CHAPTER FOUR
✧
-: villa misapinoa :-

── IN WHICH ARRANGEMENTS 
ARE MADE

. . .

MELINA DIDN'T REALLY REMEMBER what had happened the night before. Or at least Regulus believed she didn't, because she gave no indictation she held any recollection of bumping into him in the dead of night before stumbling up to her own room and crashing, hoping to sleep off the alcohol running through her veins. However, it was apparent that whilst she might not remember her encounter with Regulus, she certainly was aware of how much she had drunk.

Because she was currently sat at the breakfast table, curled up on the chair with her knees pulled tight to her chest, something of a sweater thrown over what was clearly her dress from last night and had a pair of sunglasses reflecting the dishes before her in the lenses. Her mother, however, knew all too well about the stumbling into the house at an unmentionable hour and had woken her quite early.

Her mother was mumbling comments to her. Something about 'never again'... or 'at the very least, not when we have guests', and about picking up fresh pastries and helping her with breakfast. Melina seemed indifferent to Odette's demands, a bite of fette biscottate dipped in coffee following.

She grinned at him when Walburga urged him to eat some of the fruit from the platter before him, watched as her father came to the table smelling of cigarettes and listened to her mother berate him for it - apparently, the postman had been smoking when the man picked up his paper - and she held up her fork every time her mother passed so as to convince someone else to eat her apricots.

Much to Walburga's distaste, and much to Regulus's surprise (as he often found himself unable to perform such a task on the morning ensuing a night of drinking), Melina had brought a book to breakfast. Curiously, as Regulus found himself watching the girl sat across from him quite often, she often took out a short pencil from behind her ear and made notes in the margin. Of what, he didn't know as it was particularly hard for him to read Italian upside down, but as he watched her, he found himself most invested in her routine.

First, a sip of her juice - it was, after all, something to replenish her shot nerves. Then, coffee-dipped rusk, a habit she had clearly picked up from her father who was doing the same several seats down. Once or twice, she then used the disguise of her sunglasses to look around the table before slipping a precious few drops of alcohol from a flask into her hot drink and sipping that - it was something of a hangover cure, no matter how incompatible it may seem. She finished the routine was a scribble of a few notes and a bite of fruit.

When he had finished, as had Walburga, she stood up instantly to excuse herself before coming back to help with the plates. He watched, as he was most interested, as she disappeared around the corner whilst pulling something out of the top of her jumper; yet another remedy to no doubt solve her headache. She then returned, when the owner of the house had placed her hand over her son's chest to ensure he remained at the table as it was cleared, and aided her parents in tidying up.

It was when she returned, holding a blue glass vase filled with slightly drooping yellow flowers in newly replenished water, Odette following behind her waving some kind of woven placemat on which the vase would stand, that Walburga intended to pounce.

Because Regulus recognised that in her too. He was, at heart, a watcher, once forced into quietly waiting in the shadows and allowing others to dictate his lifestyle and falling into the cycle without even meaning to - and so he noticed things. The twitch in the tips of Melina's fingers that made him think she was lying or making something up (it was present during each conversation with his mother), how Odette seemed to allow her eyes to widen when Walburga asked a mighty strange question, and how Walburga intended to wait to the utmost awkward moment to ask what she needed to.

"Melina." She spoke, just once, when the blonde straightened up from the fuss with Odette and the placemat. The blue vase had settled quite nicely in the centre of the table, ready for a day of the inhabitants of the villa to observe as they sat in the sun.

"Yes?" Melina pushed her sunglasses up over her eyes, a brief touch from the very tips of her fingers wiping away sleep. Dark eyes fixated on the woman.

"The flowers look a little wilted, no?"

"I suppose." Should Melina have sniffed after her words, Regulus could have believed it was an imitation of his mother. "It is the last day we can use them without them looking entirely obsolete." She added, her words in French reminiscent of the exact tone Walburga tended to use.

And the woman clearly recognised it in its entirety. She had, after all, experienced it many times with Sirius before he upped and left home, and even Regulus himself had employed it a few times of discomfort. "Then don't you think it's time for a change."

Melina made a show of staring at the flowers, the whites of her eyes slightly pink in a reminder of her current state. She turned them in the pot, glanced at her watch and straightened. She said, stilted, "I believe the plan was for me to retrieve fresh flowers when I visit the village for breakfast tomorrow."

