This was supposed to be a quick headcanon, ended up spending an hour writing this)
The black brothers didn't grow up with much in the way of children's toys; instead they spent most of their childhood in classrooms, getting an education to match their status as the most noble pureblood family.
There were some exceptions, as each brother was given a stuffed animal when they were born. Sirius, a dog of course, to match his name, and Regulus, a lamb.
Regulus was a very timid child, and had taken his lamb everywhere with him. It brought him comfort when his brother wasn't around, and he couldn't sleep without it. The adults had found this endearing at first, but as he grew older, he was reprimanded for such childish behaviours.
At 8 years old he had stuffed the toy under his bed, declaring that he was grown up now and didn't need it anymore. He tossed and turned that night, struggling to drift of without it, but he was determined to please his parents. He soon got used to sleeping without it, and the toy gathered dust under his bed.
Despite this, he couldn't seem to grow up enough in his parent's eyes. Constantly told that he was too quiet, too shy, too childish. That he should be more like his brother.
Sirius was the golden child, the rightful heir to the family. He never shied away from the attention at pureblood family gatherings, happy to show off the new painting he'd done, or play the latest piece he'd learnt on the piano. Their parents received praise after praise of what a talented young boy they had, that he'd surely grow up into an exceptional wizard.
Regulus, on the other hand, prefered to stay out of the spotlight. Small talk with other families had him stumbling over his words, never quite sure what he was supposed to say. His usually steady hands would start to shake when playing his violin in front of a crowd.
But Sirius was always there to look out for him, filling in for him when he struggled to speak, or accompanying him on the piano if he got too nervous. Going as far as to take the blame for any trouble they'd caused, to save his little brother from their parent's punishments. Sirius was his older brother, his protector, and always kept him safe. Like a sheepdog and it's lamb, regulus often thought.
Then Sirius turned 11, and that September was off to Hogwarts. Regulus had grown accustomed to having his brother around, and Sirius' absence left a hollow pit in his stomach. Regulus was 10 years old, and would be off to Hogwarts himself next year. He was old enough to look after himself now. He told himself that as the train pulled off, blinking away the tears in an effort to remain composed in front of his parents. But that night, Regulus couldn't help but reach for his lamb again, curling up with it clutched in his arms as he cried himself to sleep.
The months went by painfully slow, until at last winter came, and with it, Sirius, back for Christmas break. Regulus was overjoyed to have his brother home again, but soon found things had changed. Sirius had been eager to tell him all about the friends he'd made, with a never ending stream of stories and anecdotes. Many names came up, and Regulus found himself struggling to keep up. But one name had been mentioned in almost every story told. James Potter.
The jealousy was eating Regulus alive. He'd never had to share his brother before, but now Sirius had a whole life at Hogwarts that Regulus wasn't a part of.
Their parents didn't approve of Sirius' new friends either, claiming that a pureblood wizard of his standing should take company with others more like him. But Sirius had grown more independent in his time at Hogwarts, no longer following his parent's every command.
As the years went on, he grew more distant from Regulus and their family, but was closer than ever with his gryffindor friends. Regulus stayed close with his parents, believing that his family was all that he needed. They were purebloods, after all, with a status so high they were almost untouchable. He felt safe with them. Not quite like he did with Sirius by his side, but Regulus pushed that thought aside.
By the time Regulus was in his 4th year, Sirius was hardly ever around during the holidays, spending days at a time at the Potter's. He'd known what was coming, he had for a while. The way his brother would never fully unpack his trunk when he returned, seemingly ready to leave at a moment's notice. Calling Grimmauld Place his parent's house, never his. Not his home.
Then, one evening after a particularly bad fight, Regulus sat up against their shared wall, listening to the sound of draws opening and closing, and books being thrown around. He couldn't bring himself to go in, knowing deep down there was nothing he could say to stop his brother from leaving.
They had grown apart over the last few years, no longer inseparable as they used to be. But Regulus still loved Sirius more than anything, he always would. So when he heard Sirius head out to the bathroom, he slipped into his brother's room. His trunk lay open at the foot of his bed, packed full with Sirius' things. Regulus tucked his lamb toy in amongst Sirius' clothes, away in a corner where it wouldn't be noticed. He couldn't bring himself to say goodbye, and in a way this felt to Regulus like a part of him would still be with his brother.
