Chapter Text
Prologue: Regulus
10 years earlier
Regulus couldn’t help but fidget as he stood waiting in front of the fireplace. The top button of his new, white shirt was digging into the underside of his chin and the roar of the fire trapped stuffy heat beneath the jacket he had to wear. They were all looking at him now, the grown ups waiting expectantly as Mother fetched his present.
His instrument.
He kept his little hands in fists and tried not to cry. Once he started, he usually wasn’t able to stop. They hated him when he cried, and he didn’t want to spoil his special day.
He looked up into the crowd to spot Sirius. He had planted himself as close as they would allow him to be, where their faces were sewn in the tapestry together, but Regulus wished he could come closer. Sirius gave him a smile from afar, then mimed taking a deep breath. Regulus nodded and inhaled deeply. Sirius always said to breathe when the tears started coming. Sirius knew everything.
He closed his eyes as he pushed the breath out again, but they immediately snapped open when he heard the doorknob click. Now, they weren’t all looking at him anymore, they were all staring as the door swung open to reveal Mother and Father.
“Regulus,” Mother said, her voice always the loudest in the room. “The time has come for you to receive your instrument.”
Regulus nodded, although no one was looking at him anymore. Then, Father stepped forward and addressed the room.
“For 500 years, each member of the House of Black has been bestowed with an instrument. By mastering this instrument, they bring dignity and honor to the family name through dedication, skill, and utmost discipline. This evening, on June 25th, 1966, we bestow the newest descendant and our youngest son, Regulus Arcturus Black, the great honor of this tradition.”
Regulus had heard the speech just one year before when Sirius had received his violin. Regulus had tried so hard to pay attention, but the memories had already gone fuzzy. He swallowed hard, feeling very frightened once more, so he looked back at Sirius, who was leaning against the tapestry and pretending to doze off. Then, Regulus had to bite his lip to keep from giggling.
“Regulus,” Mother said once more. He jumped slightly, feeling her hand clutching his shoulder. Father was on his other side, staring stoically into the crowd.
“It is time,” Father bellowed, “Bring in the instrument.”
Regulus’ mouth fell open despite himself, and he would’ve toppled over if it weren’t for Mother’s hand rooting him to the ground. Three servants came striding in, one holding a long bow, and the other two carrying a shiny, child’s size cello.
They came before him and held out the instrument. Regulus was frozen solid until Mother pinched his arm. He put out his short arms and took the neck of the instrument in his right hand.
“Left,” Father whispered sharply.
Regulus quickly switched his grip, then took the bow in his free grasp. He stood staring down at the cello, mesmerized. Finally, after so long watching everyone else play their instruments, he had one all to himself.
His awe was paused momentarily when Mother grabbed the body of the cello and spun it around so the strings could face the guests.
“Regulus Black will master the cello. This very one having been bestowed upon Cygnus Black II before him,” Father proclaimed.
The guests applauded. Someone took a photograph. He was then quickly ushered up to his bedroom to be tended to by the governess. Luckily, Sirius wasn’t old enough to stay downstairs with the grown ups either, and when all the lights were extinguished from the fourth floor (save for the nightlight Regulus couldn’t sleep without), Regulus heard Sirius padding into his room.
Sirius hopped up onto his bed and threw his arms around Regulus, who couldn’t stop giggling.
“The cello, Reggie! The cello! Aren’t you pleased?” Sirius rambled.
“I don’t know,” Regulus replied, sheepishly, “I was hoping I’d get the violin, like you did.”
“Well there’s no use in them giving us the same instrument.”
Regulus hung his head shyly.
“Andromeda plays the cello,” Sirius continued, trying to comfort him, “She’ll definitely help you out with it. And the cello and the violin sound really nice together. I bet we’ll play duets all the time!”
“Really?”
“Of course!”
“Do you think we’ll play together even when we get our big kid instruments?” Regulus asked. “Even when we go to Hogwarts?”
“We’ll play even more when we go to Hogwarts, Reggie. Andie says they hardly give out solos in the first couple years, so we’ll always play together!”
“Wow,” Regulus sighed. He flopped down onto his back, staring up at the green curtains above his bed. Sirius laid down beside him, arms folded on his stomach, smiling.
“Now that you’ve got your instrument,” he began, “What are you gonna name it?”
Regulus gasped. How could he have forgotten?
“Well, I didn’t know for a while. I was scared I would pick a name that didn’t suit it.”
“Do you wanna hear mine?”
“I thought you didn’t name yours yet!”
“I didn’t name it officially! I was waiting for you to get yours so we could name them together.”
“Fine,” Regulus huffed, “tell me.”
“I’m naming it Amati,” Sirius said, his eyes twinkling. “Italian names suit string instruments best.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Italian for strings, French for woodwinds, and English for brass.”
“Well then,” Regulus sniffed. “Is Guarneri Italian?”
“Sounds like it.”
“Guarneri then. I’ll name it Guarneri.”
“Perfect!” Sirius exclaimed. “Amati and Guarneri. I like it. It’s almost a better duo than Sirius and Regulus.”
