In Case I Make It
Regulus Arcturus Black
March, 1980
It was the first day of the year with truly nice weather, and Regulus was up early enough to see the sunrise.
Not that it was really his choice, but he didn’t mind the morning shift as much as he thought some people might. It was peaceful, even the people up early enough to be first into the shop were quiet and subdued, still not quite fully awake. And Regulus liked opening up, being the first person inside, starting up the machines and turning on the lights. Today the sunrise was a sight to behold, the sky painted red and orange and pink horizon to horizon, the new sun rimming the wispy clouds in gold. Just now, the sun had still not settled entirely to its normal colouration, but there were a couple people already seated in the cafe: a regular, and a young woman Regulus suspected was a uni student in exams week, based on the pile of papers she had brought with her.
The bell over the door tinkled gently as a tall, well-dressed man with neat, dark hair pushed open the door with one blazer-clad shoulder. Despite the hour, he looked fresh and alert, posture textbook perfect—like Regulus’s when he forgot himself and stopped looking carefully casual—and eyes wide behind his small wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Welcome to Merlin’s Hollow,” Regulus said. He found the name of the (very Muggle) cafe ironically amusing even after months of working there. “What can I get you this morning?”
The man affixed him with a pinning stare, seeming to examine every inch of his face. Regulus couldn’t help but feel exposed and a bit unnerved. He ran a hand through his hair, swallowed his discomfort at its new shortness. “One Earl Grey, please,” the man said, eyes flicking momentarily down to his nametag, “mister … Aster, and a pain au chocolat.”
The man chose a two-seater table by the window and sat down, but despite the several files in his hand, he barely glanced at what Regulus assumed was his work. Instead, he watched Regulus. Closer than he had been watched in years. Regulus, in turn, studiously avoided eye contact as he prepared the food, instead letting himself put his full focus on his posture and movements. Body language had always been interesting to him, and he was always very aware of how he was moving.
Regulus moved, and the man watched, all through the time it took him to prepare his order, and continued afterwards as he ate and drank slowly, eyes glued to Regulus all the while. When he finally finished, dusting invisible crumbs off his lapels, Regulus couldn't help the relief that swept through him.
But instead of heading straight to the door, the man approached the counter once more. Regulus tensed internally—but, of course, remained visibly relaxed and elegant as ever–as the man pulled out his leather wallet again, and prepared to take a second order. That was the only explanation he could think of.
“Mr. Aster,” the man said, and it sounded strange to hear that name said so casually by a perfect stranger, discounting that it was directed at Regulus, which only added to the strangeness. “I can't help but admit that you have… caught my eye.”
Oh, Merlin, no, Regulus thought. This was undoubtedly worse than more staring. He carefully did not say anything.
“I was wondering if you would perhaps be in the market for—” don't say it, don't say it — “a new day job?”
“I— What?” Regulus said eloquently.
The man smiled in amusement. “My name is Elliot Laurent. I'm a recruiter for a modelling agency. I'm offering you a job as a model. If you want.”
It took roughly all of Regulus’s concentration not to gape like a fish. The hamster that ran his brain was sprinting furiously inside its little hamster wheel. “I— a model?”
“Yes. My agency has several dozen models, mostly in advertising and fast fashion, but I have connections in other parts of the industry if your interests lie there. I can leave you with some information if you're unsure?”
Regulus nodded mutely. Mr. Laurent dug a business card out of his wallet ( ah, that was the reason he'd had it out ) and handed it to Regulus.
“Give me a call—” he motioned to the phone number on the card— “if you're interested. I'd best be on my way now, it was a pleasure to meet you.” The door of the café shut gently behind him, the bell tinkling goodbye.
Regulus shook himself, then held up the business card for a good examination. It was printed on high quality cream-colored cardstock, in a tasteful maroon script. There was a phone number, a mailing address, and a company name, and above it:
Mister Elliot J. Laurent
Recruiter & Agent
Enchant Modelling International, London Branch
Regulus tucked the card safely in his pocket and went back to work.
—🜂—
Sirius Orion Black
April, 1982
Wizarding Britain was healing.
The scars of the war were still fresh, but there was a sense of long-term safety and stability just beginning to take root. Curfews were lifted, restrictions loosened, travel and commerce picking up. A general air of relief pervaded every corner and alleyway.
