A Second Chance at Fate

After the Yule Ball, James and Lily finally decided to give their relationship a real chance. They had danced together that night, laughter mingling with the enchanting music, and in that moment, everything else had faded. Whatever had been unresolved between them and Regulus was momentarily set aside as they focused on exploring what they could be together.

Lily took great pleasure in introducing James to the Muggle world. Their first outing was to a small cinema in London, where she explained how to buy tickets, what popcorn was, and why the seats flipped up when they stood. James was fascinated, completely enraptured by the moving pictures on screen, as if they were some strange, silent magic of their own. He attempted to whisper theories to Lily about how the projector worked, prompting her to shush him with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. They spent afternoons in Muggle coffee shops, where James fumbled with sugar packets and marveled at how Lily navigated the space with such ease, looking at her like she held the secrets of an entire hidden world.

In return, James took Lily to the wizarding places beyond Hogwarts she had never experienced before. He brought her to a secluded Quidditch pitch in the countryside, where he let her take his broom for a spin. She wobbled at first, gripping the handle for dear life, but James coached her with patient amusement, his hands hovering just below her waist as if ready to catch her at any moment. He took her to small wizarding villages with quaint bookshops, tucked-away potion cafés where the drinks shimmered with enchantments, and even to a hidden cove by the sea, where merfolk sometimes surfaced to sing haunting melodies under the moonlight.

They fell for each other in the stolen moments between classes, in whispered conversations beneath the stars, in the way James looked at her like she was the most brilliant thing he'd ever seen. Lily loved how fiercely he cared for those around him, how his arrogance had softened into a quiet confidence. James adored the fire in Lily’s spirit, the way her mind worked so quickly, how she always challenged him to be better. They fit together so naturally that it was easy to forget anything else.

But no matter how much they loved each other, neither of them could stop thinking about Regulus.

James would catch himself wondering where Regulus was, whether he was safe, if he ever thought about him the way James thought about him. He would sometimes dream of Regulus’s sharp eyes, the softness hidden beneath his guarded exterior, and wake up feeling as though he had betrayed Lily. He pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the warmth of Lily’s hand in his, the way she made him laugh, but the shadow of Regulus lingered in the quiet moments.

Lily was no different. She tried to push aside the memory of Regulus’s hands brushing against hers in the library, the way he had once spoken to her in a voice meant only for her ears. She loved James, but there were nights when she lay awake, remembering Regulus’s words, the way his presence had always been a puzzle she wanted to solve. She never spoke of it, never let it show, because she knew James loved her, and she loved him. That should have been enough.

But the confusion Regulus caused in both of them never truly faded. They loved each other deeply, but they were both haunted by a boy neither of them dared to mention.

Regulus Black had spent the summer slipping away from Grimmauld Place, following a path once blazed by his older brother but making it entirely his own. Where Sirius had found freedom in rebellion and recklessness, Regulus found it in quiet exploration. He wandered through the Muggle world, discovering places unlike anything in the rigid, suffocating world of the Sacred 28. One such place was a small music store tucked between a bookstore and a café, its windows lined with old records and gleaming instruments.

He hadn't meant to draw attention to himself. It started with idle fingers grazing the keys of a well-worn piano, but soon, he was playing, losing himself in the music. A small crowd gathered, listening in awe as the haunting notes filled the space. The shop owner, recognizing true talent, had smiled and told him he was welcome to play anytime.

Regulus returned often, finding solace in the melodies, but it wasn't long before his friends caught on. Pandora had followed him one day, dragging Barty and Evans along. What began as curiosity quickly turned into mischief. They decided to prank him by each picking up an instrument, joining in a chaotic impromptu performance. As members of the Sacred 28, they had all received mandatory music education, but none had ever taken it as seriously as Regulus. Instead of getting annoyed, Regulus laughed and indulged them, introducing them to the wonders he had uncovered in the Muggle world—museums, amusement parks, theaters, and grand concert halls.

Everything changed the night Evans overheard a frantic conversation about some Roll Stone band needing a last-minute replacement. Mick Jagger had fallen ill, and if they couldn't find someone to step in, they would have to cancel the performance. Evans, never one to think things through, immediately volunteered Regulus.

