#also it is rude of me to make Regulus smell like water and it’s also funny

[james-sunshine-potter]

What would each Marauder characters smell like in Amortentia:

James: Broom polish, cinnamon, fresh spring air, oranges (like a tangeriney smell) .

Sirius: Hairspray, Ash (the smell of a campfire), vanilla lip balm, basil.

Remus: Black coffee, a brand new book, caramel, whiskey.

Peter: Sunscreen, watermelon (but the artificial smell), mint (fresh, like you’re smelling the herb directly), fresh laundry.

Lily: The sea, strawberries (fresh not artificial), lavender, dewy grass.

Marlene: Broom Polish, cigarettes, rain, apples.

Dorcas: Coconut, Acrylic Paint, Cold Air (it has a fresh scent imo), Cherry Coke.

Mary: The Earl Grey Tea She Drinks, Chocolate Chip Cookies, Sweet Cream, Her Vanilla Purfume.

Regulus: Cold Water, Pine, Musk (it’s in his cologne), Expensive Ink.

Pandora: Seaweed, Limes, Rosemary, Soil.

Barty: Oil (don’t ask why), Cedar, Rain Water, Copper.

Evan: Sandalwood, Coffee (with milk), Coconut Conditioner, Grapefruit.

[imagineitup]

lavender daze: regulus black x reader

request: Hey! I don’t remember if you still do requests or not just ignore this if you aren’t lol but if you are, are you able to make a Regulus Black x reader and she’s James Potters little sister and a Hufflepuff? You can just make the settings and everything up it doesn’t really matter to me. I just think that would be a sweet oneshot. Thanks!

a/n: of course i can!! i LOVE YOU also regulus is the loml now i don’t make the rules

- - 

As the cloying scent of lavender ghosts through the corridors of Hogwarts, you easily remember a memory of Regulus Black telling you, not without a faint smile, that this was all Helena Ravenclaw’s doing.  It made sense, after all, considering lavenders were her favorite flower.  

You remember the first time you met him, too.  It was a day just like this, so quiet in the castle that footsteps were easily heard echoing through the turrets, with sunlight streaming through arched windows to cast an amber glow against faded limestone walls.  Sleep might have caused your particular mistake that day, but all you remembered was that when you saw someone with black hair and a familiar, lanky posture strolling around the corridors, you just knew.  James had Sirius over all the time, and the three of you had your full share of inside jokes.  It sucked that you were in a different house, but that didn’t seem to matter too much.  And while maybe Sirius wouldn’t have been the type to scuffle at stone with his feet, you’re glad you didn’t take the time to notice.  

“Tag!  Try to catch me now, loser!”  You had jumped up on the person, laughing as you kicked them in the leg as you dropped back to the floor.

“Ouch?” The person turned, irritated, albeit very amused.  One thing was for sure, as you felt your gut drop to the floor, was that this was definitely not Sirius.  Oh no.  It was Regulus, the supposed “mommy’s boy” Black, as dubbed by Sirius.

Despite all this, Regulus had been really nice about the whole incident.  And now the two of you were best friends.  Even closer than you and Sirius, and Sirius was over practically all the time.

Now, as you follow the scent of lavender, you turn the corner and nearly run into the one-and-only, your face breaking out into a relieved smile.  “Aha!  I was looking for you, dummy.”

Regulus looks at you and raises an eyebrow.  “And I, you.  You do realize you’re ten minutes late, right?”

“It’s not my fault the staircases decided to strand me on the seventh floor!”

“Ah, the good old staircase excuse.”

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow.  “Rude.”

“Were you watering your succulents again?”

“Rude!”

“Am I right?”

You sigh, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face.  “Yes.”

Regulus shakes his head and regards you with amusement.  There’s something else there, fondness, and it changes something within him.  This fondness turns him softer around the edges, makes him more vulnerable, maybe, and you find yourself leaning closer to him.  Wisps of his hair frame the side of his face, and you wonder if maybe Regulus wouldn’t mind if you were to run your hands through it --

“I don’t mind waiting,” Regulus says.  “Your succulents are pretty tolerable.”

You stifle a laugh, thinking about all the times Regulus has rolled his eyes when Sirius takes ten minutes to emerge from the Hogwarts Express, and how he looks like he’s going to actually combust when the Hogwarts Sorting takes a few minutes longer than usual.  Sure.  “The Regulus Black doesn’t mind waiting?  Pssh, bullshit.  That’s cause you love me,” you tease.