For their part, the Marauders (re-organized to include Lily Potter née Evans in place of a certain rat) were spending a particularly lovely Friday afternoon on a double date. With baby Harry along as a doted-upon fifth wheel.
The weather was better than usual, and the streets and parks were well-populated. They had gotten brunch at a lovely little place up the street, and now Lily was chasing down a rogue James who had joined some teenagers’ game of football while Remus and Sirius shared a park bench with the Prongslet.
The Marauders actually came into Muggle London quite often. It had been initially difficult to keep their cover—Sirius and James especially, having grown up completely Wizard—but Lily and James managed to pass quite comfortably as a perfectly normal young couple, and Remus and Sirius as their two friends tagging along on their date to watch their baby.
That was the one downside of staying in the non magical parts of London: Sirius and Remus had to be more careful than they would like. Obviously they could have been as affectionate as they liked if they weren’t more worried about drawing attention than their actual safety; both could hold their own (and then some) if they got trouble from an uptight Muggle or two, but it would completely blow their cover. So slightly-too-touchy-feely best mates was their go-to.
“ Padfoot, Harry. Can you say Padfoot ?” Sirius said to Harry, who was very busy ignoring him and climbing out of his lap and into Remus’s. “Or just Pads ? One syllable can’t be that hard.”
“Moomy,” Harry said definitively, plopping his diaper-clad bottom down on Remus’s knees and sticking most of his hand into his mouth. “Moomy.”
“You hear that, Pads? I’m obviously the favourite,” Remus said, and then laughed when Sirius pouted impressively. “Oh, come on. I might be Prongslet’s favourite, but you’re mine.”
“Shush!“ Sirius said. “Don’t say things like that where I can’t kiss you. I really want to kiss you now.”
“Alright, alright, you’re not my favourite anymore. Happy?”
Sirius shoved his shoulder into Remus’s side, almost shoving him off the bench. “Yes, delighted.”
They sat for a moment, and Remus shifted just enough to allow Sirius perfect access to his shoulder for leaning. He was wearing a sage green knit jumper today, and it made his rather bony shoulder just the right texture for Sirius to rub his face into like an affectionate cat.
“Muh,” said Harry, disturbing the quiet and heralding the arrival of an exasperated Lily, dragging James behind her by the forearm.
“Hey, Siri!” James was saying loudly, pointing at something over Remus’s shoulder. “Look, it’s the flower-model-guy! He’s on a big billboard!”
Lily arrived in front of the, and scooped Harry easily into her arms, allowing both Remus and Sirius the freedom of movement to swivel along the bench.
And there he was. Aster An, in a long flowing garment of some sort that fell like a cloak or a mermaid’s tail in shimmery waves from his hips, framed by long, draping sleeves used to their full advantage by the twisting, acrobatic pose of his arms. He was centred perfectly on the billboard, full body visible, the only other thing on the display the sleek lettering cutting through his waist declaring the name of some high-end fashion brand or other.
“Huh,” said Lily, shifting Harry from one hip to the other and fixing her hair. “He does look like you, Sirius.”
“Yeah,” Sirius said. “I guess.”
James and Remus exchanged a look.
—🜂—
Regulus Arcturus Black
May 1980
The building before him was tall and elegant, a vision in exquisite decorative brickwork and carefully-placed windows. Above the doors—huge double doors in not-quite-Slytherin green—was an arching silver sign declaring the building to be Enchant Modelling London .
Upon his approach, Regulus shoved down his instinctive confusion at the lack of a door knocker—a staple in all Wizarding homes—and instead swiftly corrected to looking for a doorbell or some kind of signage. A doorbell he did find, but signage, too, and after a moment’s internal debate he decided that the sign’s instructions to “enter to the lobby for all prescheduled business” trumped the existence of the bell–especially considering he had called the number on Mr. Laurent’s card in advance to arrange this… well, he supposed it was a job interview.
The doors were unlocked, and surprisingly light, at least to someone used to the full-body shove required to inch open the doors of Grimmauld Place. They opened into a marble-floored lobby furnished with several sleek upholstered chairs, coffee tables each with a technicolour coat of fashion magazines littered on their surface, free-standing lamps with striking triangular designs, and a curved desk labelled Information .
