I have a wolfstar and jegulus AU idea so hear me out
One day Sirius and Regulus get into this huge fight at Hogwards and it goes like “You aren’t my brother anymore, I hate you” etc
And Regulus gets so mad he finds a time turner to go back in time to make Sirius a slytherin so they can be brothers
Anyway I need to work more on the introduction, but here comes the angst
Regulus manages to make Sirius a slytherin so he goes back to his timeline only tho find that Sirius became a bully, a villain, wearing the dark mark proudly and basically torturing students left and right
James tries to stand up to him, but Sirius humiliates him (cut horrified Regulus because he just can’t see a world where Sirius and James aren’t best friends)
Remus is a ravenclaw and struggles alone with his lycanthropy, being bullied by Sirius, with no friends whatsoever ( cut scene where Regulus find Remus in the astronomy tower after Sirius threw a horrible prank on him, only for Remus to be sobbing about how alone and tired he was
“I’m so tired, Black, I have no one! Do you know how it’s like all your life being afraid that someone will find out about your secret and you will be put down like a dog? DO YOU?! I’M NOT BRAVE BLACK, I NEVER HAVE BEEN BRAVE A DAY IN MY LIFE!” Remus sobbed, hugging himself like he would break apart at any second.
Maybe he was already broken.
Silent tears streamed down Regulus’ cheeks.
He took away Remus’ star, leaving him alone in darkness. )
You get the idea anyway
And the jegulus part comes with Regulus trying to convince James to help him because he lost the time turner and he needs to go back in time to fix what he’s done
Feel free to add any suggestions, this is literally the raw scenario that I came up with
The Black family home was dark and imposing, perched high on a hill that seemed to overlook all of wizarding society, but in truth, the house was as isolated as its occupants. Its black stone walls seemed to absorb the light of the moon, leaving the estate cloaked in a cold, oppressive silence that seeped into the bones of all who lived there. To be a Black meant living under the weight of centuries of tradition and expectation. It was a name that demanded pride and obedience above all else.
Regulus was only a child when he first began to understand the depth of his family’s legacy. He would sit beside his mother in the parlor, her cold gaze never wavering from his face as she whispered about the importance of bloodlines and the “purity” of their heritage. She spoke as if the rest of the world did not matter, as if everything that had ever happened outside the walls of their home was irrelevant. He had learned to nod, to agree, to feign understanding, even as his heart yearned for something more. But his mother saw only loyalty in him, the quiet, observant child who rarely spoke out of turn.
His older brother, Sirius, was the opposite—wild, loud, and endlessly defiant. The first time Regulus had realized the full extent of their differences was the day Sirius had broken one of their father’s prized vases. Regulus had been standing in the doorway, watching as his brother's tantrum sent the ceramic into a million pieces. His father had shouted, his voice filled with disgust, but Sirius had only smirked, as if daring anyone to question him.
Regulus had stood there, paralyzed, caught between admiration and fear. The way his father’s face twisted in anger, the harsh words that followed, made Regulus’s stomach churn with unease. But Sirius didn’t care. He never did. And that, more than anything, was what had fascinated Regulus.
He could never be like Sirius, no matter how hard he tried. Regulus had always been the “good” one—the obedient son, the one who never caused trouble, the one who would one day take up the mantle of the Black family name. His parents expected it of him, and he didn’t dare to disappoint them. He watched from the sidelines as Sirius grew more and more unpredictable, more and more distant, but he could never join him in his rebellion.
Sometimes, Regulus would sit alone in his room, staring at the walls, wondering what it would feel like to live without the constant pressure of expectations. But he would never say it aloud, never voice the thoughts that swirled in his mind like a storm. That wasn’t his place. He was Regulus Black, and his duty was clear.
But even then, something small and quiet inside of him began to question. Why was it always Sirius who got to be free? Why did Sirius get to choose a different path, while Regulus was trapped by the weight of the family’s legacy?