Regulus smiles to himself, dropping his gaze.  “Everyone loves you.”

You look up, startled.  He meets your gaze, and an uncertain smile softly tugs at his lips.  You’re unable to stare at him for too long, and you flush, taking a deep breath as you try to gather your words.  “You smell the lavender?”

Regulus smirks.  You watch out of the corner of your eye as he nods, the jut of his chin dipping and slowly returning to the same at-ease position.

“No response?  Wow, Reg, cold stuff.”

His chest heaves with amusement.  “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, maybe something like, ‘oh, yeah, it’s because of Helena Ravenclaw.’’

“But you know that.”

You laugh.  “Yeah, because you told me.”

Regulus’s smirk grows more prominent.

You’re about to open your mouth when his smirk turns into a grin, and he reaches out to gently touch his finger to your lips.  “And now you want me to say, with mock surprise, ‘you remembered’?”

You stare at Regulus amusedly and fervently hope he can’t tell how hopelessly gone you are for him.  

“I’m glad you remembered,” Regulus says, and he’s honest, now.  “I’m really glad you remembered.”  He gazes at you for a moment, his eyes drifting to your lips, and then he lets his hand fall back to his side.

“You wanna know what else I remember?”

“Not really.”  Regulus says, sarcastically.

You jab your elbow into his side, and he somehow manages to elegantly wrap his arms around you and drop his head to nestle between your shoulders.  His warm breath ghosts against your neck, and his lips are so close that you might, maybe, feel their proximity from your ear.  “I’m just kidding,” he says. “Tell me.  What is it?”

You can’t help the shiver that runs through your body, and you scowl as he grins.  Evil, evil, evil.

“Remember when I randomly attacked you in the hall that day?”

Regulus snickers.  His eyes wrinkle, and he pulls away to cross his arms.  “Yeah.  Imagine some weirdo jump-scaring you and calling you a ‘loser’.  So sweet.”

“Oh, please.  That was the best moment in your Hogwarts career.”

“Maybe so,” Regulus says, and his eyes soften.  He turns away, scuffing his shoes at the ground, and maybe his voice is a little too casual when he says, “I also remember you wouldn’t say ‘hello’ to me for the next two weeks.”

You fold your face in your hands, still pouting from the loss of warmth.  Because it doesn’t look it, but Regulus is so warm, and having his arms around you felt so right;  “I didn’t think you wanted to be friends,” is what you say, flushing.  “I was so embarrassed.  Regulus, you don’t even know --”

“I didn’t.”

You blink, jolting out of your thoughts, confused.  “Huh?”

Regulus shrugs, looking down to tap his fingers against his leg.  “You were right.  I didn’t want to be friends.”

“That’s so mean,” you whine.  “You’re so rude today, oh my god.”

Regulus meets your gaze slowly, softly, almost begging you to understand something.  He doesn’t move from where he stands, leaning against the wall.

“Regulus?”

He just regards you quietly, his familiar closed-off expression starting to fold across his features.  Suddenly he’s not soft anymore, just cold, all cool edges, and you feel your vibrance start to fade.  “You don’t … Do you still feel that way?”

Regulus sighs, running a hand through his hair.  He looks up to the ceiling as if he’s thinking, considering, and then lets his hooded gaze fall back to you.  He’s exactly the same, all serious and Regulus-like, and you’re starting to get really afraid to why he looks so unapproachable and unfazed by this whole conversation.  “Yeah.”

“Oh.”  You unconsciously start stepping backwards, wrapping your arms around yourself.  “Is that why you wanted to talk?  I mean, if I did something then I want to fix it.”

Regulus half-smiles, and a little of the familiarity softens his face.  He stretches out his arms, shifting his weight so he leans against the wall, a little more casually.  “Hm ... no.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

“Reg,” you say, searching for words and coming up with nothing, “I’m so confused right now.  You’re acting insane, and I know I didn’t do anything to you.  Now you’re saying you don’t want to be friends?  I mean, what --”

Regulus shakes his head, making you pause.  “Yeah.  I don’t.”

You feel your world start to crumble, and somehow it feels cold all over.  Cold, cold, cold.