The petite redhead behind the desk looked up as Regulus walked in, causing to realise suddenly how loud the sound of his boots on the polished floors was. The woman smiled expectantly up at him through her thick-framed cateye glasses, and Regulus immediately felt compelled to say something.
“I'm here for an appointment with Mr. Laurent? It should be under the name Aster An,” he said, careful not to speak so loudly as to shatter the careful quiet of the room again.
The woman nodded neatly and scribbled something down on a notepad Regulus couldn’t see. “Yes, your name is right here. Mr. Laurent’s office is on the second floor, elevators are to the left.” With one last carefully-arranged smile, she returned to her juggling of papers and phone, and promptly forgot Regulus existed. Which, he mused, was really fair enough.
Regulus made his way silently down the hall to the elevators. At the lack of noise, the woman at the desk assumed he was still there, looked up, and was a bit baffled to see no one there.
Meanwhile, Regulus rode up a single level in the carpeted elevator, soundtracked with faint, twinkling jazz piano, and found that the second floor was just as elegant as the first.
Mr. Laurent's office was marked with an engraved placard, and when Regulus tried the brass knob he found it unlocked.
The agent himself was seated behind a desk, and looked up immediately when Regulus entered. Mr. Laurent was wearing another finely-tailored suit, this one deep blue instead of black, and was fidgeting mildly with a Muggle ball-point pen in his hand that almost seemed like it could have been chosen to match his jacket. He was arranged casually across a black leather chair behind a heavy wooden desk, which was oriented so he had to look to the side to see Regulus come through the door.
The other two inhabitants of the room were standing next to the desk, and when all three turned to face him, Regulus found himself pinned in three sharp, appraising gazes. A pale, thin man with short-cropped, mousy hair and a pinched face pinned him in an almost-startled stare. Next to him, a tall woman with straight blonde hair and painfully upright posture glared at Regulus with a look of vague disinterest.
Mr. Laurent tucked the pen into his breast pocket, sat up in his chair, and grinned. “Mr. An, you made it!” He exclaimed. “These two lovely people are Miss Lola Lockwood and Mr. Marcus Johansson, some colleagues of mine. Mr. Johansson, Ms. Lockwood, this is Aster An, a possible new recruit. I think he’s very promising.”
Both of Mr. Laurent’s colleagues’ expressions shifted only microscopically. Regulus studiously did not let it bother him, instead gracing them with a patented Black Heir Smile, which seemed to help a bit.
“Yes, that’s me!” Regulus said, making a presentational gesture with his hands as he finally deigned to step fully into the room. He offered Mr. Johansson a hand, and the man shook it quickly, allowing Regulus to move on to Ms. Lockwood.
Mr. Laurent spoke up from his chair. “Now, based on our earlier conversations, I’m willing to bet you have little experience in this industry?”
“That’s true,” Regulus admitted easily. “Most of my life has been fairly sheltered, and I never really considered it something I could actually do. What I have seen of fashion and modelling, though, I’ve always been enamoured with.” This last bit was, largely, a lie, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to show interest.
There were a couple nods from the rest of the party. “Well,” said Mr. Laurent, “if you’re up for it today, the next step would be to see how you do in front of some cameras. We wouldn’t publish anything, of course, but it could help us both decide if we want to pursue this.”
Regulus nodded. “I’d love to give it my best try.”
It turned out that there was a miniature studio of sorts only a few floors above, and Regulus was promptly led into the room next door. In the small back room, he was introduced to a bespectacled man with a mop of hair falling in his eyes, who sat him down in a chair immediately to fuss with his hair and throw shirts at him. This step was over far quicker than Regulus expected, compared to the robe fittings, family portraits, and dressing for society parties he was used to.
He was allowed back into the main room once his hair had been fluffed and he had been stuffed into a wide-sleeved white blouse and pants with what seemed like far too many buttons.
Mr. Laurent and the photographer—a severe woman with short, dark hair—instructed him on what the procedures were for this kind of shoot, as well as what sort of theme and look they were going for. There were a lot of words Regulus only vaguely understood as Muggle slang, but he felt he got the main ideas.
Then, the cameras started clicking, and Regulus fell smoothly into the rhythm of the photoshoot. Move your hands, tilt your head, lean. Next pose, barely pause, they’re shooting constantly so you never have to stop moving. It’s almost like a dance, lit in flashing light.
