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deadkaywizard · 4 days ago

Note

A fun mini follow up because I loved this so much and was thinking about it:

Regulus

His entire body ached, everything hurt. He felt as though he’d been stretched just past his limit and even the thought of moving made fire shoot from his spine out to his fingers and toes. Which, he realized, must not even be half as bad as what Remus goes through. When he finally got the will to crack open his eyes he realized where he was and remembered.

He remembered not recognizing the three adults towering over him, remembered wondering if they were mean like his father and the company he kept. When they actually spoke to him he quickly realized that these were strangers and Regulus had never done well with strangers as a kid. But then there was James.

In the end it was always going to be James wasn’t it? With his hair that could never lay right, his warm smile and bright personality, even in his young mind he knew that this was someone safe.

He spent hours before James and Harry woke up replaying the entire day over in his mind, living in every moment he’d gotten. Ordinarily he’d probably be upset that his son had seen him after something had gone so horribly wrong, and if he’d been a terror to deal with he would’ve been mortified that Harry had seen all of that.

But his boy, his incredible and thoughtful boy. Harry might’ve been both of theirs but he was James’s son through and through. He’d known that Regulus hadn’t had the best childhood, and he knew him well enough to know that if the day went badly then he’d blame it on himself.

So he’d taken it upon himself to give him the childhood that Regulus and James and given him. One where there was no end to your imagination or the laughter and smiles you could have, where love was limitless and the promise of a better tomorrow was true. For the first time in his life Regulus had been a child who was happy and unafraid, and somehow he owed it all to his son.

When his pain subsided enough that he could move, he disentangled himself from his husband and son and made his way to his lab. He found it exactly as he’d left it, almost entirely destroyed save for the teapot sitting neatly on the counter. With a flick of his wand everything started to move back into place, erasing the evidence as if nothing had ever happened.

Well, except for one thing.

He stood in front of the unassuming looking teapot in the exact position he’d been when all of this began, a soft smile on his face as he looked at it.

“You’re not so scary huh, just playing tricks on people?” He was fully aware that if James or Harry caught him talking to a teapot they might think he’d lost it entirely, but he couldn’t bring himself to care in this moment. “I didn’t know I needed that, I don’t know if you did either, but thank you.”

Regulus wasn’t sentimental about many things, but joy was high on the list of things he was. By the time James and Harry woke up the table was filled with plates piled with chocolate chip pancakes and enchanted trains ran circles around their house.

The teapot that started it all was encased in indestructible glass in its new home on James and Regulus’s mantle. The pancakes and the trains became a tradition every year on the anniversary of the incident, their own family holiday. They called it Kids Day, and if Regulus was to be completely honest it was one of his favorite days of the year.

All because of a teapot and a dash of hubris.

@noblehouseofgay I think when I initially wrote this I told you how I imagined the next morning going, now you get to fully read it, I hope you love it

19. De-aged

With regulus but you decide who he interacts with

Regulus

For months now a cursed object had been terrorizing the Ministry, none of their top curse breakers were able to figure out how to fix it and had subsequently turned to Regulus to figure it out. The item in question was a child’s teapot, supposedly cursed in a manner that had affected different results in everyone that it had come into contact with.

One of the men had shrunk to the size of a matchstick, another sprouted extra hands from his arms and a third had all of their limbs switched to opposite sides. Needless to say, everyone was terrified of whatever curse had been placed on this unassuming looking teapot. Everyone that is, except for Regulus.

He’d called for Evan and Barty to come just in case something went horribly wrong and he needed someone to fix him, knowing that James would either be too busy panicking or laughing to do it.

He was already through one layer of protections and halfway through the second when a flash hit him in the chest, sending him flying backwards and crashing into the shelves.

Barty

Barty, Evan and James took the steps two at a time down to Regulus’s lab, worry etched into all of their faces. Of course Regulus would be so cocky and stupid to think he could take care of a cursed object entirely on his own.

“Reg?!” They all seemed to call out for him in unison, rushing into the smoke filled room as one unit.

“‘M fine,” it hardly processed for any of them that the voice that called out to them was much smaller than the one they knew. Not until they saw a small body coming to them through the smoke. “Who are you?”

It was undoubtedly a miniature Regulus, the scowl on his face was undeniably the same despite his current state. He looked to be the size of a six year old, and based on the way he was reacting to them all he likely was a six year old.

“Hi Reggie, I’m Barty,” he put on his best ‘I’m dealing with a child’ voice and knelt down in front of his tiny best friend. “I’m friends with your father.”