The Hogwarts Express was a blur of excitement, a mass of chattering students, their trunks piled high as the train rushed through the countryside toward their new home. Regulus sat beside his brother, trying to ignore the buzzing energy that filled the compartment. It was his first year at Hogwarts, and while the excitement of the journey should have thrilled him, all he could think about was how different everything felt now that they were both here, in the same place, but with an invisible divide already beginning to form between them.
Sirius was grinning from ear to ear, his usual cocky confidence evident in the way he leaned back in his seat, his legs stretched out in front of him. He had already made a point to introduce himself to a few of the older Gryffindors, and Regulus couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Why was it so easy for Sirius to make friends? Why did he seem to slip into the world of Hogwarts as if he were born for it?
Regulus felt a knot form in his stomach as he glanced around at the other first years. Most of them were excited, chatting eagerly about the Sorting ceremony, but Regulus was oddly quiet. He had no desire to draw attention to himself, no need to stand out. It was enough to simply be a Black, to fit in, to blend into the background and not stir the waters too much.
The Sorting ceremony was the moment that would change everything. Regulus had never given much thought to which house he would be in—he knew it would be Slytherin. It was where all the Black family members had been placed. It was where he belonged, even if he didn’t always feel like it.
When his name was called, Regulus walked toward the Sorting Hat, his heart pounding in his chest. The room was filled with the whispers of the other students, their eyes on him as he sat down on the stool. The Hat seemed to take a long time deliberating, and Regulus felt the weight of every second drag on.
“You could do well in Gryffindor, you know,” the Hat murmured in his ear. “But you value loyalty to family above all else.”
The words hit him like a hammer. Of course, he would end up in Slytherin. The Hat had no choice. The Black name was built on tradition and loyalty, and that was all Regulus had ever known.
The Hat settled on his head, and he heard the soft murmur of its decision: “Slytherin.”
The cheers from the Slytherin table were immediate and loud. Regulus forced a smile, nodding his head in acknowledgment, but inside, he felt only a cold sense of inevitability. He was where he was supposed to be.
As he walked to the table, he glanced over at Sirius, who had already been sorted into Gryffindor. Sirius was surrounded by other Gryffindors, his smile wide and unashamed, as if he had been born to stand out. Regulus watched him for a moment, but then quickly turned his gaze away, focusing instead on the group of Slytherins who had already started to assess him, sizing him up. There would be no time for nostalgia, no time to mourn the fact that he would never walk the same path as his brother again.
Regulus knew it was only a matter of time before it happened. Before Sirius snapped, before he decided to throw away the last, fragile thread of brotherhood between them. It had been building for months—years, even. But knowing it was inevitable didn’t make it any easier when it finally happened.
The Great Hall was alive with the usual hum of voices, the clinking of goblets, and the flickering glow of the enchanted ceiling above. The sky outside was stormy, casting rolling shadows across the long tables, but inside, there was warmth, the scent of roasted meat, and the low murmur of students enjoying the final moments of dinner.
Regulus barely touched his food. He sat among his fellow Slytherins, posture straight, expression blank. On the surface, he looked every bit the perfect Black heir. But his mind wasn’t in the conversation happening around him. It was on his brother, sitting at the Gryffindor table, laughing too easily with James Potter.
James Potter.
Regulus hated him.
Not because of his blood status—no, Regulus wasn’t foolish enough to believe in the blind hatred his family clung to so desperately. He hated James Potter because he had taken Sirius away from him. Because when Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor, Potter had been the first to welcome him with open arms, as if he had been waiting for him all along. As if he had known Sirius better than Regulus ever had.
He swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the silver goblet in his hands. Sirius was laughing, his head thrown back, his expression carefree in a way that Regulus hadn’t seen in years.
Like he was free.
Like he had never belonged to them at all.
The sharp scrape of a chair against the stone floor made Regulus glance up. Across the room, Sirius had stood abruptly, his expression dark, his mouth curled in a sneer that Regulus recognized all too well. He had seen it before—directed at their mother, their father, their family name. But never at him.
