#sibling fluff

By the time she debuted, she could break down pit stop strategies and downforce adjustments better than half the casual fans on Twitter.

Silverstone 2025 – Idol in the Paddock

Carlos had invited her to Silverstone 2025, partly as a family reunion and partly because his little sister’s fame had exploded globally.

Walking into the paddock, she was a duality of chaos:

Outfit straight out of a K-pop airport fashion lookbook: oversized Ferrari jacket, pleated skirt, and heart-shaped sunglasses.

Lanyard swinging around her neck, hair in two braids, waving at mechanics like she owned the place.

Security and media whispering because Katseye’s youngest member was here in the F1 paddock.

“Lando! Oscar! My sister—behave,” Carlos muttered, walking her toward the McLaren garage first as a friendly hello.

Lando Norris leaned against the garage wall, blinking. “Wait… is that… Y/N Sainz?”

Oscar Piastri squinted. “From Katseye?”

She grinned. “Hi! Also, your left-front suspension is looking a little stiff. Did you adjust your camber after FP2?”

Oscar choked. “I—uh—what?”

Lando’s jaw dropped. “You… know about camber?”

She shrugged. “I study cars in my free time. Pit windows, tire temps, all that. My brother’s been teaching me since I was a baby.”

Carlos beamed with pride. “She could probably do my strategy better than half the grid.”

The Drivers are Shook

Word spread fast that Carlos’s little sister wasn’t just a global idol—she was also a walking F1 encyclopedia.

Moments later, Lewis Hamilton (now in Ferrari) passed by and smiled warmly. “So this is the famous sister. I hear you’re smarter than half the engineers already.”

She giggled. “I just think racing lines are like choreography. Hit your marks, follow the rhythm, and don’t miss a beat.”

Charles Leclerc nearly dropped his water bottle. “That… actually makes sense?”

When she peeked into the Ferrari garage, she started explaining slipstreaming to a group of mechanics with her bunny-like enthusiasm. Cameras caught it all, and the internet went wild:

“Katseye Y/N is a full F1 nerd and I love her even more for it 😭🩷” “She went from MAMA stage to the paddock like it’s nothing?? ICON.”

Sibling Chaos

Despite her global idol aura, she was still Carlos’s little sister, which meant chaos followed them everywhere.

She stole his Ferrari cap and wore it backward for half the day.

She live-vlogged a “Ferrari garage tour” for Katseye’s official YouTube (with Carlos in the background groaning).

When she spotted Lando and Oscar eating popsicles, she deadpanned: “Wow, championship diet. Inspiring.” Lando choked.

At one point, she tried on Carlos’s race helmet and dramatically posed for the cameras.

“If I floor it, do I win a Grammy or a Grand Prix?”

The Post-Qualifying Moment

After qualifying, Carlos finished P3, and Y/N was bouncing in the hospitality area, glittery nails tapping against her tablet as she reviewed the lap replay like an actual engineer.

“Your apex at Turn 9 was perfect, but you hesitated into Stowe. Maybe next lap, brake 5 meters later?”

Carlos stared. “…Are you sure you don’t want to ditch K-pop and be my race engineer?”

She grinned. “Nope. But maybe one day I’ll sing the national anthem on your podium.”

Viral Internet Moment

By the end of the weekend, the paddock and the internet were obsessed:

A clip of her explaining tire degradation to Lando with hand gestures went viral.

Fans started calling her “Maknae Engineer”.

Katseye’s fanbase flooded F1 Twitter with fancams of her in the Ferrari garage.

When Carlos finally scored a P2 podium, she was there in her Ferrari jacket, jumping and waving a small Spanish flag.

The cameras caught her yelling in perfect Spanish:

“¡Ese es mi hermano!” (That’s my brother!)

And Carlos pointed straight at her on the cooldown lap.

Back to the Stage

As the weekend ended, she posted a picture on Instagram:

One photo: Her on stage under the lights.