“You don’t look like anyone my father would be friends with,” his scowl deepened and he crossed his arms, eying Barty with extreme distrust. “He has standards.”

He heard laughter from behind him and had to fight the urge to roll his eyes as he turned to face them. “Well, you go ahead and try then!”

“Hiya Reggie, I’m Jamie,” James squatted down in front of Regulus, extending his hand like he was greeting a colleague. Regulus glared at his extended hand skeptically before slowly extending his own hand to shake it.

“How do you do?” He asked in a posh manner.

“I’m doing just fine, are you hungry Regulus? I can have some pancakes made for you.” At the mention of pancakes Regulus perked up, all concern for who these strangers were seemed to have left his mind at the thought of fluffy stacks of sweetness. They made their way upstairs, Regulus somehow trusting James enough to allow himself to be carried by him. Within minutes of getting upstairs Regulus’s plate was stacked high with chocolate chip pancakes dripping in butter and syrup that he was trying not to make a mess with. The three of them watched him carefully while they stepped away to talk over their situation.

“How are we supposed to fix this?” James looked properly stressed out for the first time, anxiously pacing as he looked back and forth between them and Regulus. Barty couldn’t exactly say he blamed him for freaking out, his husband was six years old again, their relationship was now a crime.

“For everyone else it wore off after twenty-four hours,” Evan shrugged. “Honestly, it could be worse don’t you think?”

“Could be worse? My husband is six years old! He doesn’t even know who I am!” Barty really shouldn’t have been surprised that James was loosing his cool, he’d always been over the top but then he went and married Regulus, the reigning king of dramatics (hence why Regulus was currently half covered in syrup and half in chocolate).

“Well, at least it’ll wear off! And it’s not like he’s a danger to anybody,” Barty really didn’t think this was that big of an issue. Regulus was truthfully a rather adorable six year old he thought, even as he dripped syrup onto the floor.

“I am finished!” Regulus turned and called to them over his shoulder. The three adults exchanged worried looks that expressed that none of them were quite sure what to do with him. That was, until Harry walked in.

“Harry, oh thank Merlin!” James all but cried as his son looked around confused. His son who now happened to be older than his own father.

“Dad? What’s wrong?” At just thirteen years old Harry managed to have some of the best and worst of everyone that had helped raise him. Barty was looking forward to watching how this would go.

“Your genius father has turned himself into a child and doesn’t remember any of us and his lovely and attentive husband is losing his absolute mind over it.” Barty summarized for him, excited to see where this would go. Harry processed his words then looked past him to where Regulus was waiting for someone to help him clean up.

“Oh, I’ve got it from here,” he grinned mischievously and walked around them all.

James

Two hours. In just two hours Harry and Regulus had managed to nearly destroy the entire house. Somehow James had been under the impression that Regulus had been a reserved child, that he would’ve been quiet and sweet and put back everything as he’d found it. And perhaps that might’ve been true when he was under threat of his parents, but without a threat of punishment and under the instruction of a thirteen year old, well he really came out of his shell.

They’d drawn on the walls, had a tea party with conjured toys charmed to talk, they’d moved from room to room meticulously destroying each one. James would’ve gotten after them, he really would’ve, but then he’d walked down the hall and heard Regulus’s little giggle and he stopped dead in his tracks. If there was one thing he knew about Regulus and Sirius’s childhoods it was that there wasn’t much light or laughter in their home, and how could he tear that from him now?

So instead he’d sat in the room where they were putting train tracks all over, spelling some to float in the air with magically enchanted miniature people to board and ride it. After they’d set it up and Regulus was standing in the middle of it all, a look of awe on his face, James caught Harry’s eye. The look they shared told James that Harry understood how important this was for his father, to have a little bit of the childhood he should’ve had.

That night the three of them cuddled up by the fireplace together after drinking mugs of hot chocolate and reading through books Regulus and James had read to Harry when he was the age Regulus was now. Of all nights they could’ve had, James had never anticipated this to be one of them. At the end of the day though, he realized Evan and Barty had been right, it could’ve been worse.

#marauders fic #regulus black #james potter #jegulus microfic #jegulus fluff #jegulus #jegulus parents #jegulus raising harry #harry potter #marauders microfic #dead gay wizards from the 70s #fuck jkr #dead gay wizards #marauders fluff #fluff

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deadkaywizard · 5 days ago

Text

On Purpose

The worst part about living with chronic pain, Remus thought as he tried not to scream at a piece of lint on the carpet, wasn’t the pain.