Quickly, Sirius turned on his side and started tickling Regulus, who shrieked with laughter as he tried to fight him off. Sirius only stopped when they heard the stairs creaking, and they both lay silently until they were sure no one was coming in to punish them.
Sirius slunk off the bed and tiptoed to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned his head to his little brother.
“See you at practice tomorrow?”
Regulus nodded eagerly, his cheeks warm from smiling.
With that, Sirius opened the door and disappeared.
Movement One: Regulus
Regulus slid his bow across the strings, the low vibration reverberating around the instrument and into his body. His fingers landed precisely on the neck in a pattern, vowing not to pause until the musical phrase was unblemished, unhuman, and utterly flawless.
The door to the practice room opened, but Regulus didn’t stop, only focusing harder on the measures before him and pointedly ignoring whoever had decided to interrupt him.
Barty said his name and waited for a response, when he didn’t receive one, he kicked the door hard into the wall. Regulus’ eyes flickered over to the intruder, a nonverbal signal for him to speak and state his purpose. Barty took two steps toward him and threw something down at his feet.
“Fucking letter for you,” he said. “Landed in my pile again.”
Regulus’ hand tightened over the neck of his cello, stopping the notes painfully in their tracks. He placed his bow on the stand in front of him and plucked the letter from the floor. Upon opening it was mother’s sharp scrawl.
Regulus,
I write to inform you that your father and I will be present for your coming orchestral performance.
You are aware of what we expect.
Walburga Black
Regulus folded the letter,satisfied. Finally, all his hard work would amount to something. He could show how much he was taking their wishes seriously. The thought of his parents greeting him after the performance and expressing their pride filled Regulus with an incredible warmth he rarely let himself feel. The warmth was fleeting, however, drowned out by an uneasy cold inspired by the very same thought. With the promise of his parents' audience, his practice sessions would double. He had a solo, after all, and a perfect performance was nonnegotiable. He stood to close the door Barty had left open after storming out, and replaced his bow with the letter on the music stand. His eyes could burn holes into the sheet music, fingers pressing down the same, inexhaustible notes.
Movement Two: Sirius
The practice room was a cacophony of woodwinds, brass, strings, and percussion all playing their parts. Getting a word in with someone was impossible unless your voice could climb over the sea of student musicians playing their absolute loudest.
Sirius adored it.
Warming up for Sirius included playing the intro of “Young Americans” repeatedly and making rude faces at James in the trumpet section. Well, this time James was not sitting in his usual spot next to Marlene, so Sirius was trying to catch Remus’ eye instead. It wasn’t working. Remus was absorbed in his scales.
Sirius went back to riffing when Mary tapped him on the shoulder. She gestured to the front of the room where Flitwick was trying to get their attention. Some students had stopped playing, but due to his small stature, many didn’t catch the furious waving of his arms. That was until McGonagall stepped up to the podium and with one broad hand motion (and a few pointed glares) the room fell silent.
“How wonderful it is to see the strings and winds joined together in one room!” Flitwick chirped.
“He’s said that every rehearsal now,” Sirius whispered to Mary, who playfully shushed him.
“We shall dive straight in with March of the Lion, but first, let us allow the strings to tune. Mr. Lockhart, if you would be so kind as to play an A for us?”
Lockhart flipped his golden hair, shook his hands around a bit, and proceeded to play a chord he probably thought was impressive.
“I’m afraid you’ve played an F# minor chord, Mr. Lockhart,” McGonagall said, “Professor Flitwick requested an A.”
A low laughter ensued from the many students trying to keep quiet, and before Lockhart could insist he was playing correctly, McGonagall spoke again.
“Perhaps it would be more appropriate for Mr. Rosier to tune with us this time. Don’t you agree?” McGonagall asked Flitwick.
“Quite so,” Flitwick quickly agreed, his face slightly pink. “Mr. Rosier, an A if you please.”
Evan’s piano was on the other side of the room, next to the cellos, so Sirius couldn’t see his face as the strings section tuned. He had a feeling it would be smug. If he stared along the line of chairs in the saxophone section, Sirius could see his brother far off. First chair cellist, right where he was expected to be. His posture was unbearably straight, right to the point of snapping, and he turned up his nose slightly in the posh, snobbish way he never outgrew. Sirius wondered if he ever smiled, or made any expression that wasn’t composed and unfeeling. What he looked like was a challenge, the perfect victim waiting to be provoked.
Sirius had been told that he never thought before acting, and he hardly put any thought into latching onto his mouthpiece and blowing a long, high note. He held it there for a good five seconds until the majority of the other saxophone players began to cheer and applaud. It was quite a spectacular note, really, his tone was impeccable.
“Mr. Black, what on earth is it you think you’re doing?” McGonagall snapped. Even tucked away amongst the woodwinds, Sirius couldn’t avoid her severe glare.
“Why Professor, I thought we were playing A. I did just that,” he replied with a smirk.
“If you cannot be respectful while your peers are tuning, Mr. Black, I suggest you find a more suitable location to practice. Perhaps in detention during supper.”