Regulus was mortified. He had only recently started listening to the Rolling Stones’ music and, while confident in his piano skills, he had never imagined himself standing in for Mick Jagger. Singing? Performing in front of thousands of Muggles? It was absurd.

Determined to clear up the misunderstanding, he made his way to the venue, only to be swiftly roped in by Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood, who, mistaking him for some sort of musical prodigy, began teaching him the songs from their latest album, Black and Blue. There was no escaping it. Regulus found himself backstage, being thrown into a tight pair of leather pants, a loose shirt, and a jacket that reeked of cigarettes and stardom. The moment he stepped onto the stage, the roar of the crowd nearly sent him running. But then, the music started, and something inside him clicked.

He played, he sang, he moved with an intensity he hadn't known he possessed. The adrenaline drowned out the nerves, and for the first time in his life, he let go, reveling in the rush of it all. The performance was electric, and by the end of the night, the crowd was screaming his name.

The aftermath was a whirlwind. The music press exploded with questions about the mysterious pianist who had stolen the show. Fans clamored for more, some even speculating that he was a secret protégé of the band. The Stones themselves were impressed, offering him an open invitation to join them anytime. Regulus, still dazed from the experience, laughed at the idea but felt an unfamiliar warmth at the praise.

Sirius, upon hearing the news, was equal parts impressed and furious that his little brother had upstaged him in rebellion. But beneath the feigned outrage, he was undeniably proud. For the first time in years, Sirius and Regulus found themselves talking more, bonding over their shared love of music and their defiance of expectation. It didn't erase their differences, but it brought them closer, even if just for a summer.

Pandora and Barty never let him live it down, teasing him mercilessly about his newfound rockstar status. Evans, of course, took full credit for his success.

Through The Rolling Stones, Regulus was introduced to other bands, and word of his talent spread quickly. He found himself playing as a substitute pianist and sometimes even vocalist for various groups throughout the summer. With each performance, he gained confidence—not just in his playing, but in his voice. He discovered that people genuinely enjoyed the way he sang, how his voice carried emotions he had never dared to express before.

Encouraged by this realization, Regulus began composing his own music. At first, it was just melodies on the piano, but soon, he started adding lyrics, shaping them into songs that were entirely his own. Singing became another form of release, a way to channel everything he had kept bottled up inside.

Regulus knew he could never fully abandon his world, but for the first time, he saw the possibility of something more. He had glimpsed a different kind of life—one where he wasn’t just another Black heir, bound by tradition and expectation. Whether he pursued music further or simply kept it as a secret escape, he wasn’t sure. But one thing was certain: he had stepped into the unknown and thrived.

Regulus’ newfound popularity had an unexpected effect—rather than basking in the attention, he became more indifferent and unapproachable. He carried himself with the effortless grace of pureblood aristocracy, his every movement precise, his every word laced with sharp wit. It wasn’t long before people began calling him the "Ice Prince," a title earned through his cool demeanor, cutting sarcasm, and the way he seemed both detached and untouchable.

Yet, despite his aloofness, they welcomed him all the same. To them, he was a rebellious aristocrat indulging in the thrill of it all, an enigma they were eager to decipher. But in truth, they all spoke the same language—music. It was the one thing that bridged the divide, the universal thread that connected him to the eclectic crowd he had somehow found himself in.

Barty, Evan, and Pandora were always by his side, though not out of blind admiration. No, their reasons were far more amusing. They were there for the fun, for the thrill of watching the ever-poised Regulus navigate this new world—and, of course, for the priceless blackmail material they could collect along the way. After all, there was no greater delight than having leverage over the infamous Ice Prince when the school year resumed.

When the school year started, Regulus and his friends found themselves buried under the weight of their O.W.L. studies. The library became their second home, their days filled with late-night revision sessions, endless essays, and the occasional bout of frustration as they pushed themselves to excel. Despite the pressure, they carried themselves with the same effortless grace, their aristocratic mannerisms still intact even as they scribbled furiously through mountains of parchment.

