The front door swung open with a soft click , warm air spilling out into the cold as James ushered Harry inside with a hand on his shoulder and a muttered, "Boots off, kid, don't ruin Reg's precious floors."
Harry toed off his shoes absently, his trunk levitating just behind him under Regulus' controlled wandwork. The house smelled like cedar, cloves, woodsmoke and the faintest trace of Regulus' usual bergamot tea. The sitting room lights glowed softly under the low afternoon sky, and the familiar creak of the stairs made Harry's chest ache just slightly.
"Same room as always," James called, flicking his wand to set Harry's trunk neatly at the foot of the stairs. His grin flashed as he added, "Reg didn't let me turn it into a library while you were gone."
Harry huffed a laugh, small but genuine, and murmured, "Thanks," before dragging his things up the stairs two at a time.
By the time he came back down, his hoodie was rumpled, his glasses were askew, and his hair was even more of a mess, but his shoulders had dropped fractionally. Familiar walls. Familiar creaks. Home.
He dropped heavily onto the sofa in the sitting room, letting his body sink deep into the cushions as though he hadn't sat still in weeks. His legs stretched long in front of him; his head tipped back against the worn fabric. His eyes fluttered shut. For a minute, all he did was breathe.
James wandered in a moment later, mug of tea in one hand, and flopped down in the armchair opposite, legs splayed comfortably. Regulus appeared more quietly, settling into the arm of the sofa near Harry's feet with his usual composed grace, mug balanced delicately between long fingers.
James broke the quiet first.
"Your uncles are coming over for dinner tomorrow," he said before taking a sip of his tea. His voice softened, the way it always did when he mentioned Sirius and Remus. "Sirius has been bouncing off the walls since we told him you were coming home. Reckons you're overdue for a proper duel in the back garden."
Harry grinned, slow and crooked. His fingers twitched slightly where they rested on his stomach.
"Yeah?" His voice lifted, warmer than it had been all day. "Tell him I'll take him up on it."
James' eyes crinkled, relief flickering so quickly across his face it barely had time to settle. He only nodded, smiling around the rim of his mug.
Regulus, ever precise, set his cup down on the low table with a muted clink .
"So," he said quietly, smoothing an invisible crease on his trouser leg, eyes cutting sideways to Harry. "How was term?"
Harry's grin faltered. His gaze dropped to the pattern on the carpet; his fingers twitched once, curling into the fabric of his hoodie.
"Uh," he said after a beat, voice going flat in that practiced, automatic way. "Okay. Good, yeah?"
The answer came too fast, too neatly rehearsed.
Regulus' jaw shifted, a flicker of tension, subtle but familiar. He didn't push. He rarely did, not immediately. Instead, he simply hummed under his breath and leaned back slightly, long fingers steepled lightly in his lap.
James watched the exchange quietly from his armchair. His thumb tapped absently against the side of his mug, a nervous tell Harry had seen a hundred times.
Outside, the winter light slipped lower behind the hedges, casting long shadows across the room.
"I read your report." Regulus added, breaking the silence.
His eyes flicked up then, sharp, assessing, but not unkind. "It was good."
Harry blinked, caught off guard. His brows lifted slightly.
"Oh?" He shifted on the sofa, shoulders rolling back against the cushions as if trying to shrug something off. "I… forgot about that, to be honest."
Regulus didn't smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he wanted to. His fingers tapped once against the edge of the folder.
"Your marks have slipped a bit," he said plainly. "But you're still doing pretty damn well."
The compliment was laced through the words in Regulus' usual understated way, no embellishment, no fuss. Just fact. Just a quiet I'm still watching. I still care.
Across the room, James lowered his mug to the arm of his chair. His brow furrowed, and his gaze settled heavily on Harry, steady and open the way it always had been since Harry was small. He leaned forward slightly, forearms braced on his knees.
"You alright, love?"
Soft, direct. Nothing complicated.
Harry's lips parted, then pressed back together. His hand lifted to rake through his hair again, too fast, too rough, like he didn't realise he was doing it.
"No— I'm all left."