Then it’s like a light switch clicks, a beat, and there’s something flickering across Regulus’ face.  The sides of his face start twitching, a smile hinting at the corner of his lips.  “Not just friends.”

Oh.  

So that’s where this is going.  Your world starts to spin, and you’re all out of sorts, off-balance and unable to believe that you’re really hearing this.  Your smile starts to grow, and you step closer to Regulus with your heart flipping around in your chest.

But … Regulus has also been an absolute prick for making you think he was going to platonically break up with you.

“Okay,” you end up saying, “I guess I’ll leave you alone to brood now.  Your loss.”

Regulus looks at you, barely able to suppress his laughter and the smile’s now fully formed across his face.  You know him well enough to know he sees straight through your act; he knows you well enough, by now, to know that you feel the same exact way.

He reaches for your hand, pulling you closer in one, swift motion.  “Nope.”

You roll your eyes, letting your hands fall against his chest.  “No?”

“I don’t want to brood.  And I don’t want to be friends.”  He sighs frustratedly, looking at you with a million different emotions at once.  “I want to be so much more than friends.”  

You’re speechless, hanging on to his every word like it’s all you can do to not fall apart.

“(Y/N),” Regulus whispers, “you’re turning me into a walking cliché.  Please say something.”

You stumble and lean into him, inhaling.  He smells like lavender, and you suppose you do, too.  “Well, I feel the same.”

Regulus freezes for a moment, and you can see the exact moment the words register in his brain, and you watch as he takes in the weight of your words.  His expression softens, and he cradles your face in his hands, his thumb tracing against your cheek.  There’s so much adoration in his eyes that he finally lets surface, and you feel yourself melt against him.  “I want to kiss you so badly.”

“Then do it.”  Your eyes flutter.  “Loser.”

Regulus hums as he laughs, breaking the gap between you to press his lips against yours.  His lips are warm, and when he kisses you softly you can’t seem to stand right, your hands fisting against his robes as he turns to lightly back you against the wall.  He kisses you fiercer, then gently pulls back to murmur against your lips; “I’m not a loser.”

You’re breathless, staring up at him in a daze.  “My loser?”

Regulus smiles, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer to his chest.  He’s smiling so much you can just feel it, and he shrugs contentedly.  “Okay.  I can live with that.”

“I lied,” you murmur, pressing a quick kiss to his chin, “you’re beautiful, and now you’re gonna be stuck with me forever.  Boyfriend.”

“Okay,” Regulus whispers, grinning dumbly.  “I like that much better.”

[useless-slytherclaw]

Chapter 15: Family

TW: More mentions of Walburga Black’s emotional abuse/neglect

Over the next week, the Order of the Phoenix moved back into Grimmauld place as if they had never left.  There were members in the house at all hours of the day and night.  Some, including the Weasley’s, had even moved into the guest rooms.  The sound of talking and laughing bounced around the house, and it was so entirely alien to Regulus that he didn’t entirely know how to deal with it.  The laughter seemed to push back the ever-present shadows of Grimmauld Place.  There were still disapproving portraits and furniture that sometimes bit you, but it somehow seemed like a different house.  

Still, Regulus kept his distance from the newcomers.  It wasn’t hard, as his rooms were on the top level and the library was only one below.  He had Kreacher bring meals to Iset and him.  He’d had to have several talks with Kreacher who was deeply unhappy with the people in the house.  Regulus had told him firmly that he accepted the people in the house and that Kreacher needed to calm down.  It took several attempts, but the elf seemed calmer now.  

Regulus had sent Dumbledore a letter with his ideas.  The next day Professor McGonagall had appeared in the library with a stack of books for him.  She’d simply said ‘It’s good to see you both,’ and left the books on the desk in front of Regulus and Iset.  Inside the cover of the first book was a letter from Dumbledore.

Mr. Black,

Your research confirms my suspicions.  I have yet to find solid information on Ravenclaw’s diadem.  I had Madam Pince gather books regarding Ravenclaw’s life and her family.  I believe these may prove useful.

Sincerely,

Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore

  So, Regulus had spent most of his time digging through ancient, dusty books.  He’d found his old sketchbook inside the desk in his room, and sometimes when he was frustrated from wading through piles of useless information, he would draw.  Usually, he drew Iset.  She lounged on the couch, surrounded by a pile of books.  The light from the window fell on her, illuminating different angles of her as it moved through the sky. 