Sirius didn’t apologize, nor shrink away, he simply waited to be free from McGonagall’s stare so he could look across at Regulus again. He was met with gray eyes boring back into him. Regulus' expression was a cold fury, likely invisible to everyone else but Sirius. Sirius raised his eyebrows as if to wordlessly ask “ And what will you do about it?” Regulus turned up his nose again and continued to ignore him.
Sirius couldn’t help his frustration. He had been fishing for a reaction, yes, but Regulus’ avoidance only reminded him that it wasn’t his little brother, Reggie, sitting in the cello section. It was a thoughtless puppet. The Black Family Heir. Toujours Pur. More like toujour with a stick up the ass.
“Now then!” Flitwick cried. “March of the Lion. From the top!”
Movement Three: Regulus
“I don’t see why we have to play with the band at all,” Barty said, “I thought Carnival of The Animals was a string piece.”
“Well they have to do something,” Evan argued. The rehearsal space was emptying, leaving the room speckled with groups of students still packing away their instruments. Regulus was organizing his sheet music in the concert order, taking the time to smooth all the creases and place them delicately into his folder.
“I say the school should cut the band program altogether,” Barty continued. “Finally force little Flitwick to scrounge around some other school’s wastebasket.” He brought his hands to his face and mimed digging, making squeaking noises that sounded less like a mouse and more like a demented chipmunk.
Evan hummed in agreement. “Right, I suppose it would free us a bit. I reckon the trouble students haven’t the discipline to learn a strings instrument.” Regulus could feel Evan addressing him even though his back was turned. “It was quite the stunt Sirius pulled today.”
“Band students always play during tuning. There was nothing special about this time,” said Regulus. He slipped his sheet music into his messenger bag instead of his cello case, intending to study the music that night.
“I thought you’d notice it more, this time,” Evan remarked, “He is your brother after all.”
“He’s not my brother.” The phrase was so well practiced Regulus hardly had to think about saying it. Sirius hadn’t been his brother for a long time.
“You’re lucky he’s not!” Barty jeered. He pushed all but slammed his cello case onto the rack. Regulus cringed when it made contact. “I’d be worried he’d do something on purpose y’know, to make me look bad.”
“Well, that won’t be an issue,” Regulus said. He picked up his bag and slung it onto his shoulder before looking at Evan and Barty. “Let’s go.”
Movement Four: Remus
Remus trudged up the stairs to the dorm room slowly. He rubbed the back of his shoulder, sore from practice. Everyone had retreated in the early afternoon to rest for the concert the following evening, but McGonagall was merciless and kept him behind longer to practice. Remus knew he should have considered that adopting a whole new instrument, in a different musical family, with a foreign technique, and a different clef wouldn’t be as easy as Lily had made it out to be when she convinced him to pick up the viola. McGonagall’s extra rehearsal sessions had helped, yes, but every time he regressed back to the common room, alone, he felt like he had less musical talent than a fork scraping against a plate. All he wanted to do before dinner was lay in bed and sulk.
He paused in front of their dorm room door and listened. Whatever came from inside was hard to decipher from the music coming from the common room. He cracked the door open, slowly, and the sound of a violin grew louder. He recognized it as one of the concert songs, Aquarium, but what Remus recognized more was the shiny black hair of the person playing. Sirius didn’t realize Remus was watching him, he was hypnotized with his back turned to the door. Remus watched him play for a minute before lightly knocking on the door to get his attention.
Like lighting, the violin was out of Sirius’ hands and tucked away in a case under his bed. He then spun around, and Remus took the cue to finally enter the room.
“Hey,” Sirius said, grinning. “How’d it go?”
“It was shit.” Remus shut the door behind him and crossed the room, flopping onto his back on Sirius’ bed without the need for an invitation.
“You always say that.”
“Well it’s always shit. I should give up.”
Sirius leaned against the bedpost, gazing at him. “You’ve never given up on anything. Besides, I’ve heard you play-”
“My condolences,” Remus interrupted.
“And you’re anything but shit,” Sirius continued, smiling. “I reckon you could probably play in the concert tomorrow night.”
Remus scoffed. “That’s a laugh.”
“James and Lily are switching instruments throughout the show! Why can’t you?”
“James has been playing bass since he could walk and Lily isn’t human. I’d rather save myself the suffering.”
Sirius walked around the bed and Remus sat up to watch him. Instead of sitting next to him like Remus expected, Sirius stood in front of him and wrapped his arms around Remus’ shoulders, pulling him into his chest.
“I can’t wait to hear you play tomorrow,” Sirius murmured.
“I’m hardly playing tomorrow,” Remus replied, his voice slightly muffled from pressing his face into the stolen jumper Sirius was wearing.
“You’ve got a solo!”
“It’s only a couple notes.” Remus raised his head. “It’s not a big deal. I literally play backstage.”
“Confidence looks so good on you, Moony,” Sirius drawled, smirking down at him. “Tell me why you doubt yourself.”
Remus blinked up at him. “Tell me why you’ve got a violin under your bed.”
