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Regulus woke to the relentless pounding in his skull, the sharp rhythm echoing in time with his heartbeat. The other side of the mattress was cold and empty, James’ absence leaving the sheets undisturbed. He shifted onto his back with a groan, the damp cling of sweat making the fabric beneath him uncomfortably sticky. The room felt oppressively warm, the heavy air pressing down on him as fragments of restless dreams slipped away. His hand instinctively reached toward the empty space beside him, fingers brushing against nothing but rumpled linen, a reminder of solitude that made his chest tighten.
A soft groan of the door breaking the stillness was followed by the subtle scrape of porcelain as a teacup came to rest on its saucer, punctuating the quiet. Regulus shifted at the noise, instinctively trying to sit up. The movement proved disastrous—his vision swam, the room swaying around him as a sharp, pounding ache spread through his head. With a low, frustrated exhale, he gave in, sinking back into the pillows and shutting his eyes tightly, as if that might steady the chaos within.
“Take it easy, darling. No need to push yourself,” James said softly, his tone calm yet threaded with worry. The measured rhythm of his footsteps grew closer, deliberate and unhurried, until the quiet tap of a teacup being set on the bedside table broke the silence. A soothing scent of freshly brewed tea filled the space, rich and inviting, with a delicate hint of honey’s sweetness lingering in the air. “You just need to rest,” James said.
James' fingers grazed Regulus’ damp forehead, pausing briefly as though checking for fever, before he adjusted the blanket, tucking it snugly around his shoulders. The small act held a silent kind of care, a reassurance without words that softened the weight in Regulus’ chest, even as the throbbing in his head refused to relent.
"I have things to do," Regulus said, his voice coming out more whiney than intended. "And Harry has daycare—"
"I already took care of it."
"But—"
"Rest." James says sternly and oh, Regulus has no idea what to do. Resting a cold off wasn't a safe thing to do—or at least it hadn't been. Not with his parents expecting everything of him. Not with the legacy that loomed over his head like a dark, stormy cloud.
"I don't know how to," Regulus admitted, rolling onto his side. "I've never done it before."
"You're doing a fine job of it now," James said, fingers carding through Regulus' hair. "Just keep doing what you're doing. Are you hungry?"
"Maybe a bit," Regulus mumbled.
"I'll make you lunch. Here, sit up."
Regulus tried once more to sit up, his head whirling as James helped him. James placed the tea cup in his hands. He took a sip, passing the tea back to James.
"I feel like shit."
"I know, Darling."
"Can you make me that thing." Regulus mumbled, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders.
"What thing?"
"Eh, I haven't the foggiest. The one your mum makes."
James laughed, ruffling his hair. "You'll have to be more specific."
"I don't remember. Just guess," Regulus swatted at his hand. James just laughed, disappearing down the hall. Regulus reached for the tea, listening to the clanking of pots and pans as James cooked. The house wasn’t particularly spacious, and yet there was a certain comfort in its modest size that put Regulus at ease. They'd been here five years now, and they even kept the ugly yellow couch—much to Regulus' chagrin. Regulus' study became Harry's room, his desk tucked against the wall in their bedroom.
Regulus turned to his side, staring at the old writing desk. Papers lie strewn about its surface, his quill leaning precariously in the inkwell. Once upon a time the mess would have driven him mad. But that was then. Now he felt relaxed enough to let go of his need to control every tiny detail.
When had that happened?
Did he grow used to the chaos that came with having a small child around? Or did he truly feel safe in this tiny little house he called home?
The door eased open with a soft creak as James stepped back into the room, a bowl of khichdi balanced carefully in his hands. He handed it to Regulus who immediately started shoveling it into his mouth. It didn’t quite match the perfection of Effie’s, but it had a certain appeal all its own. The bed gave a soft groan as James settled onto it, lying on his side and quietly watching Regulus as he ate.
"Slow down, you'll choke."
"Shut it, Potter." Regulus said, voice muffled as he shoved yet another spoonful of rice into his mouth.
"If you insist," James snorted.
Regulus set the now empty bowl aside, "Don't you have work?"
"I called off."
"Why?" Regulus furrowed his brow.
"Because you were ill, wanted to make sure you're alright."
"James, I can take care of myself," Regulus snapped. James didn't flinch, damn him. Always patient, always understanding. Regulus had no idea what he did to deserve him.
"You could barely sit up on your own, love." James pointed out, pinching his cheek. Regulus swatted his hand away, rolling his eyes.
"I'm fine."
"You have a fever." Regulus just glared at James, though there was no power behind it. He knew James meant well. He always meant well.
"When do you pick up Harry?"
"Same time as always," James said without hesitation.
"Oh." Regulus didn't remember what time that was. Maybe he was worse than he thought. "I think I'll get more rest."