Regulus was in the middle of one such drawing when someone knocked on the library door.  He jumped and his hand skidded, leaving a harsh line behind.  Slightly embarrassed, he jerked open a book, covering the drawing.  

A plump redhead woman was standing there, with a kind smile on her face.  Regulus guessed that she was Mrs. Weasley.

“I thought I’d come and invite you down to dinner.”  She said with a big smile.  “I don’t want you to have to hide in your own house.”  Her smile grew softer.  “You don’t have to come down.  But I imagine that things are a bit lonely for you two now.  You are always welcome with us.  Two of my sons are your age, you know.”

Regulus was lost for words.  The motherly expression on her face was so genuine and caring that it made him hurt inside.  He’d never experienced anything like this.  Helplessly, he glanced at Iset, who seemed to be in a state of confusion.   

“Better come down,” there was another voice and one of the red-headed twins stuck his head in the door.

“She won't leave you alone until she gets what she wants,” said the other, also sticking his head in the door.  

“Oh, shut up you two,” she said, and her voice was stern, but there was a smile on her face.  Iset and Regulus exchanged another glance.

“It would be rude to refuse an invitation,” Iset said, setting her book down. 

“Right,” Regulus said, standing up.

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Weasley said and started to walk down the hall.  She turned around and pointed at the four of them, the Weasley twins, Iset, and Regulus.  “You just wash your hands before you come down to the table.”  She said with the same combination of sternness and affection.  

Regulus was glad that Iset looked just as bewildered as he felt.  The twins clapped them on the back and took off for the stairs.  Regulus followed automatically, and Iset trailed behind him.  They stopped at the bathroom to wash their hands.

“Did I just get invited to lunch in my own house?” Regulus said to Iset as she scrubbed her hand in the porcelain bowl.  He watched the water pouring from the silver serpent’s mouth.

“Yes,” Iset said.  “She seems so… so...” Iset was clearly struggling for what to say.

“Caring?”

“Motherly,” Iset said with a grimace.  “But not like, my mother, but like…”

“Like what mothers are supposed to be?” Regulus said.  Iset’s brown eyes were pained as she towel-dried her hands, and Regulus couldn’t resist the urge to hold her.  He held her tight and she squeezed him briefly before letting go.  

“Can you imagine?” Iset asked as they walked down the stairs.

“No,” Regulus said, his head turning towards the portrait of his mother that hung in the hall.  They walked in silence for the rest of the way.  When Regulus pushed open the door and they stepped inside, Regulus felt as if the dining room had transformed.  Of course, the room itself was the same, though there was no silk tablecloth or emerald-colored table runner on the table.  Pots and dishes of steaming food were set on trivets up and down the table.  There were no less than five Weasleys in the room.  Sirius and Remus were also there along with Tonks and a beautiful blonde woman.  

“So you’ve deigned to join us?” Sirius said, looking up from his conversation.

“None of that,” Mrs. Weasley said as she bustled into the room with a large loaf of fresh bread floating in front of her.  “Ginny, Ron, I asked you to set the table.  Food’s going to get cold if you don’t hurry up.  Oh, Regulus, Iset thank you for joining.  Just take a seat, dinner will be done soon.”

Sirius opened his mouth, probably to protest, but shut it again without saying anything.  Doing as he was bidden, Regulus took his seat.  Iset sat beside him, and her leg pressed against his in her usual display of silent support.  Together they watched the people around them laughing and talking.  Almost everyone had sat down, when a girl with dark skin and bushy brown hair rushed into the room.

“Finally,” she said waving a piece of paper.  “Moody finally told me that Harry is going to be here later tonight.”

“Really?” Sirius practically jumped to his feet.  His face broke out in a bright smile, a genuine one.  Regulus looked down at his hands.  It had been a long time since he’d seen his brother this happy.  Certainly not when he found out that Regulus was still alive.  Regulus wasn’t sure that Sirius had ever looked that happy to see him.  He didn’t realize that his hands had clenched into fists until he felt Iset’s hand on his own.  She gently stroked the back of his hand until he relaxed his grip.  

A hand landed on his shoulder and Regulus looked up surprised.  Mrs. Weasley was there, giving him a kind look.  It made Regulus’ stomach squirm.  “Everything okay, dear?”