It was the being perceived.

And right now, he was being perceived by a very beautiful, very loud, very not supposed to be here Sirius Black.

“You didn’t answer your texts,” Sirius said, standing in the doorway like a rockstar who’d stumbled into the wrong green room but stayed because there was free champagne. His motorcycle helmet hung from one tattooed hand, black curls wild and a bit sweaty.

“That tends to happen when I throw my phone under the couch out of spite,” Remus said, not looking up from where he was half-folded on the floor, an arm brace beside him and a heating pad nowhere near the socket.

Sirius blinked. “Do I want to know?”

Remus squinted up at him. “My shoulder tried to secede from the union. I decided to pretend the couch was Switzerland.”

Sirius grinned. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m disabled, actually,” Remus snapped, immediately regretting it. But Sirius just raised an eyebrow, unbothered.

“I know,” Sirius said softly. “You also didn’t answer my texts for four days. So I assumed either death, abduction, or, more realistically, a spiral of Netflix and apathy.”

Remus grimaced. “It was a mild spiral.”

“You watched five seasons of Hell’s Kitchen, Remus.”

“…I stand by that.”

Sirius crossed the room, tossing his helmet onto Remus’ ancient armchair. “Get up. We’re making pasta.”

“I can’t get up, hence…” Remus gestured vaguely at the brace, the heating pad, the general aura of despair.

Sirius knelt beside him without a word, scooping up the brace with practiced hands. “Do you want help?”

Remus hesitated. The line between “want” and “need” had always been blurry. But Sirius never made him feel like a burden—just a very sarcastic houseplant with medical accessories.

“Yes,” he muttered.

Sirius nodded and helped him up with the kind of gentle ease that made Remus feel seen, not exposed. “I brought garlic bread,” he said as they shuffled toward the kitchen. “And James.”

Remus froze. “What?”

“James is in the car. He insisted. He has theories.”

“About my pain?”

“About why you ghosted me for four days,” Sirius said cheerfully. “One involves aliens.”

Remus sighed. “James Potter is a human migraine.”

“And yet, you adore him,” Sirius said, smirking as he slid the brace into place with a practiced twist.

Remus didn’t say it out loud, but Sirius wasn’t wrong.

The kitchen was small, dimly lit, and currently filled with the scent of garlic, basil, and tomato.

James had let himself in and was setting up a Bluetooth speaker like he lived there. Which, to be fair, he nearly had during uni. Peter was texting in the corner with a cat on his lap—Remus’ cat, who betrayed him instantly and fully the moment food arrived.

“I’ve solved your mystery,” James announced, holding up his phone. “Remus hasn’t been abducted. He’s just deeply, tragically in love with you, Padfoot.”

Peter didn’t look up. “We knew that in 2018, mate.”

“Shut up,” Remus groaned, already regretting not faking a coma.

Sirius beamed. “I knew I felt eyes on my ass.”

Remus gave him a look. “That was the cat.”

“You named the cat Virginia Woolf. You don’t get to talk.”

Virginia purred smugly.

They cooked like idiots. Burnt one batch of garlic bread, turned the pasta water into a volcano, and used enough parmesan to offend an entire Italian village. But Sirius was relaxed, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking from under flour-dusted skin, talking to Remus like they hadn’t been orbiting each other for years.

Like he knew.

And maybe he did.

Remus leaned against the counter, shoulder aching but tolerable now. “You didn’t have to come over.”

Sirius didn’t glance up. “You didn’t have to answer the phone either, but here we are.”

“I mean it. You don’t have to—”

“Moony.” Sirius looked up. “Stop. I wanted to. And I’ll keep showing up, even when you don’t ask.”

Remus swallowed.

There it was again.

Being perceived.

But this time, it wasn’t unbearable.

It was Sirius, seeing him with all his broken pieces, and not flinching.

That night, after everyone left and the dishes were mostly done and Remus was curled up on the couch with Virginia on his chest, Sirius hovered by the door.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Define ‘okay,’” Remus replied.

Sirius gave him a look.

“I’m better now,” Remus added. “Less pain. Less… apocalypse.”

Sirius hesitated. “I could stay. If you want.”

Remus blinked. “Like… stay?”

“Not in a weird way,” Sirius said quickly. “Just… hang out. Watch something awful. Make sure you don’t throw your phone into another abyss.”

Remus considered it.

Then patted the couch beside him.