Not until now.
The tension in the Great Hall changed instantly. Conversations quieted, heads turned. Everyone could sense it—something brewing, thick like the weight before a storm.
And then, Sirius’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade.
“You make me sick.”
The words were low, but the venom in them was unmistakable.
Regulus’s breath hitched. His hands clenched under the table, his knuckles white. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t dare to show weakness.
Sirius took a step forward, pushing past a few Gryffindors who tried to stop him. But he was relentless, eyes locked onto Regulus as if nothing else in the world mattered.
“You sit there, acting like you're so much better than everyone else,” Sirius continued, his voice rising. “But you’re just a coward.”
The word struck Regulus like a slap.
Coward.
Coward.
Coward.
It echoed in his skull, louder than the murmurs rippling through the Hall. The room blurred at the edges, the golden glow of the candles turning sickly and dim.
Regulus forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to meet Sirius’s gaze, even as something inside him cracked, threatening to shatter.
“At least I know where I belong,” he said quietly, but there was steel in his voice. He had to be strong. He had to be. “Unlike you, running off to your little Gryffindor friends like some stray mutt, pretending you’re better than the rest of us.”
The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them.
Sirius stiffened. Something flickered in his gray eyes—not just anger, but hurt. Deep, soul-crushing hurt.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The Great Hall was deathly silent.
And then Sirius let out a bitter, hollow laugh.
“Better than you,” he spat. “Better than all of you.”
Regulus felt the world tilt, felt something inside of him break open, raw and bleeding.
And then Sirius turned his back on him.
Walked away.
Left him behind.
James Potter was at his side in an instant, his hand on Sirius’s shoulder, leading him away. And just like that, the Gryffindors parted for them, the hall swallowing them up until they were gone.
Regulus sat frozen.
His stomach twisted violently, nausea rising in his throat, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t move. The Slytherins around him were whispering, shifting in their seats, but he barely heard them.
Coward.
Coward.
Coward.
The word wouldn’t leave his mind. It sank into his bones, coiled around his ribs like a serpent, suffocating him.
Sirius had meant it.
He had looked Regulus in the eyes, his own brother, and told him he was nothing.
And for the first time, Regulus believed it.
The dormitory was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the torches lining the stone walls. The emerald canopy above Regulus’s bed swayed slightly with the draft coming from the corridors. The room was cold, but he barely noticed.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling, Sirius’s words still ringing in his ears.
You aren’t my brother anymore.
I hate you. Regulus swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to hate Sirius in return. It would be easier, wouldn’t it? If he could just shut off the part of himself that ached for his brother’s approval, that wanted to chase after him, to beg him to take back everything he had said.
But he couldn’t.
Because he had spent his entire life chasing Sirius.
Sirius, who had always been stronger.
Sirius, who had always been braver.
Sirius, who had never needed Regulus as much as Regulus had needed him. He turned onto his side, his fingers digging into the silk sheets. His chest felt hollow, his ribs aching with the weight of something unnamed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Sirius was supposed to be his best friend. His protector. His family. But now, Sirius had turned his back on him, and Regulus was drowning in the emptiness he had left behind.
He had to fix this.
He had to.
The thought struck him suddenly, sharp and insistent. He wasn’t helpless. He wasn’t powerless. If Sirius had walked away, then Regulus would find a way to change it. A Time-Turner. The idea sent a shiver down his spine. Regulus had always been careful. Always been observant. And he had seen it before—glinting in Professor McGonagall’s office, locked away, tucked behind layers of protective spells. He had memorized the way she locked it. He had memorized everything. His breath quickened, his pulse hammering in his throat.
He could fix this.
He could make sure this moment never happened.
He would never lose Sirius again. And just like that, the world shifted.
Regulus had always known how to be careful. It was something he had learned young—how to move unnoticed, how to listen without being heard, how to exist in the shadows while others took up all the space in the room. Sirius had always taken up so much space. But now Sirius was gone, and all that was left was the hollow ache in Regulus’s chest.