"But then we have to watch the flowers die all day, Melina. It's considerably unpleasant." Regulus could recognise the expression upon his mother's face; it starkly reminded him of the thinly veiled threats to Kreacher about having his head mounted upon his death.

"If you want fresh flowers, Madame, all you have to do is ask," Melina replied, with a stiff politeness that Walburga couldn't attempt to correct even if she had means to do so - Muggle children were as much of a different breed as wizards with blood tainted by them, and held such insolence within them it was difficult for her to attempt a way past it - and was left to idle in the snark that lay deep below it.

"Then I believe I want fresh flowers," Walburga informed her, and her son watched as Melina's fingers stiffened from where they rested on the wooden table. "And I believe it would be most beneficial for Regulus to join you there."

"Mother." Regulus turned sharply towards her. "You did not mention this."

"I believe you knew of my mentions of you and... Melina becoming friends, no? I doubt you should be able to talk to Evan or... or Barty any time soon," Walburga's mention of their previous life they were running from brought a shot of dread to his stomach. "So I suggest you heed my advice." She added, in the same tone that reminded him of moments of his brother's early rebellion.

"I-"

"I will not be taking no for an answer." Mrs Black finished for him before he could even manage another word of protest. She reclined in her seat, a black skirt-clad leg crossing over the other. Her gaze turned away from her son. "A day out would be most nice, would it not?"

Melina's eyes so closely resembled thunder. "I'll be ready and out the front in half an hour." She told him stiffly, before turning her back on the table and heading towards the kitchen, a shadow falling over her as she ducked through the doorway and disappeared within.

Moments later, Regulus pushed his chair back from the table with a grass-muffled shriek, and he followed after her.

✧

He was wearing a linen shirt this time. It was a light blue colour as opposed to grey or black and seemed to fit the climate they were in miles better than his previous outfits. A cigarette hung from his lips, held out and offered to her as she approached and taken with nothing but a moment's hesitation.

"We will be cycling to the village." She told him, in a sort of bored tone that informed him of everything he already knew; this had not been her intentions for the day. A finger tapped the cigarette and let the ash drift to the ground before she took another drag and handed it back to him. "My bike's here, but we'll have to fetch another from the store room... it could be a little dusty. A few cobwebs here and there."

"Easy to deal with." Regulus aimed not to make the trip entirely a failure; he wished to keep the atmosphere surrounding them pleasant so that it could be kept through the summer, despite the fact that he did not want to go almost as much as she didn't. She was studying him, he could tell, her eyes narrowed as though she was trying to tell if he was making fun of her or not. "Point the way?"

She didn't say anything, instead turning away from the house and trailing down the lane to the back of the house, where the outhouses and ancient sheds that stored half the equipment and belongings of the villa necessary for its upkeep. Ginormous trees, older than all the buildings combined, surrounded them, and Regulus had the feeling that much of the land surrounding his family's ancestral villa would be similar.

Trees hung over them, leaves bright and brilliant that moved with a wind that felt warm upon his skin. They almost looked like jewels, similar to the peridot stones that had become dull and almost grey in the House of Black but gleamed once Kreacher got around to polishing them, and although Regulus knew it was a funny little thought, they most certainly seemed alive with something other than their life source.

The silence - although not wholly silent - was permeated by the hidden inhabitants there. It was it's own score of music, constantly playing with little interruptions, mosquitoes, cicadas, bees and birds, far-off shouts of children and a murmur of the workers who kept the villa in it's content state. A distant hum of machinery in a nearby field, the old fan in the kitchen that jumped uneasily every few minutes, the old woman Regulus had learnt was Odette's aid around the house - Mafalda - hanging out wrinkled white bedsheets to dry.

It was the most beautiful of choruses, something he wished to appreciate in its entirety. He had heard nothing like it before, his old life accompanied by the sounds of Islington or the constant chatter of students surging throughout the halls of Hogwarts, the pin-drop silence of meetings in the presence of those who were planning a genocide. Should he not have been something uncomfortable by the disapproval of his mother in the family taking care of the villa, and the wary scrutiny developing in Melina's eyes, Regulus could have found it most beautiful.

His focus, however wavering between the task at hand and the newfound appreciation for a new song it became, was drawn to the swing of her hair over her shoulders as she guided him forward to the location of the second bike. She interested him, despite the odds, just like his newfound surroundings did. The slip of her shirt over her shoulder revealed a patterned top beneath, colourful enough to catch his eye, the dark mark of what looked to be a tattoo hidden where the clasp of her necklace was, the constant array of freckles and tan.