The photographer called out instructions intermittently which varied wildly in usefulness, from actual, physical instructions about body parts or head angles to something about effervescence that Regulus refused to believe even the most experienced model could parse.
It felt like it had been barely a few minutes when the clicks and flashes slowed to a stop and Regulus was congratulated and ushered back into the back room, given a washcloth and his own clothes, and then led promptly back to Mr. Laurent’s office.
“That was… rather perfect, Aster, if I may say so,” Mr. Laurent said as they stepped back inside the smaller room. He collapsed back into his chair with a sigh. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” He half-joked.
“I’m certain,” Regulus said with a smirk. “I did dance as a child, though,” he added musingly.
“Ah,” Mr. Laurent nodded. “That tends to be helpful. Well,” he said, rifling through several of the drawers of his desk, “if you would like to be signed here, I would be delighted to be your agent. We can discuss specific shoots, types of modelling, pay, hours, and everything else today, or over the phone. I’ve got no other appointments today, so it’s up to you.”
“Well then,” Regulus said. “Let’s get to it.”
—🜂—
Sirius Orion Black
April 1982
Sirius woke to too much sound in his flat.
He was used to waking up to only the sounds of the city, alone in his apartment. Or, on occasion, one other person staying over. But this morning he could count at least two, maybe more distinct voices talking quietly from the direction of the kitchen and living room.
Getting up with only minimal tripping in the tangled sheets, Sirius paused only for a quick stretch before heading to the door. He opened it a crack and stuck his head through to listen better.
Remus, James, Lily. And maybe Harry too, but if so he was in a quiet mood.
Well, better than malicious intruders, at least.
Sirius took his time dressing, and then ventured toward the noises. As soon as his footsteps were audible, the voices hushed. What were those idiots up to?
He opened the door of the kitchen to four silent stares, and a banner. It said “INTERVENTION.”
“What the fuck?” Sirius said.
“Hey, love,” said Remus with a ridiculous little wave. “This was all James’s idea.” Sirius stared blankly at him. “ Mostly James’s idea.” All the better.
“…Ok,” Sirius said slowly, turning to look at all three of the adults in the room. Harry seemed to be asleep, not that Sirius would blame him for this even if he wasn’t. “What are you all… intervening in?”
This time, James spoke up. “Padfoot, mate, we’re intervening in how you’re so thoroughly in denial you seem to have actually convinced yourself your allegedly deceased younger brother isn’t parading around Muggle London as the most famous up-and-coming fashion model in years,” he said, gesturing wildly. “He’s barely even trying to keep it a secret. His fake name is basically Constellation White. We talked about this.”
“You mean Aster An?” Sirius asked incredulously.
“Stopped pretending you don’t remember his name, have you?” James said, crossing his arms.
Sirius said nothing.
“Sirius, if you actually don't think it’s him, that’s fine,” Lily cut in gently. “We won’t blame you, you know him best. It just… well, it does seem rather obvious. And if you're just saying it couldn't be him so you don't have to deal with it and all of the feelings that come with it, that's not going to turn out well.”
“It's not him!” Sirius said defensively, hugging himself.
“Pads, even I recognize your brother,” Remus said. “Please, just… you don't have to like it, or accept it, or be okay, but we can… we can figure out what to do.”
“I’m not lying to myself,” Sirius half-shouted. “You all really think my brother—you know, the one who’s been dead for years —is alive and living in the Muggle world as a fashion model. Really. He– he would be in hiding, wouldn’t he, if he’d lived? And he would have told me. Left a note, or a sign, or something to let me know he wasn’t dead. That’s the least that I’d do for him, that’s just what you do, that’s decent. That’s not, that’s not too much. Right?” Sirius said desperately. “ Right? ”
He stared out at the friends surrounding him. None of them spoke.
“I did my best, I did everything I could have, didn’t I? I asked him—” the words caught in his throat. “I asked him to come with me. I said, Regulus, I can’t take it, I’m leaving, I’m done. They’ll disown me and you’ll be the heir if you stay. And you can stay if you want, I know you’ve always been better at— at this, so I get it if you can’t just go, but this right here, right now , is me saying you can come with me. And he didn’t, he stayed, so what was I supposed to do? I had to leave, I had to, with or without him, you understand that, right? I didn’t leave him behind, I didn’t want to. But he chose them. He chose them, he stayed, he—”
Remus caught Sirius as he collapsed forwards, pressing Sirius’s face into his shoulder to let his jumper collect the tears.
