Pt. 3 to Rockstar Regulus head canon
When they were younger, Sirius and Regulus took singing lessons.
Sirius was always better. He had this natural talent that Regulus could never keep up with.
How was he supposed to know what note comes after another just by ear? It didn’t matter how many times Regulus would repeat after Sirius, he just couldn’t get the notes.
It wasn’t just the music but their voices themselves. Sirius’ voice was like an angel. It was like an audial caress.
It had a fine, polished texture. Sirius could just throw out notes and they would be perfect. He would walk out of the room at the end like he didn’t just make Regulus feel like dirt.
He didn’t understand. He could play the violin proficiently. All the notes made sense on the piano. But his voice was an instrument he could never conquer.
By the time Sirius left for Hogwarts, Regulus was ready to give up singing, but of course he still had to attend lessons.
Sirius always liked his voice. When he came home from school that first summer he told Regulus that his voice was perfect for rock.
Regulus didn’t understand at first. How was saying his voice sounded like rocks a compliment?
That’s when Sirius showed him a the records he borrowed from his friend named Remus (his name was Regulus, who was he to judge?). Sirius locked them up in his room, put up silencing charms, and made the record float in the air and start spinning, somehow producing music. Regulus was shocked how well Sirius took to magic. It was nothing to him.
The voices were… strange. They didn’t sound beautiful like Sirius’, but Regulus found him wanting to hear every word.
When they’d gone through each record, Regulus was still confused. He didn’t sound anything like those voices.
Sirius looked at him like he’d just asked him what quidditch was. He took Regulus by the shoulder, looked him straight in the eyes and said, “Regulus, none of the voices sound like each other! They’re not supposed to sound like chorus’ where every voice is a part of the whole. They don’t blend in; the way your voice doesn’t. You’re voice is perfect because it isn’t perfect. It’s unique!”
Regulus sang more and more as his relationship with his brother slowly dwindled. Singing was an experience him and Sirius shared. If he sang, Sirius would surely be listening.
He trained his ear and spent hours slaving over a piano, just matching pitch. He wrote, and he composed, and he sang to distract himself from the life he was leading. To forget that Sirius wasn’t there anymore. Sirius didn’t want him.
His voice never changed its sound. It got deeper, but that only seemed to boost the effect.
He would be known by millions for his rough music with sharp lyrics coming from a coarse, grimy voice. People could never get his sound out of their head, they always wanted to hear every word coming out of his mouth.
When Sirius first heard Regulus’ voice on the radio, he was mesmerized. He hadn’t heard him sing in years. He was so proud of what his brother had accomplished.
Regulus would’ve given up on everything if he didn’t have his writing, but he would’ve given up on his passion if he didn’t have his brother.
K so like, Sirius always wanted to be a rockstar right? He always dressed super punk and has the voice for it.
But imagine…
Regulus felt like he could never talk with people about his problems. He was always so alone and felt even lonelier.
But then he over heard from some Ravenclaw that they keep a journal to help them get all their emotions out.
He decides to do so. He writes everything he feels he can’t say. He lets his handwriting get messy, he scratches things out. Some pages are just lists or bullet points. It’s the one place he can actually be himself. The only way he can figure out who he is.
He stops feeling like he’s fading away. He has something to hold onto. He can identify his feelings and really understand them.
Soon he just has journals filled with half finished poems, song lyrics he overheard (from people like his brother who refused to turn down their music), chord progressions he can’t get over from his concertos, and now, he has full songs.
He knows who he is now. He runs away to muggle America and starts a career as a mysterious new singer who just showed up on the rock scene. Violin and guitar are basically the same instrument, right? Of course his skills will translate.
His songs are filled with anger, sadness, and pain. He writes about his family, the loss of his brother, his cousin, his uncle, and what it feels like to have everyone who you loved forget you. But he also writes about joy. For having had a brother at all, for having friends (even if they are three feet tall and hate everyone except for him), for falling in love with a boy he met in a recording studio who was saved by music just like he was.
He writes about the war and the guilt of running away instead of fighting alongside his brother. And about reconnecting with said brother after Voldemort was killed by Dumbledore (Just go with it).
He was finally happy.
And if his brother got super jealous after finding him on the cover of a magazine in the boots he used to wear, well that’s just a bonus.