother’s present best friend turned favourite brother, had the audacity to grin and furthermore join Regulus on his towel that had started its life as a fouta. And all without invitation.
“I believe I told you to leave me alone, James.”
“That was genuinely ages ago, Reg.”
“Regulus. We are not friends, we are not even associates.”
James huffed, and merely stretched out his legs. He looked relaxed, and only perhaps, at a stretch a bit frustrated, as if Regulus was simply being silly.
“Are you not a grown up now? I thought we could maybe chat.”
“J'sais pas, it depends on if I’m speaking to other adults. With you? I have no way of knowing,” it was far more waspish than James strictly deserved, but it was the full force of long-latent fear.
“I’m an adult now,” James’ grin dropped off for a much more serious expression. “So talk to me, please.”
“Okay, what do you wish to speak to me about that couldn’t be left unsaid?” Regulus replied with a heavy sigh, as he acquiesced to his fate.
“I heard about your mother. And the others. Are you going to the funeral?”
“Yes, I received an invitation. I ignored everyone else’s, but I cannot ignore hers. Not when she wrote the invitation herself before she passed.”
“I see,” James seemed to actually pause and consider his position. “Then I should probably warn you Sirius has asked me to come with him.”
“Oh. Thank you for that courtesy.”
“It seems the least I could do,” James grimaced. “Are you… well?”
“I’m not unwell,” Regulus replied after a long moment considering it. “I was more well before you joined me. I came from France.”
“Oh, you’ve been walking,” James seemed to actually look him over. “How was it?”
“I’m glad I didn’t take the entire coast path, the elevation changes are brutal,” Regulus replied, and James actually laughed.
“Fair enough. Other than that? How are you emotionally?”
“Are you a qualified therapist now?”
“Hell no,” James laughed. It sounded nearly identical to Monty’s laugh.
“How are your parents?” The question was out before Regulus could help himself.
“Currently winning best grandparents’ awards,” James looked like he regretted saying anything immediately upon doing so. Regulus decided to just let it go with a nod and a plastered-on, fake, and only barely strained smile.
“So are you, like, planning to stay in England?”
“Not for long,” Regulus replied. “I’ve got a few weeks until the funeral, but then I’ll leave again. I can go to more of France, now. There’s no one to chase me except Sirius, really.”
James winced slightly.
“Are you on holiday?” Regulus’ question was painfully strained, but better than awkward silence.
“Yeah, only time I could get off, really. Session musician. Everything’s being released now, so work is slightly… less.”
“That’s nice,” Regulus’ smile felt more brittle by the minute.
“Genuinely, Reg…ulus,” James hesitated but Regulus kept up the smile. “How are you doing?”
“Stressed about the funeral, stressed about this… encounter, but overall well.”
“We thought you’d died for a while.”
Regulus couldn’t help his amused snort. “Remus said you might do. I thought he was daft for it.”
“We’re easily fooled.”
“I wasn’t trying to fool you, James. It’s not my problem if lack of contact results in you thinking I’m dead.”
“Not even your brother?”
Regulus carefully closed his sketchbook and suppressed the desire to sigh heavily. “No. Not even an individual who still, as of his birthday, had my number blocked, or changed it without notifying me.”
James winced.
“I did try, you know, with him. You can believe me or not, but I did try. From afar. If you think I’m dead because it’s insufficient, that is definitively, and sans any doubt, your problem. It was as simple as unblocking me.”
“Fair enough,” James muttered, but it had no heat or passion. “Glad you aren’t, for the record. Dead, I mean.”
“I’m pleased with that as well. It was touch and go for a bit, of course, but it is better now. Time has helped, as I was told it would.”
“I didn’t believe them at the start. For myself, I mean. And I made some… choices.”
“And how old is one of those choices currently?” Regulus couldn’t quite keep the question to himself, but James only grimaced slightly, so he probably hadn’t been expected to forget that James, an only child, had some sort of child or pet now. Regulus would not be at all surprised if Monty and Effie were grandparents to a cat or dog.
“He’ll be nine in July,” James replied. “He, uh,” he stalled out for a long moment before he grimaced again. “Definitely a choice.”
