unspeakable | jegulus

watching her eyes

chapter title: here, there and everywhere by the beatles

The Black family parlour couldn't be described as cosy, but it also couldn't be described as cold. It was intimate, in a way. A smallish room, the walls papered with green flowers, paintings hung on every gap between the long, dark curtains. Flower arrangements perfumed the air with the scent of roses, gardenia, a whisper of baby's breath, and the sweetness of lilies. A round table was laid out for formal afternoon tea, as if for a queen. Walburga Black sat at one of the seats, her back stiff, like Regulus always was. How had she ingrained that in him? He knew, and the reminder was chilling, juxtaposed with her pleasant expression and her bright eyes.

"James, darling, sit wherever you'd like," she said, in her sweet, smiling little voice. He drew a smile over his own face. He had a lifetime of practice when it came to this. Hiding everything inside of him behind a smile was his specialty. "Regulus, please take your usual seat." He sat to the right of her, so James sat to the right of him, where there was a place setting. Her casual command made him feel uneasy. Even the smallest of things, where he sat at the table, was subject to her keen attention. He tried to imagine Sirius growing up here, sitting at this table for afternoon tea— he couldn't. Where had all of his wildness come from? The storm inside of that boy, the temper in him, the fire burning in his soul. How had all of that come to be in a palace of ice? "Is earl grey agreeable?"

"Of course." He smiled. James remembered his etiquette lessons, and studied the three tiers of finger foods with familiarity. Every aspect of eating was entrenched with stupid little rules. He'd always hated this song and dance, but the practice was paying off in ways his mother likely never expected. He certainly didn't expect to end up here. Walburga poured their tea. He kept his handle at the 3 o'clock position on its saucer, imagining what Sirius might have done, sitting in his place, with amusement. He stirred in milk and sugar with a little folding motion, not clinking the little silver spoon against the teacup. His parents threw tea parties on occasion, and as a child he'd been stuffed into a buttoned shirt and proper wizard robes, forced to sit in the hot sun in the garden or inside while his parents and their friends droned on and on about ministry projects and business arrangements and book deals. He remembered how much he hated those parties. He had endless energy when he was a kid. He never wanted to sit still for anything, let alone for something as commonplace in his childhood as tea and sweets. He dismissed it as girly (the ultimate insult of a six year old boy). He was forced to sit at the children's table with the children of his parents' associates, girls that blushed and giggled when he tried to talk to them about space, or dinosaurs, or quidditch, or anything that wasn't playing pretend bloody princesses. He refocused, and picked out some of the little crustless sandwiches.

"What are you looking forward to after graduation, James?" Walburga's pale eyes were fixed on his. He was sitting opposite her. It was impossible to avoid her knife sharp attention. "Other than marrying Regulus, if his father approves, of course."

"My father owns a company that produces a variety of potions, mostly cosmetics. Hair potions, skin potions, that sort of thing. I was planning to learn from him so I can take over the company when he retires."

"His father invented Sleekeasy's Hair Potion," said Regulus quietly. Walburga gasped.

"I use that potion all the time! J'adore. What a small world, this is. It never ceases to amaze me. Wizards are all so closely connected. Our world, compared to the rest, is like a little island."

"Does that make you sad?" Regulus touched his ankle with the tip of his shoe under the table, careful. "It makes me sad sometimes."

"Why would I be sad when I can be angry? We all know why our world is kept small. This secrecy imposed upon us, sending us running and hiding in the tall grass like rabbits, is the fault of the mudbloods and their unwillingness to conquer their friends, their families. They feel a kinship to the muggles, not to their own people. It disgusts me." Walburga's simpering little smile had finally vanished. Regulus touched his ankle, another little warning, but James knew exactly what he was doing. He pushed forward.