Sirius’ satisfied expression didn’t change, it instead froze in place unnaturally. “Why would I have a violin under my bed?”
Remus’ eyes flickered to the ground where the violin case was still peeking out. Sirius clearly followed his gaze and corrected himself.
“It’s Lily’s, actually,” he said. “It’s a prank. I’ll give it back to her once she’s properly gone mad about it being missing.”
“Alright.” Obviously Remus knew it was a lie, he saw Lily tutoring some younger violinists in a practice room when he finished his rehearsal with McGonagall. He kept quiet though and let Sirius run his expert hands over his sore shoulders.
“Everyone was asking for you in the common room,” Remus said, sighing into Sirius’ touch. “James is showing off on the trumpet again.”
Sirius’ hands moved up into Remus’ hair, his manicured nails lightly scratching his scalp in the most intoxicating way.
“Let’s stay up here,” he said. “Why waste the empty room?”
Remus was powerless to refuse.
Movement Five: Sirius
Sirius was playing with his food. He flattened his mashed potatoes with his fork, using the tines to make criss-crosses in the surface. He couldn’t shake the sick feeling of shame that had started when Remus walked into the room, and increased when he noticed the violin case. Sirius wished he had pushed it farther beneath his bed, just a couple centimeters, so that maybe he could take a couple bites of his food.
Remus was sitting across from him at the table. Sirius usually liked it because he could stare at Remus in a way that gave him plausible deniability. Unfortunately, the sight of Remus wolfing down his first, second, and third helping still did not mar the sight in any way. This evening, however, Sirius would rather have Remus sit beside him so he could avoid those disarming eyes boring into him. There was no way he didn’t know. Remus always knew everything. He always picked up on what others couldn’t. This time, Sirius hadn’t even been subtle. He may as well have played with the door open, his case splayed open on the bed. Better yet, he may as well have played in the common room, or on stage in front of the whole orchestra.
More than anything else, Sirius felt ashamed about lying. Remus probably thought he was a coward. Who on earth plays the violin in secret and then lies about it? Sirius Black, that’s who.
“Sirius? Did you hear me?” It was Mary, leaning across the table and raising her eyebrows at him.
“What’d you say?” Sirius put down his fork and opted to tap his fingers against his cup instead, still trying to avoid Remus’ gaze.
“I’m telling everyone how it’s rubbish that the band only plays for the first and last songs during the concert. Right?”
“Pfft, yeah,” Sirius replied, rolling his shoulders and clearing his throat. “Might as well have us work the lights and curtains, instead.”
“I think it’s nice to be included,” Lily said.
“Well you’re playing the whole time, Lils,” offered Marlene. “I’m not sure you can have an opinion here.”
“It’s a bias toward string players,” Remus said. Sirius made the mistake of looking at him. He was staring right at him, amber eyes appearing so dark. Sirius quickly hung his head and resumed picking at his food. “If the school’s got an orchestra and a band, why not have two separate concerts?”
“Then I’d have to play twice as much!” Peter piped up from the edge of the table. “And twice the number of instruments! I have to play the glass harmonica! I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time.”
“You know,” James chimed in, “I heard the glass harmonica can make you go mad. The tones inspire self-annihilation.”
Peter went pale and dropped his face into his hands. “I should have played the tuba.”
Sirius tuned it all out again, now switching his attention to rolling his peas about on the plate. No one was paying attention to him now anyway, too busy trying to freak Peter out more with all the terrible things that have happened to people playing the glass harmonica. Only Remus was still quiet, practically a confrontation in itself.
Movement Six: Regulus
Regulus tapped his fingers on the dining table, staring straight ahead. On the other side of the Great Hall, Sirius was flipping his long hair and conversing with the group of Gryffindors around him. He was undoubtedly saying some stupid joke, all too pleased with himself.
I’d be worried he’d do something on purpose y’know, to make me look bad.
Regulus couldn’t stop thinking about what Barty had said after rehearsal. He had a sinking feeling that Sirius was planning something. He never wasted an opportunity to disgrace the family name.
…make me look bad.
But what could he do about it? There must be something. Their parents would certainly expect him to keep Sirius in line, or at least outshine whatever additional scandal he brought on. Regulus didn’t even bother to fill his plate. His stomach had been twisted in knots ever since the end of rehearsal, or maybe ever since he received his mother’s letter.
“You’re fingering the table again,” Evan drawled. “It’s irritating.”
“No I’m not,” Regulus snapped, his hand freezing in place.
“You are. And you’re too busy glaring at Sirius to notice,” Evan replied. “People are going to think you’re worried about something.”
“I’m perfectly calm. You, however, can’t take your eyes off Lockhart.”
“He sickens me,” Evan all but growled, cutting into his Shepherd's Pie with an alarming amount of force. “He’s a joke of a pianist, a disgrace to music. His jumps are sloppy in Kangaroos, his trills are humiliating in Aviary, he just can’t keep up during Wild Asses-”
“It’s Hémiones,” Regulus interrupted, “Wild Asses is a vulgar name.”