“Why didn’t he tell me?” Sirius mumbled into Remus’s chest. “Why didn’t he— why did he let me…”
Remus rubbed his back gently, and Lily went to the kitchen to get water, and James sat next to them and made sure the couch cushions and throw were arranged perfectly. After a few minutes, Sirius pushed himself up out of Remus’s arms with a loud sniff.
“Well?” he said in a watery voice. “What do I do now? Obviously he doesn’t want anything to do with me. I’d rather not bother him further by tracking him down to have a little chat,” he said with a bitter, aborted laugh.
James gave him a look. “If Reg is really that mad at you, that’s on him, alright? It’s more than understandable for you to at least want some closure, if not to try to actually have your brother back in your life. If Aster didn’t want to be found by his one friend with contact to the Muggle world, he’d have hidden better. He talked about David Bowie on live radio, for Merlin’s sake; that’s like a special Sirius Black beacon!”
This actually drew something like a smile out of Sirius, which James counted as a victory. “So,” James continued, “I say we crash his party. Lightly crash, in a friendly way,” he corrected at Sirius’s hilariously scandalised look. “I mean, like, pay him a visit, just to say hi, or at least send an owl.”
Sirius made a face. “I suppose,” he said. “If he doesn't want any of it he can just… kick us out, or not reply, or something.”
“Exactly. So, what do you think? Time to go annoy your dead brother?”
“Too soon!” Sirius exclaimed, but he was holding back a laugh.
—🜂—
Aster Kolin An
May 1982
Aster An had built themself quite a life. They were better than well-off, this time not from centuries-old inheritance, and had several friends, several tens of thousands of fans, and a job they actually quite enjoyed doing. All in all, not a bad two years’ work.
They had achieved this through, on the one hand, pure luck, and on the other a list of three rules they had set for themselves and which they followed to the letter.
Rule One: No magic. This one was fairly straightforward, but Aster had straight away made the decision not to use it even in private, hoping both for extra security and intuitive knowledge of everyday Muggle life.
Rule Two: Forget your life. Aster is not a Black, they are not a former Hogwarts student, they have never heard of Voldemort.
Rule Three: Become Aster. This last step turned out to be much easier than they had expected. The trick, they found, was to put all of the parts of Regulus that Regulus hadn’t been allowed to or had the chance to be into Aster: his interest in the arts, his spontaneity, every one of his damning similarities to his brother. His… femininity.
That last one Aster hadn’t anticipated, but it made perfect sense in retrospect (as most things tend to).
It was freeing, to know they were capable of disappearing so thoroughly that they could be whoever they wanted and simply… go if the consequences got too bad. So they didn’t hold back. Who cares if most Muggles think they’re odd? The ones who don’t will keep talking. Maybe Aster can do some good here too, and even if nothing changes, it feels so good to exist completely without inhibition.
Aster was going shopping today. They liked to do stuff like that themself, even though they didn’t strictly need to, and never bothered to dress or act any differently than usual—though they did make sure not to go to the same place repeatedly for fear of drawing fans there. The grocer they were at currently was a lovely little brick thing on the corner, and Aster had yet to be noticed by anyone who recognized them. They didn’t mind.
Aster’s patterned skirt swished around their knees as they stepped around a lower produce display and approached the checkout. They smoothed down their button-up as the cashier scanned their items with barely a single upward glance.
Finally, the cashier unbent and gave Aster a once-over—this required quite a bit of looking up, which in itself initiated an odd look—as she asked, “D’you need a bag? Plastic costs extra, sorry.”
“Oh, no, thank you. I’ve got my own,” they said, holding up the blue cloth tote over their shoulder. The cashier started. “And I can bag for myself, too,” Aster added with a brilliant grin, rather enjoying the cashier’s double take. Their voice was not particularly deep, but was decidedly more masculine, and today their outfit didn’t quite match up with that; Aster found it amusing when they got such a chance to confuse people.
With that mission achieved, Aster returned to their car—a sleek, pale silver thing, though not too ostentatious—and slid inside, setting the bag in the passenger’s seat.
The drive home was peaceful, though not quite as short as Aster would have liked. It had taken Aster over a year of Muggle life and strong encouragement from Mr. Laurent—Elliot, now, to Aster—to even begin learning how to drive, but now they found they quite enjoyed it. It was so mundane, yet so complicated, almost unnecessarily so.