Next photo: Her in the Ferrari garage with a headset and tablet.

Caption: “From encores to engines. Always supporting my brother ❤️ #Katseye #F12025 #PaddockMaknae”

The comments exploded with heart emojis, bunny emojis, and racing flags.

Lily Evans snorted from where she sat perched beside Mary Macdonald, sharing a bag of sweets. “James, your essay was due three weeks ago.”

James put a hand to his chest. “Exactly. The college has had three weeks to emotionally prepare for the fact I’m not doing it.”

“That’s not how deadlines work,” Lily said.

Peter Pettigrew looked deeply into his milkshake as if it might offer wisdom. “I’ve got an apprenticeship review next week.”

Marlene McKinnon leaned forward, elbows on her knees, grin sharp. “And?”

“And I’m scared they’re going to ask me what I’ve learned.”

Fabian Prewett, standing behind Peter with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie, made a thoughtful face. “Tell them fear.”

Gideon nodded solemnly beside him. “Fear is a transferable skill.”

Frank Longbottom, who had been trying to untangle his earphones for the last ten minutes and losing the battle, sighed. “I’ve got an assessment at work tomorrow. They’re making me demonstrate customer complaint handling.”

Alice Fortescue bumped her shoulder gently into his. “You’re good with customers.”

“I am good with customers,” Frank agreed. “I am not good with customers who shout at me because their loyalty points didn’t scan.”

Mary popped a sweet into her mouth. “I’d cry.”

“You cry at adverts,” Marlene said.

“Some adverts are emotional.”

Sirius looked at his phone.

Then he froze.

His entire face changed.

James, who knew Sirius well enough to recognise the very specific expression of oh no, I remembered I’m legally related to another human being, narrowed his eyes.

“What?”

Sirius stood up so abruptly that Peter flinched and nearly dropped his milkshake.

“I’ve got to go.”

Everyone stared at him.

“You’ve got to what?” James asked, wounded instantly. “We’re in the middle of a very important cultural moment.”

“You’re eating chips on a wall,” Lily said.

“Exactly. British heritage.”

Sirius shoved his phone into his pocket. “I’ve got to pick up Reg.”

Remus blinked. “Reg?”

“My sister.”

The effect was immediate.

James sat upright. Peter’s mouth fell open. Mary and Marlene exchanged a look so fast it could have been rehearsed. Alice frowned like she was flipping through mental files. Frank stopped fighting his earphones. Fabian and Gideon both leaned in at the same time.

“You have a sister?” Mary asked.

Sirius stared at her. “Yes?”

“You never talk about her,” Marlene said.

“I talk about her.”

James laughed. “Mate, you talk about your hair more than your sister.”

“My hair is a full-time emotional commitment.”

Remus tilted his head. “Reg as in Regulus?”

Sirius huffed, already walking backwards a few steps. “Regulus. She hates when people make a thing of it. She’s sixteen. I need to pick her up.”

Lily stood, brushing off her coat. “From where?”

“The theatre.”

Peter squinted. “Like… cinema?”

“No, Peter, like theatre. Stage. Plays. Actors. Dramatic people.”

James was already moving after him, carton of chips still in hand. “Your little sister’s an actor?”

“She’s in a play.”

Marlene grinned. “What play?”

Sirius hesitated for half a second, which was fatal.

Fabian caught it immediately. “Oh, that’s a face.”

Gideon gasped. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It is not embarrassing,” Sirius snapped.

James jogged to catch up with him. “Now we’re definitely coming.”

“No, you’re not.”

“We are.”

“You are not.”

Mary fell into step with Lily. “We are absolutely coming.”

Alice took Frank’s hand and pulled him along. “It’d be rude to let Sirius walk alone.”

Remus, calm as ever, drifted beside Sirius with the faintest smile. “What play?”

Sirius looked deeply annoyed, which meant he was secretly pleased and trying to swallow it before anyone noticed.