Meanwhile, their older friends—now sixth years—were in an entirely different world. While they had begun early preparations for their N.E.W.T.s, the urgency hadn’t quite set in yet. They had a newfound sense of freedom, caught in the sweet spot between rigorous academics and the looming pressure of their final year. And so, they indulged.

Romance flourished in hushed whispers behind hidden corridors, in stolen glances across the Great Hall, in letters passed discreetly under desks. Gossip spread like wildfire, fueled by illicit rendezvous, dramatic breakups, and whispered scandals. Fights broke out, sometimes over petty rivalries, other times over something deeper—old grudges resurfacing, egos clashing, friendships cracking under the weight of pride.

And then, of course, there were the parties. Some were grand, orchestrated affairs thrown by the more daring students, complete with smuggled Firewhisky and enchanted music that pulsed through the air like a heartbeat. Others were smaller, secret gatherings in forgotten classrooms or the depths of the castle, where only the closest friends were invited.

Through it all, Regulus remained the Ice Prince—observing, smirking, and occasionally indulging, though never too much. He had an image to uphold, after all. But even he wasn’t immune to the chaos of it all, and his friends made sure to drag him into just enough trouble to remind him that, despite his cool exterior, he was still very much alive.

One of Regulus’ quiet amusements that year was watching his brother, the ever-reckless Sirius Black, fall slowly—almost pathetically—into Remus Lupin’s carefully spun web. It was fascinating, really. The way Remus worked was almost Slytherin in its precision, though he wore the mask of mild-mannered Ravenclaw intellect well. Methodical. Strategic. Every step calculated, every move deliberate, and Sirius, in all his arrogance, hadn’t even noticed the snare tightening around him.

Regulus watched the whole thing unfold with something close to admiration. He had grown up hearing about how the Black family had mastered the art of manipulation, how to wield influence with a whisper, how to maneuver people like chess pieces. And yet, here was his brother—raised in the same house, by the same parents—walking blindly into a trap so perfectly laid out that Regulus almost pitied him. Almost.

The brilliance of Lupin’s strategy lay in his understanding of Sirius’ greatest weakness—his insatiable need for attention and physical affection. Unlike Regulus, who had long learned to do without, Sirius had always craved touch, open displays of loyalty and warmth, proof that he was wanted. Remus, being as perceptive as he was, used it to his full advantage.

Regulus had seen it one afternoon in the Ravenclaw common room, where he’d snuck in under the guise of needing something from Barty. From his relaxed sprawl on the couch, he had a perfect view of his brother and Lupin sitting by the fireplace.

Sirius was draped lazily over the armrest of the couch, one leg hooked over the side, his usual smirk in place as he talked animatedly about something that was undoubtedly self-indulgent. Remus, ever the picture of quiet control, listened with an indulgent smile, his fingers absently carding through Sirius’ hair as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Regulus noted the way Sirius unconsciously leaned into the touch, how his eyes fluttered shut for half a second longer than necessary. Then Lupin chuckled at something Sirius said—something that wasn’t even that funny—and let his hand trail down, fingers brushing over Sirius’ jaw before slipping away entirely.

Sirius stopped mid-sentence.

Regulus smirked.

Remus, the cunning bastard, merely picked up a book from the table and started flipping through it as if nothing had happened.

Regulus saw it then—the moment of delayed realization in Sirius’ face, the faint flicker of frustration in his eyes at the loss of contact. Lupin was playing him like a fine-tuned instrument, and Sirius, the idiot that he was, didn’t even know he was dancing to someone else’s rhythm.

By the time Sirius finally admitted his feelings, Regulus imagined Lupin wouldn’t even have to say anything. He would just smile knowingly, maybe offer another absentminded brush of his fingers against Sirius’ wrist, and that would be enough.

Regulus found the whole thing highly entertaining. Impressive, even.

And if he ever got caught smirking at Lupin from across the Great Hall, the older boy would just glance at him with the barest lift of an eyebrow, as if acknowledging that, yes, they both knew exactly what was happening.

Regulus could respect that.