Home was a sleek, expensive flat near the top of a sleek, expensive building. Aster had not been entirely happy with it at first, but once they started filling it with things—clothing, furniture, art, in a rainbow of colours and textures—it began to feel much more welcoming.
They let themself into the building and took the elevator up to their level (which required a key to exit the elevator and had its own internal buzzer, since they were the only one on that floor). They headed to the kitchen—small but practical—and set the bag on the counter, and then… stopped.
There was someone leaning against the dishwasher, arms crossed and posture carefully casual.
“Hi,” said Sirius.
“Shit,” said Aster.
—🜂—
Sirius Orion Black
May 1982
Regulus looked exactly as he did on the billboards, in the magazines, on television. There was a white noise buzz in Sirius’s head making it hard to think straight.
Regulus sighed. “Come on,” he said. “Into the living room. I’ll make tea.” He clicked on an electric kettle and began opening cupboards. Sirius didn’t move, and seconds later Regulus turned around again. “ Go, Sirius.”
Sirius blinked, opened his mouth, closed it. He went to the living room.
Minutes later, Regulus came out with two identical mugs, handed on to Sirius, and sat in the armchair opposite the couch Sirius had settled himself in the centre of. Regulus crossed his legs. Sirius took a sip of his tea. It was perfect.
“So, how come it took you so long?” Regulus asked. “Honestly I expected you to be at my doorstep the day I mentioned Bowie.”
Sirius scowled. “So that was bait, huh? Needed me to figure it out myself, couldn’t be bothered to tell me right off? You need Sirius, you mention his favourite singer. I’m like a fucking dog.” Regulus raised a single eyebrow and Sirius sighed. “Bad example, shut up. You know what I mean.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Regulus said calmly, and Sirius rolled his eyes. “And before you say anything more, David Bowie is actually one of my favourite musicians, and an influence on my fashion work.”
Sirius stared long and hard at his brother. “This is a dream,” he said finally. “A weird, surreal, twisted dream. I’ve gone mad. Someone’s captured me and tortured me into madness and—“
“Oh, stop being dramatic, brother.”
Sirius stopped speaking in order to scoff incredulously and gesture vigorously at Regulus’s… everything. Regulus gave a slightly sheepish nod, conceding the point. “I suppose that’s hypocritical,” he said, “but the point still stands. You’re perfectly sane—er, bad wording, as sane as usual —and completely awake. Now, stop talking and let me explain.”
Sirius picks up his tea again, and takes a long drink, glaring at Regulus over the rim of the mug. Regulus takes this as assent.
“So, since you seem to already know most of the important bits, let’s just do a bit of a Q-and-A, why don't we? Any questions?”
Sirius set down his mug with a clink. “Yeah. Fine. How’d you do it?” He began. “Survive the cave, I mean.”
Regulus looked like he’d been expecting that. “Kreacher,” he said simply. “He disobeyed orders from the Black heir; I'm so proud.”
Sirius nodded. “So then you, what, decided you were going to fake your death and become a fashion model?”
“That, er,” Regulus rubbed his neck. “That part was actually… entirely an accident. Not part of the plan.”
“Huh,” Sirius said, trying to wrap his head around that. “So you got… recruited?”
“Yeah. It was weird. This man came up to me in a coffee shop, asked me if I was ‘in the market for a new job’. I thought he was asking me out!”
Sirius snorted. “Same thing happened to me the first time somebody thought I was you, actually.”
“The first time somebody— what?”
“Yeah, I never thought we looked that similar. But I guess with a famous brother…”
Regulus looked away, shifting in his chair.
“What is it? You're not my brother anymore? What am I missing?” Sirius said immediately.
Regulus huffed and batted a hand at him. “No! No, shut up, I'm still—” He paused, reorganising himself. “Well, I guess…” He sighed and pulled at his hair. “‘Brother’ is perhaps not the best term for me.”
Sirius sat back, turning away as much as possible while sitting down.
“No— Sirius, that sounds bad, I promise I don't mean what you think I do.”
“Reg, you just said you weren't my brother anymore. What am I supposed to think?”
“I'm not anybody’s brother!”
“ How is that better?”
“I'm not— I'm not a brother. A sibling, maybe. Your sibling. Not brother, though.”
