from something to nothing to something again by seekthestars on ao3
In 2018, Remus Lupin walked out of Sirius’s life with no warning, no apologies, and no explanation. Sirius learns to be fine with it, he grows his life and his success into something most people would only dream of. He travels, he works, he’s on billboards, he’s got a nephew on the way. He’s doing more than fine.
Until Remus comes back after eight years of nothing, looking gloriously sun kissed and freckled from two years in the Mediterranean. Suddenly Sirius is not fine anymore.
It's Barty's last reaping. But when his name isn't called, and it's Regulus' instead, picked twice in a decade, he doesn't feel relieved at all. His body acts before his brain thinks and he steps forward, taking his best friend's place.
Not in a passionate way. Not in the way he hated early mornings or authority figures or yogurt with fruit chunks in it. No, yoga inspired a quieter kind of misery. The kind that settled deep in his bones every time the woman on the television smiled with terrifying serenity and said things like, “Now engage your core.”
What core?
Barty was fairly certain his organs were just floating around inside him like soup.
“This is humiliating,” Barty muttered as he bent forward with all the grace of a folding chair collapsing in on itself.
Behind him, sprawled on the couch like a lazy housecat, James snorted.
“You’re doing amazing, love.”
“I’m one wrong move away from snapping my hamstring clean in half.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Barty glared over his shoulder, blonde curls sticking to his forehead already. “If you laugh at me again, Potter, I’m turning this into a murder scene.”
James lifted both hands innocently, though his grin ruined the effect. “I’m not laughing at you.”
“You literally just laughed.”
“I laughed with affection.”
“That’s somehow worse.”
The instructor on the TV transitioned smoothly into another pose. Barty stared at her in horror.
“She’s not human.”
“She’s flexible.”
“She’s possessed.”
James bit down on another smile.
The living room smelled faintly like the coffee they’d abandoned on the table an hour ago. Morning light poured through the windows, warm against the hardwood floors. Barty stood barefoot on a yoga mat James had bought three months ago during one of his “we should take care of ourselves” phases.
Usually Barty ignored those phases until they passed.
This one apparently had staying power.
“Come on,” James coaxed softly. “Just try the next one.”
Barty sighed dramatically enough to qualify as performance art before shifting into position again.
James watched him carefully.
Watched the slight wobble in Barty’s arms as he held himself up. Watched the concentration pulling his brows together. Watched the tiny frustrated huff every time he lost balance and had to reset.
But mostly—
Mostly James watched how hard Barty was trying.
That was the thing that kept making warmth bloom painfully in James’s chest.
A year ago, Barty would’ve quit after five minutes.
A year ago, anything involving patience with himself turned ugly fast. One mistake and he’d spiral. One stumble and he’d snap something cruel about his own body, his own mind, his own worth. James remembered nights spent peeling sharp words out of Barty’s skin one by one, holding him together while he shook with frustration at himself.
Now?
Now he was still here twenty minutes later, sweaty and annoyed and muttering curses under his breath—but still trying.
James couldn’t stop smiling.
Barty dropped into a plank pose with a noise of immediate regret.
“Oh, fuck this.”
“You’ve got it!”
“My arms are vibrating.”
“That means it’s working.”
“That means I’m dying.”
James laughed quietly, softer this time. Fond enough that it almost hurt.
Barty still didn’t notice the staring.
Probably because he was too busy fighting for his life.
The instructor started talking about breathing techniques.
Barty wheezed, “I can’t believe people do this for fun.”
James leaned his head against the couch cushion, eyes never leaving him.
There was something unfairly beautiful about Barty like this. Not polished. Not sharp-edged and defensive and dangerous the way he presented himself to everyone else.
Just… Barty.
Hair messy. Oversized sleeveless shirt slipping off one shoulder. A faint flush spreading across his cheeks from exertion. Completely focused on trying to improve himself because James had suggested it might help with the back pain he constantly ignored.
Because James had asked.
God.
James loved him so much he felt stupid with it sometimes.
“Okay,” the woman on the television said cheerfully, “time for boat pose!”
Barty looked physically offended.
“No.”
James burst out laughing.
“No, seriously,” Barty said, pointing accusingly at the screen. “Look at her. She’s balanced on her arse like a fucking enchanted swan.”
“You can do it.”
“I absolutely cannot.”
“You said that about the stretches earlier.”
“And I was correct.”
Still grumbling, Barty shifted onto the mat and attempted the pose.
It lasted approximately three seconds before he tipped sideways entirely and rolled onto the floor with a loud thud.
James immediately sat upright. “You okay?”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Barty started laughing.
Not irritated laughter. Not manic laughter.
Just genuine, breathless amusement.
James stared at him.
Barty lay sprawled dramatically across the yoga mat, giggling into the floorboards at his own failure, and something inside James went painfully soft.
Because that was new too.
The ability to fail without tearing himself apart over it.
Barty finally looked over. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
James blinked, apparently having been caught staring for far too long.
“Like what?”
“Like I just personally hung the moon.”
James smiled before he could stop himself. Big and helpless and probably far too emotional for ten in the morning.
Barty’s laughter quieted.
And James realized, suddenly, that Barty had changed enough to notice things like this now too.
The softness. The pride.
The love.
James pushed himself off the couch and walked over until he was standing beside the mat.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I’m really proud of you.”
Barty’s expression immediately twisted into suspicion. “Why are you saying it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to make me cry before breakfast.”
James crouched beside him.
Barty’s cheeks were pink now, whether from exertion or embarrassment James couldn’t tell.
“You’ve just…” James hesitated, trying to untangle feelings too big for language. “You’ve come really far, B.”
Barty looked away instantly.
Classic.
James reached out and brushed sweat-damp curls back from his forehead.
“A while ago,” James continued softly, “you wouldn’t have let yourself be bad at something long enough to improve at it.”
Barty swallowed.
The joking edge faded from his face.
James smiled gently. “But you stayed.”
Barty stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
Then, quieter than before, “Well. You asked me to.”
That nearly killed James outright.
He leaned down without thinking and kissed Barty’s forehead.
Barty made a grumbly little noise. “Don’t get sappy on me.”
“Too late.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You love me.”
Barty finally looked back at him, eyes warm despite the insult already forming on his tongue.
Unfortunately, before he could say it, the woman on the television chirped—
vaporwave
pixelskylines
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
turnnoffyourmind