“He is a wild ass,” Evan hissed, “He plays like one, too.” He let his fork clatter onto his plate and rubbed his temples in frustration. “I need him to pay. I’ll have Barty piss on his pillow or something.”
Regulus tuned out and let Evan air his grievances some more. Sirius was now leaving the hall with his dense group of Gryffindors. Naturally they wouldn’t be practicing that night.
“You’re doing it again,” Evan muttered. Regulus crossed his arms.
“Have you been sleeping lately? You look worn out,” Evan said, scanning Regulus’ face.
“I don’t need sleep. I need to practice.” Regulus stood from the table. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Movement Seven: Sirius
Sirius couldn’t sleep. He tried, he really did, but his mind just wouldn’t stop running. He turned onto his side. It did nothing. He turned onto his front. It did nothing. He turned onto his back. Nothing. His eyelids didn’t even feel heavy anymore. They were wide open, staring into the static darkness above him.
Finally, he relented and pulled back his curtains, padding over across the room to Remus’ bed. He gently pulled back the curtain and climbed in next to him. Remus stirred as Sirius made himself comfortable.
“Can’t I get a moment of peace?” Remus murmured, his eyes still closed.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Sirius whispered back. “I’ll be quiet. Promise.”
Remus sighed, then wrapped his arm around Sirius’ shoulders, pulling him in. Sirius closed his eyes. Still nothing.
“I lied earlier,” he whispered. “That violin wasn’t Lily’s.”
Remus’ eyes blinked open. He watched Sirius half-lidded.
“I know.”
“You know everything,” Sirius huffed.
“No I don’t.” Remus propped himself up on his elbow. “Who’s violin is it then?”
Sirius took a deep breath. He was already too far in now. “It’s mine. Well- not really. It’s my family’s. An heirloom of sorts. They pass a different one down to us every couple of years.”
Remus didn’t say anything so Sirius continued. Once he started, the words just kept flowing out with no hope of stopping.
“Our parents wanted me to play violin and Reg play cello. They put us on the instruments right away y’know, the second we could hold a bow. Then it was daily practice, music theory lessons, punishments when we’d make mistakes. Family dinners were their chance to show off. Me and Reg had to play duets or in a quartet with our cousins once Andromeda left. Eventually it all just felt like another one of their ridiculous requests. I hated playing the violin. I hated playing for them. I wanted nothing to do with it once I finally left for school.”
Sirius paused to take a breath. Remus furrowed his brows.
“So that’s why you started playing saxophone?” He asked.
Sirius smirked. “Well, you know how much I try to distance myself from my relatives. Besides, it suits my bad boy persona more.”
“Ah, yes. Sirius Black, the bad boy. Rebelling through the power of jazz.”
Sirius covered Remus’ mouth so his laughing wouldn’t wake up James and Peter.
“That’s the name of my future biography,” Sirius quipped. “You’ll see.”
Remus finally stopped shaking and Sirius set him free. He pulled the covers right up to his chin, facing Sirius, and reached for his hand. Sirius took it, brought it up to his mouth and kissed the knuckles. He was beginning to feel drowsy.
“You still like playing it, right? The violin,” Remus asked quietly.
Sirius sighed and shifted closer to him. “I do. Maybe even more than the saxophone. But it’s better now. My parents have given up forcing me to play it, I can play whatever I want whenever I want. I never want to be stressed about my instrument again. It’s supposed to be fun.”
“But you won’t play in the orchestra,” Remus said. “Because you don’t want people to associate it with your family.”
Sirius shook his head. “I can’t take the risk. Reg is already doing a great job reminding people of the Black family’s affinity for string instruments.”
Remus hummed in acknowledgement. “I’m sure you’d make a great first chair violinist in the concert tomorrow.”
Sirius snorted. “Of course I would. I’d play better than Snape with my hands tied behind my back.”
With one final smile, Remus’ eyes slid shut again. Sirius tucked his head under Remus’ chin and didn’t even notice when he fell into a deep sleep.
Movement Eight: Regulus
Regulus woke up gasping for air. His heart was thundering in his chest and his back was soaked with sweat as if he’d just been pulled out of a lake. He could feel it before he saw Evan’s empty bed.
He had overslept.
Regulus jumped out of his desk chair where he had fallen asleep, raking a hand through his hair in lieu of brushing it. He swept his sheet music into a pile and didn’t even bother glancing in the mirror before he raced out of the dormitory.
He walked briskly through the empty halls. Regulus never ran unless it was an emergency. It was undignified. No matter how much it felt like missing rehearsal before the most important concert of his life was an emergency. The Black Heir must keep proper comportment at all times. He kept his head down, attempting to organize his sheet music as best as he could before he reached the auditorium.
If Evan wasn’t in bed then rehearsal had already started. If rehearsal had already started that means he might be missing last minute changes. If he was missing last minute changes he would make mistakes during the concert. If he made mistakes during the concerts his parents would certainly notice. If his parents noticed that means-
Regulus ran into something. Hard. He was flung backwards, landing ass-first onto the unforgiving flagstones. Sheet music billowed out into the air. In a way, it was almost beautiful the way the paper gracefully ascended and descended in gentle waves before scattering every which way through the hall. It was beautiful until Regulus came back from the shock of the fall and realized that not only was he late for rehearsal, but he had just knocked straight into James Potter.