As he turned to leave, something in the back of Sirius' open wardrobe caught his attention. There, perched on an old shoebox, was Sirius' stuffed dog toy. Worn and covered in dust, obviously long forgotten. Regulus quickly grabbed the toy, taking it back with him to his room before Sirius returned to his. He held the toy as he went to sleep that night, trying desperately to ignore the growing dread he felt about waking up to a house without Sirius the next morning.
As he drifted off to sleep, Regulus thought back to when he was younger, and used to take his lamb with him everywhere. How much Regulus had changed since then. How much both of the brothers had.
Sirius, the promising heir to the family, now struck off the family tapestry. The black sheep.
And Regulus, who once fell short of his parent's expectations, now their esteemed heir. Their obedient dog.
do not forget the patron saint of these weeks that we celebrate ourselves proudly and openly in the streets
her name was Marsha P Johnson, and we have her to thank for so much.
remember, the first Pride was a riot, and she was one of the brave souls who endured it to help carve the path which so many of us walk today. she helped found several activist groups regarding LGBT safety and wellbeing. and she was absolutely radiant, too.
regulus' favorite piece of jewelry is not the diamond necklaces; ruby rings; or even sapphire earrings; not the fine gold; or the silver; or the gems
its the cheap second hand set of rings sirius bought at a muggle thrift store and gave him; back when regulus had dismissed sirius' interest in muggle things, claiming that he would never particularly want or like anything muggle, and sirius said he'd prove him wrong; sirius left not long after, but he'd managed to give the rings, which he'd bought forever ago, thinking regulus would like the design but had hesitated in actually giving becuz well regulus didnt seem to like sirius much these days; but he did that one time
and months later, when they are no longer talking; sirius notices one of the rings on regulus' fingers and he almost dismisses it, but then he notices them again. and for a moment, a little bit, he hopes.
ok not in canon obviously but am i the only one who thinks that sirius would not react negatively to jegulus at all?
like if anything i feel like he would be like i didnt think there was anyone good enough for either of u so im happy u found each other, no? like idk i just cant see it being a big point of contention for him idk idk
no literally, he knows the two of them more intimately than he knows himself. someone like remus or barty might get concerned that their natures are too opposed to work out, but sirius knows them. he’d be one of the only people to understand how truly similar they are in the most important ways. their differences are more superficial, and they complement each other. hell, Sirius would be mad at himself for not setting it up earlier
No house occupied by James Potter had ever achieved true silence in its lifetime.
There were still creaks in the old wooden floors, pipes humming softly in the walls, the distant ticking of a clock somewhere downstairs, and the occasional rustle of leaves brushing against the windows from the garden outside.
But compared to the usual chaos?
It was peaceful.
Warm morning light spilled through the curtains of the upstairs bedroom in long gold stripes across the carpet. Dust floated lazily in the air. One of Sirius’s boots had somehow ended up on top of the wardrobe. James’s glasses were balanced precariously on a stack of books beside the bed. Someone’s sock hung from the lampshade like a surrender flag.
Regulus Black stood in the middle of the room holding bagpipes.
He looked deeply evil.
Not dramatic evil.
Not dark-lord evil.
No.
This was the quiet, personal evil of a younger brother who had finally, finally snapped.
His expression was calm.
Too calm.
The sort of calm that should have legally counted as a warning sign.
The bagpipes sat awkwardly under one arm while he adjusted them with the concentration of a man preparing a military operation.
On the beds behind him, James Potter and Sirius Black remained gloriously unconscious.
Idiots.
Both sprawled in ways that looked physically uncomfortable.
James was starfished across his bed with one leg hanging off the side and his mouth slightly open. Sirius had somehow rotated entirely sideways during sleep, half buried under blankets, dark hair everywhere, one arm dangling dramatically toward the floor like a Victorian woman dying of consumption.
Regulus narrowed his eyes.
He had been at Potter Manor for exactly eleven days.
Eleven.