They shared the cigarette he had lit, falling into step alongside each other as Melina pointed out buildings that he needed to know, names of people he should know, greeting them herself in bright Italian, waving and motioning to the boy by her side to introduce him.

"In here." Melina turned to him, for only a moment, as they reached one particular outhouse. It seemed to have once been a garage if one glanced up for a moment and recognised it to be a shutter door pulled up over the roof of the building. "It doesn't close anymore." She told him, with a wave of her hand. "Something about dust in the mechanics of it all. Doesn't matter - here."

Just by the entrance, leaning against a number of old taped-up boxes, was another bicycle, white like hers, but lacking in the basket attached. That too was covered in dust, and Regulus helped her roll it out to the front of the structure, standing back as the dust blew off it and watching, confused, as she tipped some kind of liquid onto a chain connected to the pedals. He hadn't noticed it before, but she wore a thin gold chain around her neck, a small cross like he had seen in the church the charm.

She caught him staring. Then, she held the bicycle out to him.

They wheeled it back to where Melina's bike lay resting from where it had been discarded the night before and then set off, just after she had shouted through the open door of the villa to let her parents know they were leaving. Together, Regulus trailing behind a little as he got used to cycling again after such a long time, they made their way down the dusty driveway up to the house and emerged out onto the road he had taken in the car to the church the day before, except she seemed to have no intention of taking it as such.

He was glad, though, that she did. Because somehow, the feeling of summer seeped into his veins like never before and for the first time in seven years it no longer held that vile dread he had to withstand the nine weeks in the dark ancestral home. Green surrounded him, a light, lively colour that moved in the breeze and the force as they biked past. Golden fields, trees, tiny little buildings that were homes spread out to the distances, the odd car on the distant road the only life to his eyes, the lane below them was gravel, kicking up dust and gravel as they went.

She pedalled faster than him, and he didn't know if it was on purpose or not, but in an effort that made his ankles ache, Regulus caught up with her, head tilted as he studied her expression.

"You don't want me here." He said, and it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. He may have already have known as such... or perhaps it was because he knew he could fix it.

Melina spared him a glance. "An astute observation." She said.

"You don't know me, but you don't want me here."

"The two are perhaps interlinked."

Regulus adjusted his gaze back to the lane, bird song filling the moment he granted himself to think. "I was led to believe we were getting along well." The first time they spoke in her... his room. The day at the church. The drunken kiss on his shoulder as a thank you, the setting of the table on his first evening there.

"Does not mean I know you." She replied, sagely, her thumb brushing over the rubber button for the bell connected to the metal bike.

Then they were in silence. "It was not..." He began and paused to figure out his next words. "I did not wish to get to know you, Melina."

Her eyebrows raised, then furrowed, and for the first time since setting off she properly looked at him. Before it had been mere glances to ensure she hadn't lost him on her diversion of the course. "You are contradicting yourself," Melina informed him.

"I am aware."

"Then why do you do it?"

"I am free to admit that it was not my plan this summer to spend it with strangers," Regulus said, most honestly. "You are not my first choice in company."

"I do believe I am honoured." She was, in fact, being sarcastic. Regulus, on the other hand, was being once again entirely truthful; he had much rather spent it with Evan or Barty.

"And the fact my mother is forcing me to spend time with you pleases me even less than it does you." He continued, despite the comment.

"I very much doubt that."

"It is true." His chin raised, somewhat haughtily. "I never wished for the company of someone like you however my mother believes it best to enforce it and there was never much I could do to appease her."

She scowled and rolled her eyes. "Then I believe you may ride five feet behind me at all times. And don't mind the silence, I'm ignoring your presence entirely if that would appease you." To prove her point, she cycled forward a short distance, leaving him behind.

He swore; he had chosen the wrong words. "Melina - I did not mean it in that way." He shouted after her before she took a sharp turn and veered onto another path. "I did not - where are you going?" He asked, before following after her.

She had ridden into a field of corn, alive with the sound of bugs and separated by a trodden, then trimmed neat path between it. They emerged back out onto the road with ease, although Regulus was still failing in his attempts to keep up with her, and in the distance, buildings came into view; Verica.

As a car passed, something in Melina ensured she slowed down and coming to ride alongside her once more, Regulus cleared his throat. "Did you have plans for the day?" He had deemed it unnecessary to try and prove he had meant otherwise before. Instead, he would try and actually befriend her.