He, too, was on the floor staring dazedly at the sheet music surrounding them. Regulus realized that, no, the amount of songs he had for Carnival of the Animals had not doubled, (He really wasn’t fully awake yet) but in the collision James had lost his own music.
Regulus scrambled to his knees, no doubt looking less like the heir of the most noble family of Britain and more like a newborn deer. He began frantically picking up whatever sheet music he could see. James was doing the same, moving on his feet in a far less panicked manner.
Regulus all but gasped when he and James reached for the same sheet of paper. He yanked his hand back as if the touch of their fingertips had burned him. It may as well have. He was forbidden to associate with a Potter, much less link pinkies with one.
“Are you alright?” Potter asked, concerned. “Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine.” Regulus looked back down at the music in his hands, face burning.
“We can organize the music together, if you’d like,” James offered, smiling.
“If you aren’t already aware, I’m late for rehearsal.”
“Really? I’m late too!”
Regulus felt the need to be insulted, but Potter had a knack for appearing earnest when he needed to be, and nothing on his face indicated he was being malicious.
“I’m sure McGonagall will understand,” James continued. “Besides, you’re the best in your section, I’m sure you don’t even need the last couple rehearsals.”
Regulus’ stomach flipped. He ignored it, standing up and straightening his tie before looking down his nose at Potter kneeling at his feet.
“Next time, I suggest you watch your step.” He raised his chin and calmly stepped away from the scene, only picking up his pace again once he turned the corner.
He slammed the door open too hard and felt everyone in the orchestra turn to stare at him. Regulus didn’t bow his head nor scurry to his seat, he squared his shoulders and let them watch. Once he’d retrieved and tuned his cello backstage, he took his seat next to Evan’s piano and began sifting through his mess of cello and bass sheet music, trying to organize as best he could before the next song started. Luckily, an underclassman broke a string which meant Regulus had more time to sort everything out while McGongall was occupied trying to calm her down. Unfortunately, it meant Evan had more time to taunt him.
“Sleep well?” He asked. Regulus almost ripped the first page of Fossiles.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” He hissed.
“I didn’t particularly fancy having my head bitten off before breakfast,” Evan drawled. “Besides, you looked ever so angelic drooling all over the desk I couldn’t have possibly disturbed you.”
Regulus didn’t hear him. He was flipping through his miscellaneous pile of music for the eighth time. Page three of Le Cygne, his solo, was gone. All his annotations, his fingerings… All gone.
Just when he was about to march over to the bass section and rip Potter’s music from him, McGonagall stepped back onto the podium and rehearsal resumed.
***
Regulus slammed the door of the practice room behind him, already beginning to breathe heavily. He then fell into a chair and ripped his sheet music off the music stand, desperately peeling back each layer in search of his missing page.
“Bloody hell what drugs are you on?” Barty asked from the corner of the room. “And why haven’t you given me any?”
“It’s gone,” Regulus choked, his voice hoarse with panic. He knew he was about ten seconds away from completely losing his mind.
“Well clearly,” Barty huffed. “You lost a page or something?”
Regulus didn’t have the energy to nod. He was now shucking pages to the floor, unable to do anything but search for something he knew was long gone.
“Well there’s no need to lose your head over it,” Barty said, approaching him. “I’ll help you find it.”
Regulus didn’t let him come closer, swatting him away like a large horsefly. He wanted Barty to leave. He didn’t want to be seen. He just wanted to fall back asleep and start the day all over again. He wanted to realize it was all a terrible dream.
A short knock landed on the door, followed by it slowly opening. Regulus raised his head and froze.
“Erm, hi?” James said, clearly perturbed by the sight of Regulus hunched over and sweating.
Regulus didn’t say anything, he couldn’t, but perhaps Barty nodded or something because he spoke again.
“I’m sure you know already but our music’s all mixed up,” he said, holding up his own stack of papers.
Regulus watched him, wide eyed, like a scared animal. As if offering his hand to smell or a treat, Potter tentatively held out the sheet music toward Regulus.
“I’ve already sorted it all out-”
Regulus snatched it from him and held back a sigh of relief when he saw it: The third page of Le Cynge. He immediately spread the entire song onto the music stand and picked up his bow. Just before beginning to play, he gestured to the floor beside his chair where he’d scattered all James’ bass parts.
“If you’re looking for your solo,” he muttered, still out of breath, “It’s over there.”
Regulus began practicing, keeping his eyes glued to his notes in an effort not to find out if Potter appeared hurt or, worse, concerned. He did feel, however, how James knelt down beside him and quietly collected the sheet music Regulus had disrespected. Regulus could also feel how he lingered in the doorway instead of slamming the door behind him the way Regulus had hoped.
“I don’t mean to pry, but-” he hesitated for a moment but continued. “Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m fine,” Regulus said through gritted teeth. “I need to concentrate. I’d appreciate it if you'd go bother your girlfriend instead of bothering me.”