And in those eleven days:
Sirius had dragged him out of Grimmauld Place in the middle of the fucking night
James had introduced him to “competitive hallway sliding”
The two of them had replaced his shampoo with blue hair dye
Sirius kept stealing his socks
James kept calling him “our little hostage”
The pair of them had attempted to teach him poker despite neither actually understanding poker
Someone had put a rubber snake in his pillowcase
Sirius had bodily carried him downstairs yesterday because “you were ignoring breakfast and that’s illegal here”
And worst of all—
Worst of fucking all—
They thought this was funny.
Regulus glanced toward the sleeping pair again.
Slowly…
Very slowly…
A smirk spread across his face.
“Oh,” he whispered softly. “You are both so unbelievably fucked.”
Sirius snored.
James twitched in his sleep and muttered something incomprehensible about Quidditch.
Regulus adjusted the bagpipes again.
He had found them in one of Fleamont Potter’s old storage cupboards downstairs while looking for biscuits.
Apparently Fleamont had once tried learning traditional Scottish music during a “brief identity crisis” in the fifties.
Regulus didn’t know what that meant.
He also didn’t care.
Because the moment he saw the instrument, divine purpose had entered his soul.
Now he inhaled deeply.
Raised the bagpipes.
And played.
The sound that erupted into the room did not resemble music.
It resembled a murder.
A long, screeching, soul-tearing blast ripped through the bedroom with the power of a dying demon being strangled through a traffic cone.
James woke first.
His entire body convulsed violently.
“FUCKING HELL—”
He rolled directly off the bed.
There was a horrific crash.
“JAMES?” Sirius screamed, bolting upright so fast he immediately smashed his head into the bedside table.
THUNK.
“AAAGH—”
Regulus played louder.
The bagpipes shrieked like a cursed battlefield.
James was still on the floor tangled in blankets.
“What the FUCK IS HAPPENING?”
Sirius clutched his head. “WHY IS THERE SOUND?”
Regulus blew harder into the instrument with absolutely no musical talent whatsoever.
The noise became worse.
James looked genuinely terrified.
“IS THAT A PERSON DYING?”
“NO,” Sirius yelled. “IT’S REGULUS.”
“THAT’S SOMEHOW WORSE!”
Regulus finally stopped playing long enough to cackle.
Actually cackle.
It echoed around the room like a tiny aristocratic supervillain.
Sirius stared at him in horror.
“You little shit.”
Regulus grinned sweetly.
“Oh, are we upset?”
James pointed accusingly from the floor.
“You can’t just assault people with bagpipes before nine in the morning!”
“You kidnapped me.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
James opened his mouth.
Paused.
Closed it again.
“…Fair.”
Regulus lifted the bagpipes again.
Sirius’s eyes widened immediately.
“No.”
Regulus smirked.
“Regulus.”
The smirk widened.
“Don’t you fucking dare—”
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH.
James screamed into a pillow.
Sirius launched himself off the bed.
Regulus burst into delighted laughter and ran.
“Oh, you are DEAD!” Sirius shouted after him.
Regulus nearly crashed into the doorframe because he was laughing too hard.
Behind him came chaos.
James yelling.
Sirius swearing.
The sound of someone tripping over bedsheets.
Regulus sprinted down the hallway clutching the bagpipes like stolen treasure, laughing so hard his stomach hurt.
For the first time in days—
Maybe weeks—
He felt light.
Actually light.
Not careful.
Not tense.
Not waiting for shouting or slammed doors or cold silences.
Just…
Happy.
Which was unfortunate.
Because Sirius and James were now chasing him.
“GET BACK HERE!” Sirius yelled.
“You weaponised folk music!” James shouted.
Regulus wheezed with laughter and skidded around the staircase corner in socks.
“YOU DESERVE IT!”
“You ate our breakfast!”
“You left it unattended!”
“That’s theft!”
“That’s survival!”
Sirius finally caught sight of him at the bottom of the stairs.
Their eyes met.
Regulus immediately realised something terrible.
Sirius had entered older-brother mode.
“James,” Sirius said calmly.
James appeared beside him, hair sticking in every direction. “Yeah?”
“Get him.”
Regulus gasped.
“Oh, fuck off.”
James cracked his knuckles dramatically.
Regulus turned and sprinted toward the kitchen.
