Chapter Text
Regulus black was certain of one thing, and one thing only, he loves music. They love writing it, performing it, listening, humming as he does dishes, singing unnecessarily horrid renditions of his own music to piss off their bandmates. Whatever. Any form of music had been his safety net for as long as he can remember. When they're parents were having another screaming match? He'd slip on his headphones and blast his favorite songs. After they're father struck him across the face for the first time? His brother was there with his guitar. The night they're brother left for the last time? Law enforcement was called for a noise complaint when the couple three blocks away could hear the angry bass coming from the highest window on the Black House.
So, it was a surprise to no one when he was accepted into Hogwarts School of Arts. Or when them and their three best friends formed a rock band in their fifth year. Or when the band’s debut album, Among the Stars, skyrocketed up the charts the first week. It was, however, a heart-stopping shock when his name appeared across tabloids a year later, the morning after their band, Viridian, won their first Grammy. They had just released their sophomore album, Basilisk, which had been an overnight success. Viridian was nominated for Album and Song of the Year, for Among the Stars and their debut single ‘SUPERMODEL.’
It was at an after party when shit hit the fan. Regulus had admittedly had a few too many shots and maybe the blunt had landed between his fingers a fair few times.
It was shaping up to be a rather splendid night, really. Aside, of course, from the fact Regulus had spent a better part of it hiding from a certain trouble making band who happened to also be in attendance.
The Marauders were a four-man band (heaven forbid you call them a boyband though.) The lead singer, James Potter, is a walking wet dream. With his hair made of effortlessly messy dark curls, his warm hazel eyes a stark contrast to those of Regulus’ grey ones, and the knowing smirk that seemed to grace his lips every time someone stared a moment too long. There was the guitarist, Peter Pettigrew. A rather dorky looking guy if you ask Regulus. He was almost mousy in appearance, with dull blond hair and even duller brown eyes. The bassist is a rather tall lad by the name of Remus Lupin, his face littered with scars that only heighten his attractiveness, but no one can get a consistent explanation for. But it was never those three that posed a problem for Regulus Black, who’d spoken to all three on various occasions. Rather, it’s the drummer that had them making a rather destructive decision that fateful night.
Sirius Black. A year older than Regulus himself. Bad boy extraordinaire. Long black hair, dark ink scrolled across his skin. Certified flight risk. And Regulus Black’s older brother.
Now, while Regulus had a number of pleasant conversations with the other Marauders, he had not actually spoken to his brother since they were fourteen and Sirius was fifteen. They ran with the same crowds usually, both being in rather popular bands despite the difference in genre, but Regulus at least had done their best to avoid the other man even in school. Which is exactly why Regulus had to find a way to distract the press from the explosive argument that ensued when a very drunk Sirius tried to reconnect with an equally drunk and also very high Regulus. And if Regulus, in his inebriated haze, decided the best way to do that was to pull his brother’s stupid, infuriatingly beautiful best friend in and lock lips with him? Well, can you really blame him? It certainly got the people’s attention.