Finn Lynch lives a quiet, tranquil life in a rural village in the mountains. Her life may lack spontaneity and excitement, but at least it's peaceful. And if it's a little lonely too, then she can't complain too much - she's still happy, after all.
...
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Finn and Regulus begin to fall into a routine, though it's not a particularly impressive one.
Finn wakes up early, Regulus sleeps past noon. Finn will cook, Regulus will complain about the food. Finn will clean the house, Regulus will purposely leave his shoes and clothes all over the bloody place.
They verbally poke and prod at each other until a petty argument breaks out, and afterwards neither of them apologise. They just move on until the next argument begins to brew.
Is it healthy? Probably not. But Finn just keeps telling herself that all this is temporary, and that Uncle Al will arrive one day soon with the news that he's taking the wee bastard away to somewhere else. Besides, it's marginally better than the stony silence they had been in subjecting each other to before.
When Regulus isn't actively complaining or insulting her, he's floating around the house like a pale, moody ghost. She's lost count of how many times she's turned around and startled at the sight of him lurking by the windows, staring dolefully out at the cloudy sky.
She's beginning to get used to it now, so one morning when she walks into the kitchen and there's a vague, man-shaped lump in the corner, she barely glances his way.
That, as it turns out, is a mistake.
Finn's only just reached out to put on the kettle when the figure leaps forward and grabs her by the shoulders, putting her in a headlock so firm she can do nothing but flail. She lets out a high-pitched, mortifying shriek of pure panic, wiggling desperately in place but failing to get anywhere at all.
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Uncle Al roars above her, holding tight to her neck. "God above, Finn, where's your bleedin' head? I could've killed you thrice over by now if I'd been so inclined!"
"Fuck's sake!" Finn roars back, slapping at his forearm. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop fuckin' doing this!"
"You can't just assume everything's well and good and safe now that the house is under the protection of the Fidelius charm!" Al insists in a yell, "Be vigilant of your surroundings at all times!"
"Al, will you fuck off-!"
From her unfortunate upside-down vantage point, Finn sees Regulus step into the kitchen behind them. It's barely half past nine in the morning, and yet he's dressed and has his hair combed. It's such a rare sight to see him at all, never mind so early, that Finn would be surprised, if she weren't currently a bit occupied.
There's a long moment where he seems to just survey them as they struggle in the middle of the kitchen floor, then he heaves an audible sigh.
"What," He begins in his precise, delicate accent, "are you doing?"
"And you!" Al shouts at him without letting Finn go. "You're getting lax here too! You're getting too comfortable!"
Regulus just looks at him, peering down the length of his nose in disdain. "I imagine my reflexes are still sharp enough to allow me to attack useless little Muggle girls, if I felt like it."
