Mixed Tape: Regulus' Story

Chapter 6: Happy Together

Chapter specific content warnings: childhood abuse, talk of blood purity, partially implied grooming behaviour, scars and wounds from abuse

On the first Tuesday of October, James Fucking Potter brought me a chocolate frog.

I stared at the iridescent packaging in disbelief.

"I promised I'd bring you chocolate," he said eagerly. "Go on. Open it."

"Why in Merlin's name do you have a chocolate frog? We haven't even been to Hogsmead yet."

"It's from Remus' stash, but don't tell him."

"Remus' stash?"

"Oh yes, he loves chocolate."

I hadn't known that. In fact, I knew very little about Sirius and his friends. For whatever reason, I tucked that little detail away in my mind.

James squirmed on the locker room bench in anticipation and I decided to give in and rid him of his misery. I pulled open the little box, skillfully caught the frog in my fist—it wasn't my first chocolate frog afterall—and peered down at the card.

Herpo the Foul. Figures.

"Who'd you get?" James asked over my shoulder as if we were five years old on a playground. If I hadn't been so annoyed by him all the time, I might have smiled at that thought.

"Herpo," and I ripped the frog in half, handing him the head. "Here."

He snatched the chocolate away and shoved it in his mouth, precisely as a five year old would.

"So," he mumbled with his mouth full. "Time for your side of the deal. How've you been?"

"Are you just asking me this all the time because you think I'm a drunkard?"

"What? No."

"I've only been drunk once."

"That's fine."

"I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Reg, it's okay-"

"My name is Regulus."

"Sorry." He paused, his cheeks turning pink in a way I'd never seen before. "I really don't think you're a drunkard though."

"Fine."

"You prefer Regulus over Reg? I've just heard Sirius call you Reg and I-"

"Regulus."

"Okay."

But I'm supposed to be spying, aren't I? Why is James always so distracting? "Is Sirius alright?"

"Oh. Yeah. He's been quite well, I think. Was out with him on the—uh—last evening and he seemed good."

Interesting. Last evening? "Breaking curfew?"

"Who doesn't break curfew?"

"Me, usually."

"Says the one who showed up drunk at my common room at half past one in the morning."

"I'm not a drunkard."

"I know." And he laughed his most intoxicating laugh yet before running off to quidditch practice.

James visited me again the next week. This time, with a box of every flavoured beans. I raised my eyebrow at him.

"What?" He demanded. "Conversation starters."

"For unnecessary conversation."

But I somehow found myself willingly sitting with him in the corner and nibbling on candy beans... the good ones, anyways.