“Yes,” he said, straightening up.  “But thank you for asking.  This food smells delicious.”

“You’re too kind.” She said with a smile.  Regulus turned back to the table and didn’t see the sad, soft look that she gave him.  The girl took the empty seat at the table; it seemed that everyone had arrived.  There was silence as everyone loaded up their plates and dug in.  The silence helped Regulus relax; small talk had always been his least favorite part of dinner parties.  However, this didn’t feel like any other luncheon Regulus had ever been to.  Just the fact that he wasn’t wearing robes, let alone dress robes, was enough to make it unusual. 

When people had finished their first helpings, conversations began to spring up around the table.  The conversations were the sort of happy chatter that Regulus associated with the common room and Hogwarts lunch tables, not with this dining table.  The twins were sitting, elbows on the table, heads together, and part of Regulus was waiting for someone to hit them with stinging hexes.  The blonde girl was sitting next to the oldest Weasley boy and offering him food on her own fork, in such a blatant display of affection that it made Regulus a bit uncomfortable, however, Tonks who was talking with them didn’t seem to mind.  

Regulus felt like he had been tossed into an alternate universe like he had come out of the veil into the wrong version of his world.  He and Iset ate in silence; the food was amazing.  He wondered who had purchased the food; he made a note to have Kreacher stock the kitchen.  He wasn’t oblivious to the worn quality of the clothes most of the Weasley’s were wearing.  

“What is your name again?” The girl with the brown hair was looking at Iset, there was a furrow between her brow as if she was trying to remember something.  

“Iset.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Why?” Iset was frowning at her.

“I recognize you, but I can’t remember from where.”  

“Did she not go to Hogwarts?”  The blonde girl across the table jumped into the conversation with a heavy french accent, and Regulus realized that everyone was looking at them now.  “Bill, she should have been with you, no?”

The man sitting next to her, who must be Bill, shook his head.  “No, she definitely wasn’t in my year.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, then turned his attention to Regulus, grey eyes dancing with amusement.  Regulus could hear the unspoken ‘how are you going to get around this one?’

“Well,” Iset said, folding her hands neatly in front of her.  “The only reason that you would recognize me, would be if you had seen my book.  As for the rest of it, I don't think any of you will believe me.  But, Regulus and I went to Hogwarts in the 70s with Remus and Sirius here.”

“That’s it,” the brown-haired girl said, snapping her fingers.  “Comparisons of Theories Underlying Wandless Magic.”

Iset looked impressed.  The rest of the room, however, was digesting the second part of what Iset had said.  Sirius leaned back in his chair, he obviously hadn’t been expecting Iset to blurt out the truth.

“That is not possible!” The blonde girl said, tossing her white-blonde hair irritably. 

“It is!” One of the red-headed twins said.  “We checked. Regulus here is on the family tapestry in the other room.  Both of them are in the prefect records and Regulus was on the quidditch team.”

“Did you two actually do research?” The brown-haired girl asked, sounding shocked.

“Why the tone of surprise?” One of them said.

“We do plenty of research, it’s part of our business,” said the other.

“We had to know if he was playing an epic prank on us or not.” The first finished.  

“But how?” the blonde girl asked.  

With a sigh, Regulus gave them the same abridged version he had given the twins.  They had died, gone to some sort of purgatory, Sirius had arrived through the veil, the veil had failed to close properly, and the three had escaped.  The table was sitting in silence, obviously digesting the news, when there was a sudden sound from the hallway.  For a moment, there was the sound of many footsteps and the door opening, and then the sound was eclipsed by the sound of Walburga Black’s screaming.  

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[kazieka]

Whumptober Day 7 - Isolation

sirius black this time! miss this disaster man. content warnings for child abuse and neglect, and also rude language i guess

“Can’t believe it,” Sirius says to the indifferent wall. “Like I’d bother trying to magic my way out. There’s no need to take my wand. It’s like, it’s.” He struggles for a moment to find the words. “It’s like stealing a man’s prick, you know, stealing his wand. It’s just not done. Except by haughty, righteous,” his voice raises to a shout, “bastard pureblood INBREDS.”

It won’t do much good. Mother muffled the entire room five days ago. They can’t hear him, and even better, Sirius can’t hear them.