He rolled onto his side, facing James. Grabbing his body pillow, he drew it close, wedging it between his legs and wrapping his arms around it. His head still throbbed, and it was a wonder he managed to doze off, but he did. He dreamt that he stood in a forest, silence overwhelming his senses as the sun set beneath the trees. He pushed ahead, scrambling over tangled roots and dense shrubs. The forest was eerily silent—no birdsong, no rustling of animals. An oppressive sense of dread settled over him, growing stronger with each unsteady step deeper into the shadows.
A figure stepped into view, its skin ghostly pale and its features disturbingly serpentine. Its mouth began to open, but before any sound could escape, he jolted awake, sitting upright in bed with a start.
The room was still and deserted. James wasn’t there, nor was Harry. Only silence filled the space. Regulus slid out of bed, the room spinning. He placed a hand on his desk to steady himself, nausea coiling in his belly. He staggered ahead, his hand pressed against the wall for support as he moved down the hall.
No James. No Harry.
He reached the living room, where Euphemia was sitting on the couch, focused on a crossword puzzle. She'd pulled her dark, gray-streaked hair into a tight bun, wand poking out of the base like a hair pin. He looked at the grandfather clock, noting that it was only two pm.
"Mum?"
She put the crossword down, standing and approaching Regulus. She brought a hand to his forehead, frowning. "Oh dear, you're burning up. Come, sit." She said, urging Regulus to the couch. She draped a spare blanket over him, "I'll make you some warm milk."
"Where's James?"
"Just running errands. Seems it's grocery day," she remarked, vanishing into the kitchen. A few moments later, she came back with a glass of warm milk, turmeric and pepper stirred into it. Regulus found the combination odd, but he trusted her judgment. He took the glass, sipping from it. The sharp, earthy flavor of the milk relaxed him and he passed her the empty glass. "Do you think you need a healer, beta?"
"I'm fine. It's just a cold."
"I think you need a healer."
Euphemia was right, as she often was. Regulus felt terrible, and his fever had yet to break. "You're probably right. I just don't want one."
"Regulus," she said, sitting next to him.
Fuck. She was breaking out the name, now. Euphemia only did that when she meant business.
"Fine, fine. I'll have James call for Edgar."
"Good, good," Euphemia murmured, turning back to her crossword. There was no need for more words; the silence was comfortable. Regulus was content to remain there with her, simply waiting for his husband to return. He did so about thirty minutes later, harry in tow.
"Hey mum, hey Reg." James said. Harry toddled over, climbing up onto the couch.
"Papa, look what I made," he said, proudly holding up a lopsided origami bird.
"That's wonderful, Harry," Regulus replied, offering a weak smile before Euphemia gently scooped Harry up.
"Your papa isn't feeling well, babu," she murmured softly, settling him against her hip. Harry giggled, his small hands playfully patting her face. With a soft laugh, she carried him upstairs to his room, probably so they could send for a healer.
"You doing okay, love?" James asked, handing Regulus another cup of tea.
"Your mum recommended a healer. I think she’s right," Regulus replied, taking a sip of the tea.
"Want me to send for Edgar?"
"Yes, please."
James nodded and went down the hall to send a letter. The owl flew off, letter clutched in its talons, and James returned, settling beside Regulus on the couch. Regulus leaned on him, eyes fluttering closed. He felt so weak.
A knock echoed at the door, and James rose to answer it. Edgar stepped in quickly, briefcase in hand, and without a word, knelt in front of Regulus, pressing a hand to his forehead.
"Merlin," Edgar said, "You're burning up."
"I know."
Edgar was one of the few people Regulus trusted enough to let touch him. Thankfully, the bastard was an excellent healer, because he'd rather perish than let a stranger feel his forehead like that. Edgar drew his wand from his sleeve, using it to scan Regulus.
"You're in luck, it's just a cold."
"No way? I thought I was dying, Bones." Regulus replied, sarcasm heavy in his voice. Both Edgar and James snorted at his response. Edgar then rummaged through his bag, pulling out a vial filled with a glowing green potion.
"Drink this."
Regulus took the pepper up potion, swallowing it like it were a shot of liquor. He handed Edgar the bottle. "That's disgusting, you know."
"Oh stop your complaining." Edgar rolled his eyes. He pulled two more potions from his bag, placing them on the coffee table. "Take these for the next few days and you'll be good as new."
"I'll see you around, Reg." Edgar said. Regulus gave a nod as Edgar stood up. Usually, they could chat for hours about anything and everything. But today, Edgar had other responsibilities to attend to. After he left, Regulus stood and James helped him back to the bedroom. Their sheets welcomed him into their cool embrace as James tucked him in. He yawned.
"I'm so tired."
"Sleep, then." James offered.
"Maybe I will," Regulus murmured softly. Before long, his eyelids grew heavy and closed. This time, his dream was far less frightening.