Sirius grinned and dropped his bag, slipping off his boots. He settled beside Remus carefully, their shoulders brushing.

Virginia stretched dramatically between them.

“I’m not good at this,” Remus murmured after a while.

“At what?”

“Letting people in. Asking for help.”

Sirius didn’t look away from the screen. “Good thing I already broke in.”

Remus laughed, quietly.

They sat there for a long time, the flicker of some terrible sitcom lighting their faces, silence easy between them.

And for once, being seen didn’t feel like a burden.

Sirius had never been good at sitting still. He liked movement—liked the hum of an engine under him, the buzz of a crowd, the rhythm of his own restlessness.

But right now, pressed shoulder to shoulder with Remus on a secondhand couch that smelled like lavender he didn’t want to move at all.

Remus’ hair was mussed. Virginia was purring on his chest like a tiny engine. And something in the air felt raw and good and a little dangerous.

Because Sirius had seen Remus Lupin vulnerable before—post-surgery, post-breakup, post-epic-migraine-that-laid-him-out-for-three-days.

But this was different.

This was soft.

Unarmored.

And Sirius was not okay about it.

He watched as Remus drifted—eyelids half-shut, pain visible only in the way his hand twitched occasionally near his brace. He always tried so damn hard not to let people see. Like it was a moral failing, being in pain. Being tired.

Sirius wanted to punch every person that had ever made him feel that way.

“Still awake?” Remus murmured, eyes fluttering open, voice low and rasped.

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Too wired. Adrenaline. Garlic bread. Cat.”

Remus’ mouth quirked. “She did try to smother you earlier. Consider it a warning.”

“I’d die a noble death,” Sirius replied solemnly, scratching behind Virginia’s ear. “Tell my story.”

“Here lies Sirius Black. Mauled by an overeducated feline while pining pathetically for a sarcastic literature professor with chronic joint issues.”

“Catchy.”

Remus blinked slowly, his smile turning softer. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I want to stay,” Sirius said immediately.

He could tell Remus was gearing up to argue, so he cut him off with the quiet truth.

“I like being around you, Moony. Even when you’re cranky and sore and smell faintly of eucalyptus oil. You’re still you. That’s the bit I like.”

Remus looked at him, then. Really looked.

Not a glance.

A seeing.

And Sirius let him. Let himself be perceived too, for once—tired, anxious, hungry for something he hadn’t named out loud yet.

Remus’ voice, when it came, was quiet. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel like I’m not broken.”

Sirius’ throat closed.

He leaned forward, carefully, slowly—just enough for their foreheads to touch, not quite a kiss, not quite platonic either.

“You’re not broken, Remus,” he whispered. “You’re just real.”

Remus closed his eyes. And for a moment, everything felt very still.

Later, they ended up horizontal. Not in the fun, R-rated way Sirius would usually be hoping for—but wrapped under a threadbare blanket, Virginia curled at their feet, some absolute garbage show droning in the background.

Sirius couldn’t sleep.

His mind kept running.

Not about the usual—his job, his family, the existential dread of aging—but about how peaceful Remus looked when the pain eased. About the fact that he had shown up, and Remus had let him in.

And Sirius wanted that. Wanted in. For real.

Not just the “occasional pasta and banter” level. The hard stuff too.

The days when Remus couldn’t get out of bed. The weeks when the pain flared and he shut everyone out. The dark spirals he never quite admitted to.

Sirius wanted in on all of it.

Which was terrifying.

Because Sirius didn’t do long-term. He was chaos, and people liked him in small doses. Fun, funny, charming Sirius. Not the version that stayed up at 3 a.m. reading disability blogs so he’d stop asking stupid questions. Not the version that wondered if he could find a heating pad that didn’t suck.

But Remus made him want to be better.

Not different.

Just better.

“Hey,” he whispered in the dark. “You awake?”

Remus shifted slightly. “Mmhmm.”

“I like you,” Sirius blurted. “Like… a lot.”

Remus huffed a quiet laugh. “Is this your idea of a seduction? Because it’s very NPR at midnight.”

Sirius chuckled. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are. That’s why it’s terrifying.”

Sirius turned to face him. “What if we tried it?”

“Tried what?”

“This. You. Me. Us.”

Remus was quiet for a long beat.

Then: “You sure? I’m… a lot.”

“So am I.”

“Yeah, but you come with leather jackets and Instagram thirst traps. I come with joint instability and a pharmacy in my kitchen.”