The night he decided to steal the Time-Turner, that ache became unbearable. He had spent hours lying in bed, staring at the emerald canopy above him, replaying that moment in the Great Hall over and over.
"You aren’t my brother anymore! I hate you!" The words had burrowed into his skin, into his ribs, into the fragile spaces between his bones, and no matter how many times he whispered to himself that Sirius didn’t mean it—that he was just angry—it still burned. He curled his fingers into the silk sheets, nails digging into his palms until it hurt, grounding himself in the pain.
He wouldn’t accept it.
Sirius was his brother. Sirius had been his first friend, his first protector, the only person who had ever made the house of Black feel like something other than a cage. If Sirius had turned his back on him, then Regulus would do what he did best.
He would fix it. Even if it meant breaking the world apart to put it back together. Hogwarts at night felt different than it did during the day. By daylight, it was a castle filled with endless noise—quills scratching, cauldrons bubbling, laughter echoing off the stone walls. But at night, it was something else entirely. It was old magic. Shadows stretching long. Silence pressing against his skin. Regulus moved like a ghost through the corridors, his breath tight in his throat. The Disillusionment Charm was in place, wrapping around him like a second skin, but it didn’t make him invisible. Not really. It only made him easier to miss—just a shimmer of movement in the dark if someone looked too closely. He couldn’t afford to be seen. His heart hammered in his chest as he reached the stone gargoyle outside McGonagall’s office.
"Sherbet Lemon," he whispered. The gargoyle stirred, shifting with the slow, grinding groan of stone on stone. Regulus didn’t hesitate. He stepped onto the moving staircase, his fingers wrapped so tightly around his wand that his knuckles had gone white. This was it. His one chance. The air inside McGonagall’s office was thick with the scent of parchment, ink, and something else—something older. The kind of magic that had settled into the very foundation of the castle itself. Regulus exhaled slowly, his breath barely making a sound. The cabinet stood against the far wall, polished wood gleaming faintly in the dim light. The Time-Turner was inside, tucked away, hidden behind layers of enchantments meant to keep out students exactly like him. Regulus had spent weeks preparing for this moment.
He had studied. Practiced. Learned the counter-charms by heart, whispering them under his breath until his voice was hoarse. Now, as he moved toward the cabinet, he felt something sharp coil in his chest—a quiet voice, an echo of doubt.
Was this right? His fingers trembled as he raised his wand. The first spell severed the outer protective charms—just a small cut in the defenses, enough to let him slip through. The second spell was trickier. It had to be whispered in perfect precision, unraveling the enchantments one by one without triggering an alarm. Regulus’s pulse pounded in his ears. The moment stretched, stretched, stretched—
Then—click.
The final lock gave way. He pressed a shaking hand to the cabinet door, exhaling sharply as it swung open. And there it was. A delicate golden chain. An impossibly small hourglass, glinting under the moonlight. It looked fragile. Too fragile to hold something as vast as time itself. Regulus hesitated.
A heartbeat.
A breath.
If he did this, there was no going back. What if he made things worse? What if he lost Sirius another way—what if he shattered something that couldn’t be fixed? For one terrible moment, he almost turned around.
Almost.
But then he thought of Sirius’s face twisted with fury, of the way his voice had cracked when he had shouted those words.