Sirius blinked.
“Sorry, this is stupid,” Regulus said. “I'm still your brother. I'm making this too complicated—”
“Regulus, shut up,” said Sirius. “Or, or… is Regulus still your name? If you say that's what you are, I believe you.”
“Well, I have been going by Aster these days.” Aster smiled ever-so-slightly.
“Aster… of course. Of course! Aster An!” Sirius grinned. “Oh, it’s perfect. Did you— d’you have a middle name too?”
Aster blushed. “Er, yeah. Thought it'd look better on the paperwork.”
“Well, let’s have it, then.” Aster blushed harder. “What?”
“It's, uh, Kolin,” Aster mumbled.
“Colin? Like, C-o-l-i-n?”
“With a ‘k’, but yes. It means dog.”
Sirius laughed out loud. “Of course it does!” he practically sang. “Kolin. Aster Kolin An.” Suddenly, he sat up. “Hey, wait a moment. Re— Aster, did you, did you make your initials A. K. A.? Oh, you’re such a dork, I should have expected this.” He dissolved into giggles. “Oh, my god. It’s ‘also known as’. That’s the stupidest, most brilliant thing you’ve ever done.”
Aster only held out for a few seconds before joining in. “I can name myself whatever I want!” They said through their laughter.
“Yes,” Sirius agreed. “Yes, you can.”
—🜂—
Aster Kolin An
May 1982
The sun had started to set and Aster and Sirius’s mugs were both long-cold by the time they began running out of topics of conversation. There had been a lot to catch up on, after all, and they both had things to tell of.
“Hey, Sirius, I never gave you the grand tour, did I?” Aster said on a whim.
Sirius looked thoughtful. “No, I mean, it seems a lovely place, and I tried not to snoop too much while I waited for you. I’d like to see the rest of it.”
“Ah, yes, I forgot about the breaking and entering.” At Sirius’s faintly guilty look, Aster laughed. “It’s fine, Sirius. You’re my brother after all, and I am, if you recall, rather filthy rich. Come on, I’ll show you around,” they said, standing purposefully.
Sirius followed, and Aster led him through the house room by room. It was not a large house, comfortable for one or maybe two people to live in, but beautifully and thoroughly furnished. The floors were hardwood, the counters stainless steel, the cabinets and shelves either dark polished wood or painted deep green-blue.
The kitchen came first, small but fully equipped, with a small dining room/bar attached. Then a small guest bedroom, and finally Aster’s room.
The room had a wall almost entirely taken up with two huge windows. The bedsheets were Slytherin green, but the rug on the floor was deep blue, and the curtains were black and gold. To the left of the entrance, a door identical to the one they came through led to a bathroom tiled in grey and white, and the last wall was taken up by a folding set of wooden doors. After a cursory tour of the rest of the room, Aster went to the folding doors and drew them back—perhaps with more dramatic flair than he meant to—to reveal a large walk-in closet, obviously the centrepiece of the room.
Garments of all kinds in a rainbow of colors (albeit decidedly oversaturated with black) hung on hangers to the right, with more folded along the left side, and a variety of shoes and accessories along the bottom. Sirius follows them to the closet, pauses, and continues forward at Aster’s welcoming gesture, flicking through the clothes, examining and admiring them.
“Ah yes,” Aster said over Sirius’s shoulder as he held up a slim, deep purple dress made of a shiny, clinging material “That’s one of my favorites. I got to keep it after a shoot; unfortunately I hardly ever have occasion to wear it.”
“It’s lovely,” Sirius said genuinely. “I’d love to see the pictures some time. So you really do like this, huh?”
“What, modelling? Yeah, I think I do,” Aster said. “It’s… different. It’s fun. I’m good at it, and nobody can claim credit for that except for me . It’s refreshing.”
“I can imagine.” Sirius grinned. “If good old Wally could see us now…”
“Yes, I imagine she wouldn’t be impressed,” Aster said, returning the grin. “ Two disgraceful ex-Black-heirs, alive and well among the muggles, neither of us good Pureblood husbands.”
“She knew about my half-blood werewolf boy,” Sirius said. “You, though… that would’ve been a shock for her. Her beloved heir, the golden son; as far as she knows, the worst you ever did was mouth off to our good friend Moldywarts.”