“I see. A human one, I take it.”
James snorted. “Yep. No money for pets, even though he’d love one.”
“What’s his name?”
“Harry.”
“Is it a shortened form?”
“It’s just Harry.”
“‘Just Harry’? That’s an atrocious name for a child, heureusement I didn’t stay with you.”
“Awful, terrible joke. But I didn’t pick it, his mother did. From my family’s names, though.”
“Very boring, poor child.”
“I suppose anything less than three syllables is too short to even consider,” James rolled his eyes, and thankfully restrained himself from nudging Regulus with his elbow.
“For a forename? Absolutely.”
James huffed. “Well, he’s coming by here soon, so please don’t tell him or he’ll demand a longer name.”
“As he should!” Regulus declared, with a pretense of indignation for the child in question. “I also demanded a longer name, there’s no harm.”
James huffed again, but it was to hide a laugh. “So… anyone in your life?”
“Is the child’s mother in your life?”
“Not currently, but we keep coming back to each other in the end. Anyone in yours?”
“Not like you mean. I have far too much work to do on myself for that to work out. I have friends. I don’t need nor want more than that.”
“You sound like you get that a lot.”
Regulus considered the statement for a long moment. “I do, I suppose. Mostly when travelling.”
“Makes sense, you’re getting to an age people expect it.”
“You’d know, I expect.”
“Absolutely,” James laughed again. “I think I have people trying to set me up with their daughters at least every other day when we’re in London.”
Regulus snorted. “How’s that going?”
“I don’t date. I won’t until Harry’s in college.”
“Unless it’s his mum?”
Thankfully, James seemed to understand it was a question more than a statement.
“That hardly counts, to be honest. And I do try to make sure it doesn’t happen. But he’s got–” James cut off, with a level of uncertainty that made Regulus automatically exhausted.
“He’s got Sirius.”
“Yeah,” James replied, with another grimace. “Use any fun aliases I can introduce you with? He won’t remember your face, he’ll remember your name.”
Regulus snorted. “I’d believe that wholeheartedly, but it’s also a terrible reconnaissance attempt. Just use Luce, you won’t even be lying to him. Are you honestly introducing me to your son, James?”
James seemed to stall out at the question. “Mostly I’m making sure to not let you run away before my mum can see you’re like… alive.”
“I do write to your mother, and see her at least twice yearly,” Regulus couldn’t help how amused he was by the concept being that secret.
“Oh,” James looked genuinely stricken, but it was cut off by the sound of a child shouting at the top of their lungs as they ran. Regulus wanted to clear the path for the child, with every trip over driftwood and uneven surfaces, but with Monty and Effie close behind, he wasn’t actually overly concerned–the kid had to fall often.
“Hey Harry!” James shouted, and the child immediately redirected towards them. James caught Harry in a massive, effusive hug, and Regulus averted his eyes when he realised that the basically blind, emerald green eyes could confirm the mother of Harry. “This is my old friend, Luce,” James said, when he and Harry rejoined Regulus, who had been packing up.
“Hello,” Harry greeted as politely as possible while looking incredibly bored.
“Hello, Harry, I’ve just heard quite a lot about you.”
“You have?” Delight immediately edged into suspicion. “Why?”
“Because your father is very proud of you, and loves you very much.” From the way James was still grinning, it was hardly a lie. “He wanted to tell me all about you.”
“He lied, then,” Harry accused, and James laughed, but Regulus was too surprised to do more than blink at Harry. “I like reading, I’m just good at sport. I don’t like footie.”
“I see. What’s your favourite subject to read about, then?”
“Oh. Well. Probably footie. But that’s only because I don’t know the words in Grandpy’s books.”
“Has anyone gotten you books for children on chemistry or biology?”
“No,” Harry was undoubtedly pouting.
“Would you like them, Harry?” James looked surprised, and doubly so when Harry nodded firmly. “Dad, do you know any good books for kids on science?” He was immediately taken away from his child by his father’s response, and Regulus found himself with his ex’s child awkwardly perching next to him while James spoke to Monty.
