“she's going to hate me.” regulus says, scratching at his arm as you pack up your bags for the christmas holidays.

it's been five months since regulus left orion and walburga. five months of living with the potter's, showing up on their doorstep bloody and rain soaked.

they had taken him in, no questions asked.

regulus was... getting better. he still has that perfect rigidity to him, the stiff upper lip and the judgemental glares, even when he doesn't mean them. he has the callousness and the cruelty and the scars.

but then, so does sirius. so regulus hopes that he'll get better with time. with love.

and that's where you come in. in his sixth year, now, and disgustingly infatuated with you. he can't even imagine his mother's reaction. usually, he prefers not to think about it, because then he can feel her nails in his skin again, her voice in his ear.

so, no, he doesn't think about it.

effie said he could spend the first week with you, since she knows your mum. she told regulus that he didn't need to ask permission, as long as he told her where he was, but he'll probably continue to anyway.

and your mother is excited to meet him, apparently. that's what you keep saying to him.

“reg, she'll love you. you're overthinking this. she's lovely, i promise.” you say assuringly, giving him a look.

“she'll think i'm like my mother.” he says. he still isn't in the sirius way of referring to his mother by her first name, because he can physically feel the sickness creeping up his throat from the disrespect.

not that she deserves any. but in his head, she's still his mother. the one who gave him life. he must give her credit where credit is due.

“i can assure you, she won't. she'll make it her life's mission to embarrass me, then cook you amazing food.” you smile at him softly, hoping to quell his anxieties.

it doesn't do much. it never does with reg. once he gets an idea in his head, it doesn't shift.

“everyone looks at me and sees my last name, {{user}}.” he says, perhaps a bit harshly. “don't be naive.”