The door didn’t slam shut. If Regulus hadn’t been hyper sensitive to the sound of it closing, he would’ve assumed Potter had stayed holding the door open for his entire practice session.
Movement Nine: Lily
“You may all start the experiment now,” Slughorn boomed from the front of the Chemistry lab. “Please make sure to be very precise with all your measurements!”
Lily turned to speak to Severus but he didn’t let her get a word out.
“I’ll prepare the solution. You measure the granules,” he ordered.
Lily rolled her eyes as she tied her hair in a ponytail. “Yes, your grace. I’ll get started on that.”
She grabbed the graduated cylinder on their table and headed over to the nearest weight scale. Just as she was about to reach it, James slid in front of it and began pouring granules into his graduated cylinder from the container beside the scale.
“Excuse me,” she said, tapping him on the shoulder, “I was going to use that one.”
James looked around the lab and then to Lily. “Sorry, Lils, all the others are being used.”
Lily scanned the room to confirm and he was right, every other weight scale in the lab had at least two or three people waiting to use it.
She sighed. “Guess we’ll have to share. Try to hurry it up though. Sev will throw a fit if we don’t finish first.”
“Why of course,” James said. Lily could see the cogs turning in his mind, a joke starting to take shape. He bowed dramatically, thrusting the container out towards her. “Care for some zinc, mademoiselle? I assure you it’s delectable.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled, plucking the container from his hand and placing it back onto the counter.
“Why thank you, sir,” she chirped, playing along. “Ever so kind of you.”
James placed his graduated cylinder on the scale, chuckling. He then stared at the numbers with a look that was both quizzical and dumbfounded.
“You need to weigh the container before adding the substance, Potter. Remind me, how long have you taken Chemistry?”
He replaced his graduated cylinder with hers on the scale, took note of its weight, and gave it back to her with a wink.
“Not as long as we’ve had Chemistry,” he said.
Lily made a gagging sound, checking him with her hip so she could take her own measurements at the scale.
“You said you’d stop flirting with me if I went on a date with you. I did, and we decided to just be friends. I’m afraid you’re violating our contract, James.”
“People still think we’re dating, y’know,” James mentioned, leaning with his elbows on the counter as he watched Lily take note of her measurements. Lily snorted.
“That’s almost as ludicrous as people thinking me and Sev are dating.”
As the words left her mouth, a loud *crunch* resounded behind them. Both James and Lily spun around to see Severus hunched over at their table clutching his hand, which was a mess of blood and glass. He was screaming. Screaming, and screaming, and screaming as if he had never screamed before in his life. Lily ran over and reached him at the same moment as Slughorn.
“What on earth is the matter, Mr. Snape!” Slughorn boomed, grabbing the screaming boy by the shoulders. “What’s happened?”
“IT BURNS!” Severus wailed, shaking his hand wildly.
“He’s broken the flask,” Lily said, her voice shaking with horror. “The flask of sulfuric acid. He’s not wearing any gloves. God…it's not even diluted.”
Slughorn grabbed Severus’ wrist with his gloved hand, causing Severus to cry out in agony as the glass cut further into his skin. Slughorn turned it around a couple of times, assessing the damage and making the crying worse.
“Ms. Evans, help Mr. Snape run this hand under water. I’m calling for Madam Pomfrey,” Slughorn ordered, looking very pale. He rushed out of the room despite their protests.
Lily pushed Severus to the nearest sink, turned the tap to freezing and thrust his hand under the water. He was calmer now, but still breathing quickly and crying. While the water helped the burning, the blood kept coming from the shards of glass embedded in his skin.
“It’s going to be okay, Sev,” Lily said, attempting to console him. Severus looked up at her, his face ghostly white. She was worried for a moment that he might be sick on her. He stood staring blankly for a couple seconds before tipping backwards and fainting. Luckily, James caught him before he could crack his head open on the tile.
When Madame Pomfrey arrived, she made quick work of pulling out whatever glass she could and bandaging the area. Mostly, Lily was glad Sev was unconscious because nobody’s ears would be damaged by further screaming. Eventually, when they woke him up to escort him to the hospital wing, he was so exhausted from the shock that he went calmly.
He curled up on the hospital bed as soon as he saw it. Lily sat on a chair beside him as Madame Pomfrey went about fetching painkillers for when he woke up. Lily saw Severus’ bandaged hand, his left, and stood up suddenly.
“Madame Pomfrey,” she said, “We’ve got an orchestra performance tonight. Do you reckon he’ll be well enough to play? He’s our concertmaster.”
Madame Pomfrey tutted, placing several jars of medication on the bedside table. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Evans. He’s suffered a nasty chemical burn as well as deep wounds from the glass. He’d be in far too much pain to play in the concert tonight.”
Lily looked back at Severus sleeping, then his bandaged hand. She felt cruel for only thinking about the concert. She was playing Characters With Long Ears with him. What if they couldn’t find anyone who knew the part before the show? She quickly stood again and marched out of the hospital wing. Someone had to tell McGonagall as soon as possible.