The bagpipes under his arm gave another awful dying shriek as he ran.
“REGULUS BLACK,” Sirius shouted between laughter, “I SWEAR TO GOD—”
Regulus vaulted over a kitchen chair.
James nearly collided with the table.
Sirius slammed into James.
Both crashed to the floor.
Regulus doubled over laughing so hard he almost dropped the instrument.
“Oh my God—”
“You—” Sirius wheezed from the floor. “You actual menace.”
James pointed at him weakly. “I liked you better when you were emotionally repressed.”
Regulus grinned.
“Liar.”
Sirius looked up at him then.
Really looked at him.
At the flushed cheeks.
The bright eyes.
The unrestrained laughter.
The way he looked younger suddenly.
Softer.
Alive.
Something in Sirius’s expression shifted for a second.
Tiny.
Barely there.
Relief.
Then James groaned dramatically from underneath him.
“Get off me, you heavy bastard.”
Sirius immediately ruined the moment.
“You’re literally built like a wardrobe.”
“You landed on me!”
“You were beneath me spiritually before physically.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Regulus snorted.
James pointed at him. “Don’t encourage him.”
Too late.
Sirius was already getting up with dangerous energy.
Regulus took one step backwards.
“Don’t.”
Sirius grinned slowly.
“Oh, now he’s scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“You’re retreating.”
“I’m strategically repositioning.”
James stood too now, rubbing sleepily at his face.
Then he looked at the bagpipes.
Then at Regulus.
Then at Sirius.
A terrible smile spread across his face.
“No,” Regulus said immediately.
“Oh, absolutely yes.”
“James.”
“Give me the bagpipes.”
“James Fleamont Potter.”
“Give me the instrument.”
Regulus clutched it protectively.
Sirius gasped dramatically.
“Are you refusing your host?”
“You’re both evil.”
“You started this.”
“I regret nothing.”
“You will.”
James lunged.
Regulus shrieked.
All three boys immediately descended into absolute violence in the middle of the Potter kitchen while bagpipes screamed intermittently like a cursed goose being exorcised.
By the time Euphemia and Fleamont returned home two hours later, they found:
one broken chair
flour all over the floor
James asleep on the sofa
Sirius upside down in an armchair
Regulus sitting triumphantly on the kitchen counter with the bagpipes in his lap like a victorious warlord
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—
Sirius was the glue of his family in the way that him staying was what kept the peace. The entire family crumbled once he left. He was the favourite child even when he wasn’t, the prodigal son. Regulus may have followed his parents and been obedient but it was Sirius who excelled, who was intelligent and cruel and political. The perfect heir to the Noble House of Black. Walburga and Orion keep looking for Sirius in Regulus, who will never be able to grow out of his shadow, at least not in his parents’ eyes. And Regulus, he will push himself beyond his abilities over and over, always trying to make his parents proud. He’s looking for Sirius in them too. Sirius was the only one in that family to love him unconditionally, to see him as more than the spare. Even if becoming the perfect heir feels impossible, Regulus will put his everything into it, desperately searching for some shred of that elusive affection in his parents. It’s never enough for any of them. None of them can fill the hole Sirius leaves behind, and the family keeps fracturing until there’s nothing left. In the end, Walburga and Orion never really held any power over Sirius. It was Sirius who in control, Sirius who stayed for as long as his loyalty outweighed his moral compass. Sirius was the glue because he was the only soul in that family strong enough to be, the only one who cared enough to bother.
barty has one of those heart lockets and wears it all the time and little does everyone know it has a picture of evan all laid out after some sorta mind blowing sex or smth
Barty, with a knife right at James' throat threatening him, after finding out he and Regulus started dating: Listen to me very carefully little bitch boy- if you hurt him in any way I will hurt you. Do you understand?
James: I-
Barty: If you break his precious heart I will kill you. It's not a figure of speech. With the moment he'll come to cry on my shoulder you are a dead man James Potter.
James: ... *throws himself at Barty*
Barty: -what the fuck Potter!
James: *hugs him in a tight embrace* I am so glad Reggie has so caring people around him...
James: And if I ever hurt him... you better be quick... cause I may kill myself before you find me.
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