“Did’ya walk here?”
“Harry,” Effie’s gentle voice interrupted.
“I’m sorry, did you walk here?”
“I did,” Regulus replied with a bemused smile. “I came from France, and there’s a path all the way from the south coast to here.”
“That sounds like a long walk.”
“It is,” Regulus agreed, with further bemusement. “So you don’t like football. What’s your favourite subject in school?”
“English, when the books aren’t too small.”
It took Regulus a long second to puzzle that one out, before he remembered that Harry couldn’t recognise faces and had struggled on the beach. “Oh, the print? Yes, I struggle when it’s too little, as well,” it wasn’t a lie, per se, though it wasn’t a full truth, either. The onus of Regulus’ own struggles was on attention, not physical difficulty, but it ended in the same place. Harry lit up in response. “Do you know that for adults they make books in extra big text so that almost everyone can read them? Do they do that for you?” He asked the question of Harry but he did look to Effie, who shook her head.
“No, I get the same as everyone else.”
“We’ll ask Mrs Jones,” Effie promised Harry. “Especially after we see the optometrist again. I didn’t know you still struggled, Harry.”
“Dad says everyone struggles with reading,” Harry lit up with a grin that was as if someone had photocopied James, despite the noncommittal shrug. “What were you doing?” Harry asked, and Regulus reopened the sketchbook.
“Is this too pale for you to see in the sun?” Regulus asked, and Harry blanched. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that rude?”
“No one asks,” Harry replied, and Regulus hesitated for a long moment.
“Well, it won’t hurt it if you touch it. I was drawing the water, with oil pastels. I think if you touch it gently, you might get a sense of what I was drawing. It’s almost all the same colour as the page, that’s why I asked if you could see it.”
“Not very good,”
“Not very well,” Effie corrected quietly, and Harry repeated it while reaching out tentatively for the sketchbook. He did a fairly good job of not smudging the drawing, but with the delight that transformed his expression, Regulus would have let the child ruin a fresh oil painting to experience it.
“Have you got any others?” Harry asked.
“I have. This one is from the other end of the trail I walked, looking towards France,” Regulus replied, flipping back to the beginning of the sketchbook. Harry gently traced the drawing with one finger again. “Would you like to walk the trail with me, from the sketches?”
“Yes, please,” Harry replied, and Regulus settled in to the odd situation he found himself in, narrating the paintings to a squinting child and Effie, who had never mentioned her grandson’s existence, just like she’d never mentioned Regulus’ life to her own son. James and Monty eventually joined them, albeit awkwardly, but the interaction stayed focused on Harry’s experience, mostly because both Monty and Effie seemed renewed in dedication to finding ways to engage Harry.
It wasn’t until their parting, when Harry had already been taken away by Monty and James with a mercifully abbreviated goodbye, that Regulus had any further information.
“We thought it was just like Jamie, though we knew his eyes weren’t great,” Effie didn’t bother with further pleasantries. “Inattention.”
“He can’t see the ground when he runs. A football is probably fine because it’s on grass and the highest contrast object in the environment.”
“It never would have occurred to us. He got glasses, but that was mostly accidental, a teacher forced it. We stopped being quite so hands off, afterwards.”
“Ah,” Regulus cleared his throat. “He’s a good kid.”
“Yes,” Effie said firmly. “Gd willing, he’ll stay that way.”
“Ouais,” Regulus cleared his throat again, as he tried to pretend he wasn’t on the verge of tears.
“I’ve let Hope know you’re definitely in the country.”
Regulus laughed, and wiped a few tears away. “Remus is next on my list, and Hope as well, never fear. I wouldn’t miss either of them. Not when…”
“Your mother was younger than us both,” it was an invitation Regulus mostly side stepped.
“I don’t particularly like the phrase ‘only the good die young’ at the moment.”
“I’m glad you’ll see them both.”
“I’m glad I saw you.”
“Moi aussi, Regulus, moi aussi. Stay in touch.”
“You as well, please.”
“Au revoir,” Effie smiled before she reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Then, he was left alone in the sea breeze, watching her trail after three generations of very raucous Potters.