Pt. 3 To Rockstar Regulus Head Canon

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.