"You aren’t my brother anymore!" The pain slammed into him again, sharp and unbearable, and that was it. That was all it took. His fingers closed around the chain. The moment he touched it, something shifted. The air around him seemed to bend, as if the castle itself knew what he was about to do. His chest felt tight, like the weight of what he was carrying was pressing against his ribs, stealing the breath from his lungs. But he didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. He lifted the hourglass and turned it.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
The world lurched. The floor fell away beneath his feet. A golden light wrapped around him, pulling him into something vast, something endless. His lungs seized—he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—time was unspooling around him, stretching and twisting and collapsing all at once. He was falling. Falling. Falling—
When the world settled, everything was different. The air smelled different—coal smoke and parchment and the faint scent of platform grease. He was standing on Platform 9¾. His hands were small. His uniform was too crisp, the fabric stiff in a way that told him it had barely been worn. He was eleven again. Regulus felt something claw at his chest—panic, disbelief, the sheer weight of knowing that it had worked. It had really, truly worked. His breath came fast and shallow. His pulse pounded so hard it hurt. This was real. He turned wildly, searching through the crowd, his throat closing up with something sharp and painful. And then— Sirius. He was standing near the train, grinning, his dark hair wind-tousled, his excitement written across every inch of his face. Their parents stood beside him, stiff and formal, watching him with cold expectation. But Sirius wasn’t looking at them. He was looking for someone else. Regulus knew exactly who.
James Potter.
Sirius’s best friend.
His brother in everything but blood. The one who would change everything.
No.
Not this time. Regulus surged forward, shoving through the steam and the bustling crowd. His heart was a wild, erratic thing, thundering against his ribs. He reached out and grabbed Sirius’s sleeve.
Regulus tightened his grip on Sirius’s sleeve, his fingers trembling as they dug into the fabric, anchoring himself to the moment before it could slip away. The station was thick with the scent of steam and coal smoke, the low murmur of families saying their goodbyes blending into the sharp whistle of the train preparing to depart. Shadows danced along the platform, stretching long under the golden glow of the flickering lamps, casting shifting patterns against the haze of the early morning.
Sirius turned, his storm-gray eyes widening in surprise at the sudden contact, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and curiosity. For a brief second, he looked just like he used to—like the older brother Regulus had once chased through the halls of Grimmauld Place, his laughter ringing like bells in the dimly lit corridors.
"Reg? What—?" Sirius started, but Regulus didn’t let him finish. He couldn’t. There wasn’t time.
"Come with me," Regulus cut in, his voice tight, urgent, raw. He had to get this right.
Sirius blinked, momentarily thrown off, but Regulus could already see the hesitation forming in his brother’s eyes. It was like watching a tide shift, an invisible current pulling Sirius toward something—toward someone. Regulus knew exactly who.
His heart pounded as he followed Sirius’s gaze, watching as it flickered past him, searching. Searching for James Potter.
James, who was standing a little further down the platform, his messy hair ruffled by the wind, grinning as he waved Sirius over. James, who was calling Sirius’s name, his voice easy and expectant, a promise woven into the sound.
This was the moment. The choice. The fracture in time where everything had split apart the first time.
No.
Regulus acted before he could think, before doubt could slither into his bones and paralyze him. He held on tighter, his knuckles turning white, his breath coming too fast, too shallow. If he let go now, if he faltered for even a second, history would repeat itself. He would lose Sirius all over again, and this time, there would be no second chance.
His grip on Sirius’s sleeve tightened until he felt the warmth of his brother’s skin beneath the fabric, grounding him, tethering him to the present. "We should sit together," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but laced with something desperate, something pleading, something broken.
Sirius hesitated.
Regulus watched it happen in slow motion—the flicker of uncertainty, the moment where Sirius teetered between two choices, standing on the edge of a knife. He could feel it, the weight of possibility pressing against his ribs, suffocating him.
Sirius exhaled, long and slow, the sound lost beneath the churning of the train’s engine, the distant laughter of students reunited with friends.
His gaze flickered back toward James.
And then—to Regulus.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Regulus saw it.
The doubt.
The hesitation.
The second where Sirius Black, reckless and defiant and full of fire, wavered.
Regulus had him.
His own heartbeat was deafening in his ears as he held his brother’s gaze, willing him to stay, willing him to see that there was another path, a different future, one where they didn’t have to lose each other.
And then—just the barest movement. A shift of weight. A lingering glance.
A moment stretched impossibly thin between them.
Regulus didn’t breathe.
Sirius didn’t move.
And the world hung on the edge of a decision that could rewrite the stars.
This is the first chapter
