Might share a face and share a last name but we are not the same
The air in the courtroom reeked of polished wood and clashing perfumes, but Sirius hardly noticed. He sat at the plaintiff's table, gripping a pen he wasn’t even sure he needed. His suit looked immaculate—James had insisted on that—but it felt like a second skin he couldn’t wait to shed. The fabric scratched at him, mocking his uneasy bravado. To his right sat Orion and Walburga Black, their presence as suffocating as always. Orion muttered something to their lawyer, his face the picture of hungover indifference, while Walburga’s glare shot daggers sharp enough to splinter steel. Sirius imagined her venomous thoughts as vividly as if they’d been scrawled across his mind: *You’ll lose. You’ll never belong here.*
That made two of them. He resisted the urge to look back at his friends, James and Remus—his steady anchors in a storm that had raged for years. James had already grumbled about the court's seating arrangements, loudly enough to draw stares, insisting that best friends should sit together, not across arbitrary boundaries. Remus, as always, had taken the more practical approach, reassuring Sirius that things would turn out fine. Sirius could still feel Remus’s steadying hand on his shoulder, grounding him when his doubts threatened to choke him.
But doubts had a way of lingering. Like a serpent coiled around his chest, they whispered, *Even if you win this fight… what next?*
“Mr. Black,” Judge Harrison’s voice rang out, snapping Sirius back to the moment. She looked at him—not unkindly, but with the piercing intensity of someone who could strip away every pretense. “You may proceed with your opening statement.”
Sirius stood, his chair legs scraping painfully against the floor. The sound made him cringe, but there was no turning back now. He cleared his throat, a whirlwind of rehearsed words swirling in his mind like a brewing storm. “Your Honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began, his voice steady despite the tremor threatening to creep in. “This isn’t just about money or inheritance or family politics. This is about freedom. About proving that we are not bound by the circumstances of our birth. That we can choose—if we’re brave enough—to be better than what we come from.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch, just as Remus had taught him. Command the room.
“I was born into a family that worshipped power and tradition, valuing control over compassion. They raised me to obey, to conform, to be shaped in their image. But I refused. At sixteen, I left to carve out my own path. But even leaving wasn’t enough. Their grip followed me, clawing at my life, trying to dictate who I could be. I’m here today to sever that grip for good.”
By the time he sat down, he dared a glance at Walburga. Her face was stone, but there was something in her eyes—something furious and cold—that made Sirius wonder if she’d combust right there. But she wouldn’t. Not in public.
The trial dragged on like a slow, grinding machine. Days stretched into weeks, filled with endless objections and cross-examinations. Walburga’s lawyer wielded his words like finely honed blades, dissecting Sirius’s character as though it were laid bare on an operating table. Every rebellious act, every minor infraction from his teenage years, was spun into a weapon. He’d expected it—hell, Remus had warned him—but that didn’t make it any less exhausting.
He wasn’t alone, though. James and Remus were his unshakable foundation. Remus, with his sharp legal mind, had prepped Sirius for every possible argument and twist, while James’s relentless optimism was an armor Sirius hadn’t realized he’d needed. When the courtroom’s suffocating tension pressed too heavily on him, James would lean in, whispering something absurd—like karaoke plans for after the trial. “Remus could absolutely crush 'Starman,'” James had whispered once, earning a barely suppressed laugh from Sirius.
Still, by the time closing arguments came around, Sirius felt like a shadow of himself, running on the fumes of hope and spite.
The verdict came on a bleak, rainy Friday—fitting, Sirius thought, for the weight of the moment. He stood, every muscle in his body tense, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. Judge Harrison’s words hit him like a flood: “This court finds in favor of the plaintiff, Mr. Sirius Black.”
For a moment, everything blurred. He’d won. He could barely hear Walburga’s shriek of outrage over the pounding in his ears. Orion remained silent, his expression granite, but Sirius could read the fury simmering beneath his composed exterior. It was over—or so he thought.
Judge Harrison raised her gavel again, silencing the uproar in the room. “In light of this ruling, and after reviewing additional evidence presented during the trial, the court is also granting the plaintiff custody of Regulus Arcturus Black, effective immediately.”
Sirius froze. His breath caught in his throat. *Custody?* He’d never even known Regulus existed. “Your Honour, I—” His voice wavered as he struggled to form a coherent thought. “I… custody?”
Judge Harrison’s gaze was steady, unyielding. “The evidence presented during this trial indicates that your brother, a minor of only two years, is in need of a safe and nurturing environment. Based on testimony and character assessments, this court believes you are best suited to provide that environment.”
The words landed like a punch to the chest. Not because Sirius disagreed, but because he hadn’t even had time to process the reality of a brother, let alone becoming his guardian.
The first evening with Regulus was one of quiet uncertainty. The toddler clutched a battered stuffed lion, his wide grey eyes scanning Sirius’s flat as if trying to map out this unfamiliar world. He didn’t cry, didn’t throw a tantrum—just sat on the living room rug, stacking blocks in an order only he seemed to understand.
Sirius perched awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, watching him. “So… you’re the quiet type, huh?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Guess that makes one of us.”
Regulus looked up, blinking at Sirius like he was the strangest thing in the room. And maybe to the toddler, he was.
Sirius sighed, glancing at the toys James had dumped on him in a manic shopping spree—most of which Regulus seemed entirely uninterested in. The creeping doubt that had accompanied him all day surged forward. *What if I can’t do this? What if I’m not enough?*
But then Regulus crawled over, his tiny hands gripping the edge of the sofa for balance. He studied Sirius for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, as if sensing Sirius’s turmoil, he held up his stuffed lion and plopped it into Sirius’s lap.
“Oh,” Sirius said softly, picking up the lion. “This is for me?”
Regulus blinked at him, solemn at first, but then a small giggle escaped. It was quiet, almost timid, but it was enough to shatter the weight pressing on Sirius’s chest. Maybe he wasn’t entirely helpless after all.