Aster rolled his eyes. “I’ve done worse than that, and she well knows. I was never perfect in her eyes. Better than you, maybe, but still ‘passable at best.’”
“Really?” Sirius said, widening his eyes dramatically. “You were a disappointment too, then? Or enough of one?”
“Enough,” Aster said firmly.
“Enough to be disowned?” Aster frowned at Sirius. “Enough to be ‘disciplined’?” Enough that she never, not ever, not once in my entire life, said she loved me?”
Aster swallowed. “Yes,” they said, unable to look directly at Sirius. Sirius looked about to say something, but Aster cut him off. “Not… not until after you left, before you say anything.”
Sirius took a step back, letting go of the dress so it swung gently back into place. “You should have come,” he said.
“No,” Aster said without pause. “I couldn’t. I wasn’t, I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t there yet.”
“You weren’t— Aster, it was horrible. If it was anything like my years there for you, that was hell on earth.”
“No, I needed to— It had to be me.” Aster hunched over. “I needed to do it myself. My whole life, it’s been other people doing things to me. Things happen to me, I don’t happen to them. I needed one thing from me to myself.”
Sirius said nothing. Under some unspoken shared command, they both found places to sit on Aster’s bed, several feet of space between them.
“It was my fault, really,” Aster said almost pleadingly. “I didn’t know what I wanted, I needed to figure it out for myself—“
“And that’s fine, Aster. I can’t do some things for you and I understand that.” Sirius looked up at the ceiling. “It’s your life. But why—“
“Why didn’t I tell you I was alive?” Aster blew out a long breath. “I… think that, once I finally got my bearings and wasn’t actively on the run, I sort of saw the whole situation as a chance to start over. Merlin , that sounds clichéd, but I was just trying to get out, and away, as much as possible. Just like how you didn’t talk to me after you left.”
Sirius blinked. “Reg— Aster, the first time I tried, you called me a Muggle-lover. ”
Aster winced. “Look, I’m sorry I was a bratty brainwashed teenager, I should have known better. I did know better, I was just desperate for my friends and parents’ approval. You didn’t seem to care about that at all—I was so jealous of that, you can’t even imagine. But that doesn’t mean, I mean, you were there for all of… all of the bad stuff, and I just wanted it all to go away, to forget it—“
“You didn’t tell me because you were planning to cut ties with me completely? Make me part of your mysterious, tragic backstory?”
“That’s what it was at the start, but then I missed you, Sirius. I kept thinking about you.”
“So you started dropping hints, huh? You know where I live. Or if you didn’t you could find it in minutes. Do you know how happy I would have been to see you years ago, instead of having to track you down to follow a hunch?”
“Would you have, Sirius? Why are you happy now? As far as you know, I just pissed off the Dark Lord and then faked my death to escape the consequences.”
“Don’t call him that,” Sirius said desperately. “Only Death Eaters call him the Dark Lord, Regulus.”
“Well, funnily enough, I am a Death Eater, if you recall. And my name is Aster.”
“Don’t say that,” Sirius begged. “Don’t say that. Don’t say that!”
“What?” Aster said bitterly. “Don’t like hearing about how your baby brother went Dark Side? How I turned evil on you?”
“No, stop it—“
“Sirius, I don’t think this is. working. This was a bad idea. I—“
“I’ll go.”
—🜂—
Sirius Orion Black
May 1982
“How’d it go?” James asked immediately as Sirius walked too loudly into the kitchen.
“Great,” said Sirius. “I’m going to bed.”
His bedroom door slammed behind him. James looked at the closed door for a long time, saying nothing.
—🜂—
Aster Kolin An
June 1982
Aster’s usual barista had a weird look on her face this morning. She handed them their usual drink, but stopped them before they went to pay.
“It’s paid for,” she said in a weird tone of voice.
“By who?” Aster asked, surprised. Buying things for millionaires was generally considered unnecessary.
“Er, here,” the barista said awkwardly, digging a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket and handing it over.
Aster smoothed it out. Scrawled across it in messy pencil was a London adress, and a short message:
Aster—
Coffee is on me today. And tomorrow, too, if you don’t mind paying with your company and an open ear. You’re not evil, by the way.
Yours,
Your Bigger Disappointment/Brother
Aster smiled and tucked the paper into their pocket. It looked like they wouldn’t be paying for coffee for a few days.