Movement Ten: Sirius
After lessons, the orchestra and band students joined together in the auditorium to practice one final time together before the show. Sirius pretended to be bored out of his mind along with the other wind players backstage for the majority of it, but really he couldn’t help but enjoy himself.
After running through the final song, McGonagall began giving notes and running through the concert protocol for that evening. Just when Sirius was sure she would dismiss them for dinner, McGonagall held them for one more notice.
“By now, I’m quite sure all of you have heard the rumors. I regret to confirm that Mr. Snape has indeed been injured and will not be joining us for the concert this evening. Naturally, we will need to employ a new concertmaster and soloist as soon as possible. If any violinists in this room believe they can fill Mr. Snape’s role, do raise your hands.”
Several hands eagerly shot up in the violin section. Sirius blamed his wild imagination for seeing McGonagall's eyes flicker toward him.
“Very well, thank you,” McGongall continued. “I invite all who raised their hands to please come to my office during dinner for an informal audition. I’m sure one of you will be sufficient. You may pack away your instruments now.”
“Poor Lily,” Marlene said as they met up by the auditorium door. “She’s worried sick about her duet.”
“I’m sure they’ll find somebody,” Mary said.
“Sure,” Remus added. “There’s plenty of good violinists here.”
***
They had all just finished dinner and were lounging in the common room, waiting until it was an acceptable time to start getting into their concert blacks.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Sirius whispered to Remus, who was drooping slightly onto Sirius’ shoulder, blinking slowly.
“Am not,” Remus muttered back.
The door opened and Sirius instinctively lifted his head to see who was entering. McGonagall was coming straight for him.
“Mr. Black,” she said, standing in front of him. “If you would please come with me.”
She turned and walked straight out of the common room without looking back to see if he was following.
“What’d you do this time, Pads?” Peter piped up from his spot near the fireplace.
Sirius stood from the couch, slowly. He suddenly felt a bit seasick.
“Erm… I clogged all the girl’s toilets on the third floor,” he lied. He hadn’t been to the girl’s toilets since he stopped going out with girls.
He scrambled out of the common room and rushed to catch up with McGonagall. She didn’t speak to him. Sirius pondered on all the pranks he’d pulled recently. He thought he had been behaving nicely this past week. Besides, the tuning incident had been incredibly minor. If he was going to be punished for it, why would McGonagall wait until just before the concert? Unless the punishment was being barred from playing…
“Professor,” he pleaded once they were in front of McGonagall’s office door, “Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry. Can’t we just move on and pretend it never happened?”
McGonagall barely reacted. She led him inside, sat behind her desk, and gestured to the side of the room. A violin was laid out on a chair, along with a bow and a music stand.
“I’d like for you to start with the duet, Characters With Long Ears. Then, you may follow the order of the sheet music.”
Sirius was motionless for a moment. He stared at the violin on the chair as if it were some kind of venomous snake. He picked it up and placed it under his chin, then played a couple miscellaneous notes to get a feel for an instrument that wasn’t his own. He gazed down at the first sheet on the stand. He had never actually read the music for Characters With Long Ears, but the song was quite simple and he’d already played around with it many times in the privacy of his dorm room. So, when he played it for McGonagall, he was less concerned about the notes and more about their flavor. The sharp upbow, the dramatic vibrato, the speeding up and slowing down. McGonagall simply nodded when he finished and prompted him to play the next song.
When he’d run through it all, he kept the violin lodged between his chin and shoulder, looking at McGonagall as if requesting to put it down. Old habits die hard.
“Very well done, Mr. Black. I must say that was truly splendid.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Sirius replied, placing the violin back onto the chair.
“You understand that I must make you concertmaster this evening.”
“What?” Sirius yelped, his voice awfully high.
“Do you not wish to play?”
“No. I don’t play violin-”
“Then you must tell me what I’ve just watched, Mr. Black. Please, go on.”
“I don’t play violin anymore,” Sirius said, correcting himself. “I haven’t performed for years!”
McGonagall took off her glasses and wiped them with her sleeve. A gesture she only did when someone (mainly Sirius) was really getting on her nerves.
“You must understand, Mr. Black, that I need to choose the best fit for concertmaster this evening. I’m afraid that means you.” She placed the glasses back onto her face. “And I’ll say this: If you were in my orchestra, Mr. Snape wouldn’t come close to his current position.”
“Really?” Sirius couldn’t help the burst of pride that rippled through him. He only wished that greasy ball of slime were there to hear it instead of whinging about a few papercuts in the hospital wing.
He nodded. “I’ll do it then.”
“Excellent.” McGonagall rose and gestured to the music stand. “You may take the music, all your parts are there. I trust you can find your seat onstage.”
Sirius collected the sheet music and McGonagall ushered him out of the door. Just before they parted ways, he stopped and turned to address her.
“Professor. How exactly did you know I play violin?”
She gifted him a rare smile. “I suggest you bring your own instrument to the concert hall this evening. I find that the music is elevated when a musician plays an instrument they trust.”
She shut the door, leaving him to walk alone back to the common room, first chair music in hand.