He’s going on three weeks now. No owls, since he’s got no window, and the door’s been sealed shut by Father’s - probably illegal - charmwork. Kreacher teleports him food every now and then.

Sirius doesn’t remember the argument. In his defense, he was drunk to Muggle hell and back when he came home, and it’s up to his vibrant imagination what he might have mouthed off about when Mother caught him sneaking in.

“Probably wasn’t anything worth fussing over,” Sirius confides in the muffled wall. “Probably forgot the proper six-step elaborate bow you’re s’posed to greet mums with.” He throws himself on the bed, remembers the sheets haven’t been washed in three weeks, and springs back up again.

It’s the silence that’s been getting to him the most. That’s what drove him to start doing what he does best, and making an absolute nuisance of himself as best he can. He’d sing every dirty limerick he learned from the Muggleborns at school, hurled every insult learned from the pubs he was far too young to be in, and listed every bastardly thing he could think of that was wrong with this household, until Walburga’s booming Muffliato rang through the house. He hasn’t heard a thing since, apart from his own ramblings.

Sirius paces the room. It’s spacious enough, he knows, but after so long inside he’s feeling more trapped than usual. He wonders if they would notice if he had a stroke and died. Would they wait until he started to smell? Mmm, maybe Kreacher would come check on him when his carefully-prepared bread and water went uneaten for long enough. Wouldn’t that be just his luck, to die from isolation and be found by that lumpy, beastly little thing.

His paces quicken. He’s got half a mind to cut his hair. He’s loath to try, since it’s so very shaggy and Muggleish and sexily disheveled, and Mother hates it so very much, but if he doesn’t do something to break up the monotony soon, he’s sure he’ll lose it.

It’s only when the oppressive silence presses in again that Sirius realizes he’s said it all out loud.

“Cut my hair,” he mumbles again, marveling at how the sound drives back the quiet like an ocean wave sends sandpipers running. “Cut, cut cut cut, that’s a funny word, innit? Cut. Ka ka ka ka cut. Cu......t.” The click of the T against his teeth is a bizarre sensation, now that he’s gone mad enough to think about it.

The wall says nothing, probably because it’s such a very good listener. Sirius leans against it. “You’re such an excellent friend,” he tells it. “Always there for me to lean on. And you,” he adds, slumping to the floor and patting the creaky floorboards that have seen more of his bloodline than he has, “are always there to catch me when I fall. My rock, my guiding light, the cliffs against which I dash myself to pieces, my loving Prongs,” and then he stops, realizes what he’s saying, but if no one can hear him, does it matter what he says?

Sirius considers it. “Fuck!” he bellows, as loud as he can. The room replies with its dead silence, as usual. “Fuck and shit and, bastard cunty bitchtits.” He goes on for some time, thinking up every word that would give Regulus’s delicate sensibilities a coronary.

It lasts him for a minute or two, but then his throat gets hoarse and he’d upended the last water pitcher Kreacher had sent right into the floorboards, where he guessed Father’s study was, and hoped it inconvenienced the smarmy bastard. He might have pissed in it beforehand, but he’ll never admit to it.

Merlin’s soggy soup catching beard, he misses James. He always says, oh James, never leave me, I’ll go mad without you, but perhaps he wasn’t joking as much as he pretended. The silence of his bedroom is nothing like the Hogwarts dorm, where someone’s always snoring or eating or mumbling their way through homework or dancing about trying to make a complicated wand movement work, or bitching about how they’re not going to wash your robes, Sirius, do your own laundry for once, and soon, please, these ones smell like hippogriff piss. And how do you know what hippogriff piss smells like, Moony? and then the peal of Peter’s laughter. Sirius can’t really remember what it sounds like. And it’s a bit melodramatic, even for him, but can he really even call up their faces? He tries, screwing his eyes shut and humming a Christmas carol to keep the silence at bay, but all he gets are fuzzy images. Silver glasses, scars.

Maybe they aren’t even real, he thinks, half hysterical. Perhaps he says it out loud, too. He can’t tell the difference. Maybe he’s spent his whole life in this room and made up friends to cope. Did he have friends, before Hogwarts? He supposes his cousins count, and he did laugh when Bellatrix transfigured Regulus into a peacock and left him at the Malfoys for a week before anyone noticed. He might even settle for Bellatrix’s company at this point. He certainly wouldn’t be bored.