Sirius leaned in, eyes soft. “Then we’ll make room for both.”

Remus looked at him like no one ever had—like he wanted to believe it, like he almost did.

“Okay,” he whispered.

And Sirius smiled.

Because for the first time in a long time, the world wasn’t ending.

It was just beginning.

There were good days.

Days where Remus made it through an entire morning lecture without having to pop a shoulder back into place like a goddamn haunted action figure. Days when his joints played nice, his head stayed clear, and he didn’t have to put on the smiling “No really, I’m fine” mask he usually wore around students.

Today was not one of those days.

Today was the kind of day where just breathing felt like a chore. Where the soft ache in his back had graduated into a sharp throb that made putting on socks feel like an Olympic event. Where his knee had decided to dislocate while he was brushing his teeth, and he ended up sitting on the bathroom floor with a mouth full of toothpaste and a deep, dull resentment of gravity.

He hadn’t texted Sirius.

Not yet.

Not because he didn’t want to—but because he did.

Because Sirius had that look when Remus was hurting. The one that said he wanted to fix everything and couldn’t. And Remus hated being the problem someone couldn’t solve.

So he stayed on the couch, curled up like a comma, watching reruns of Taskmaster with the volume low and Virginia sleeping traitorously on his bad hip.

The front door clicked.

He’d forgotten Sirius had a key.

“Moons?” came the soft voice, a little muffled, like Sirius had a grocery bag in his mouth.

Remus didn’t answer.

Sirius appeared in the doorway, wearing joggers, an oversized hoodie, and the worried expression that came standard whenever Remus was quiet for too long.

“I brought oranges. And those crisps you like that taste like regret and vinegar.”

Remus made a noise that might’ve been a laugh. Might’ve been a sigh.

Sirius set the bag down and crossed the room without ceremony. “Where are we at, pain-wise?”

“Seven,” Remus said. “Maybe an eight if I sneeze.”

“Mobility?”

“On strike.”

Sirius nodded. “Right then. Cuddle triage.”

Remus blinked. “What?”

“Tri-age, Remus. Three stages of care.” Sirius held up a finger. “Stage one: reposition the invalid.”

“I will smother you with this cat.”

Sirius ignored him, sliding onto the couch and gently shifting Remus’ legs across his lap. His hands moved with practiced care, adjusting the throw pillow, rubbing a thumb behind Remus’ knee.

“Stage two,” Sirius said, “is soup. Which I did not bring, because you hate canned soup, and I cannot cook soup. I did, however, bring crisps and those stupid gummy peaches that rot your teeth.”

Remus softened despite himself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And stage three…” Sirius leaned down, kissed the top of Remus’ head, just above his temple. “...is the most important. Which is reminding you that you don’t have to hide on days like this.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Remus lied, immediately and unconvincingly.

“Right. You were doing highly visible floor yoga with a dislocated knee and depression snacks.”

Remus chuckled, quietly. His body still hurt, but it was different with Sirius here. The pain didn’t shrink, but it didn’t swallow him whole either.

“Do you regret this?” he asked suddenly, the words escaping before he could filter them. “Being with me. Like this.”

Sirius didn’t answer right away.

He just took Remus’ hand, running his thumb over the knuckles—gentle, reverent.

“I chose this,” Sirius said finally, voice soft but steady. “Every part of it. I want the good days and the crap ones and the days when you can’t move, and the days you make fun of my Spotify playlists.”

“They’re criminal, Sirius. You have Limp Bizkit and Phoebe Bridgers on the same playlist.”

“Eclectic taste, baby.”

Remus smiled. Tired. Honest.

“Do you remember,” Sirius continued, “that day in March when you couldn’t leave bed, and you let me sit with you for like, six hours while we watched Great British Bake Off and bullied Paul Hollywood?”

“Yes.”

“That was one of the best days I’ve ever had.”

Remus blinked at him.

“I’m not with you despite the hard days,” Sirius said, leaning down again. “I’m with you through them. On purpose.”

There it was again.

Being seen.

Being chosen.

And this time, Remus let himself believe it.

That night, Sirius cooked pasta while Remus supervised from the couch like a very opinionated monarch. They ate curled up under a shared blanket, Virginia curled between them, the room filled with the smell of garlic and the quiet sounds of two people who had finally, finally stopped running.

When Sirius dozed off, Remus watched him sleep.

He thought: I never thought I’d get this.

He thought: I want this forever.

And he didn’t feel broken at all.

He felt loved.

He felt home.

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