Her cheeks hollowed as she chewed on them, thoughtful. She was considering whether to reply. "I doubt you and your mother would call them plans." It appeared she had decided to, in a short, snappish remark.

"Come on." He rode close enough to nudge her shoulder. "Tell me. Then I can openly approve of them as such."

Melina glanced at him, sceptical. However, it seemed she could recognise the attempts to straighten things out and she cleared her throat. "I... I intended to read by the pool, perhaps swim, pick some of the last fruit in the orchard and spend the evening in the drawing room." She said. "We have a piano."

"They sound like fine plans."

"Ah, so you do approve."

He smiled at her tone. "If my approval means so much, then sí." He nodded, the switch from French to Italian smooth, hardly even noticeable.

"It means nothing, you should know." She looked away from him, but he could tell she too, was smiling, although there was a touch of mystery in it. She didn't want him to see it, though, and so he didn't mention it."

"I assumed as much," Regulus said. "You know here very well."

"I should hope so, I live here."

"You misunderstand me." He said and didn't know if he meant just then, or always.

"I do?" Melina appeared to have the same wondering. "In what way?" She asked.

"You know your way around... if I may," he swallowed, pondering his next question, "do you think, perhaps, you could show me around."

"Most wish to explore," Melina informed him, and there was something stirring in his stomach that told him she was right and that he wanted to explore the grounds on his own accord, but there was a desire to spend more time with her that overrode that.

"However?" He blinked and she looked at him, gaze lingering over the hopeful glint in his eyes, the pretty eyelashes framing them, the curled brown hair that threatened to grow and limit his vision, the starched collar of his shirt, the signet rig, and smiled.

"I may be able to do so, if you wish."

"I do wish." He grinned.

"Then I suppose I might have to." She was warming to him now, once again, her hangover no doubt have been impairing her usual senses and forcing easy-coming irritability to her every thought. "Your mother does wish for us to be friends, and my parents wish for us to answer her every beck and call."

"She is a demanding woman, I am more than aware," Regulus said, and there was a flicker of pity there that he didn't recognise. He was used to people envying his position in life, something that created the utmost conflict within him because he hated it so. "She makes many of the decisions in my life." He added.

She was silent for a moment, legs moving automatically as they cycled. "Does that not fill you with the overwhelming urge to rebel against her?" She asked, thoughtful. It was evident that should she be in the same position she would do just that.

"My brother did." He admitted and was surprised to find he did so freely. "It did not end well, each time, so I decided against it."

"You have a brother?"

"An older one, yes. his name is Sirius." So far away, from him, but also an adequate distance away from his mother, Regulus found himself able to talk freely about Sirius in a way that he had never been able to do before. "He was against everything she stood for, everything my family stood for. He was the opposite to anything she wished for him and disappointed her severely."

Blonde hair blew free from the ties she had sectioned it in. "I believe I would like your brother." She announced.

"I believe you would too." Regulus agreed. "He ignored her every word, brought things into her house she would disapprove of, got a boyfriend who was... below our social class, ran away from home to live with his best friend."

"Sirius sounds... unbelievably cool." Melina shook her head. It was hard for even him to believe that he was related to the same boy he described; every family had a black sheep.

"He is everything I wish I could be." He admitted, musingly, forgetting he wasn't in the presence of a close friend, or at the very least someone he knew well.

Her gaze upon flashed with something, her head tilted as she glanced back to the road. "Then... do you not think you should use your mother's orders to befriend me as a chance to become everything you wish you could be." She said, as the buildings grew even closer and their conversation threatened to be interrupted by the lives of others. "She doesn't like me," Melina added, as though it was the highest benefit to such an idea.

"That she does not." He confirmed.

"Well, if you decide that you are something interested in being my friend and living by your own terms, let me know." The offer sounded most appealing, and should Regulus not be worried about falling off of his bike, he could have stared at the expression upon her face for hours on end. It was most pretty, and he wondered if any of the paintings left behind in his room of hers would display something similar.

"What makes you think I want to be your friend." He asked, tone teasing.

"Just an instinct," Melina replied. "Feel free to correct me."

"I want to be your friend, Melina."

"In that case...." She smiled then, creases at the corners of her rosy-coloured lips, "I'll teach you how to live properly."

. . .

── BACK AND FORTH