“Mean Girls.”

There was a beat.

Then Marlene barked a laugh so loud a pigeon startled off a bin.

“Your sister’s in Mean Girls?”

James’s eyes lit up. “Oh my God.”

“She playing someone in the ensemble?” Peter asked.

Sirius gave him an offended look. “No.”

Lily’s eyebrows rose. “Who is she playing?”

Sirius’s jaw tightened around what was obviously pride dressed up as irritation. “Regina George.”

Everyone exploded at once.

“Shut up,” Mary said.

“No way,” Marlene said.

“Your baby sister?” James demanded.

“She’s not a baby,” Sirius said, too quickly.

“You just called her Reg,” Remus said.

“That is a nickname, not an age classification.”

Fabian pointed at him. “He’s proud.”

Gideon grinned. “Disgustingly proud.”

“I’m not,” Sirius said.

“You are,” Lily said. “You’ve gone all shiny.”

“I have not gone shiny.”

“You have,” Alice said, delighted. “It’s sweet.”

Sirius turned and started walking faster. “She’s at rehearsal. I promised I’d get her McDonald’s after, and then we’re going home to watch a film.”

James clutched his chest with his free hand. “You have sibling movie night?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s adorable.”

“I’ll kill you in traffic.”

Remus’s smile softened in that quiet way he had, eyes flicking to Sirius’s face. “You pick her up often?”

“Yeah,” Sirius muttered. “When she’s got rehearsals late. Mum and Dad are useless, and she likes someone there. So.”

That shut James up for almost four full seconds.

Then he said, “What film?”

Sirius shoved him without looking. “Whatever she picks.”

“So Mean Girls.”

“No. She says watching the film when she’s rehearsing the show is bad luck.”

Mary nodded seriously. “Theatre kid logic. Respect it.”

The theatre was only ten minutes from the high street, tucked down a side road between a tiny café and a charity shop with a window display that looked like someone had lost a fight with Christmas decorations. It was not huge, but it had that proud local-theatre look: posters in glass cases, black-painted doors, warm light spilling into the foyer, and the faint smell of dust, paint, coffee, and hairspray.

Sirius pushed through the entrance like he belonged there.

The others hovered awkwardly behind him for exactly two seconds before following.

A woman behind the desk looked up, then broke into a smile.

“Sirius! Here for Reg?”

Sirius lifted a hand. “Yeah. Is she still on?”

“They’re running the big number again.” The woman glanced behind him at the group now filling the lobby like a very chaotic youth club trip. “You’ve brought an audience today?”

Sirius sighed. “They followed me.”

James leaned forward with his brightest smile. “We’re very supportive.”

Marlene added, “And nosy.”

“At least you’re honest,” the woman said, laughing. She pointed them through. “Quietly, then. They’re mid-rehearsal.”

Sirius made a sharp gesture at James. “You heard her. Quietly.”

James mimed zipping his mouth shut.

Lily gave him a flat look. “That lasts until we hit the door.”

“It might last longer.”

“It won’t.”

They slipped through the side doors and into the auditorium.

The theatre room opened around them in a hush of dim seats and stage light. A handful of actors sat scattered in the front rows, scripts in their laps, water bottles by their feet. More stood onstage in loose rehearsal formations, dressed in leggings, trainers, oversized jumpers, bits of costume, normal clothes not yet transformed by performance.

At the centre of it all stood Regulus Black.

For half a second, none of them moved.

Because Sirius’s little sister was not what they had pictured.

She was sixteen, yes, but she carried herself on that stage like she owned the entire building and had signed the deed in blood-red lipstick. She was dressed in the kind of cute, sharp casual clothes that looked effortless only because a frightening amount of thought had gone into them: a pale pink fitted baby tee cropped just enough to show a sliver of stomach when she lifted her arms, a white pleated mini skirt sitting high on her waist, sheer tights with tiny sparkles catching under the lights, chunky white trainers, and a soft cream cardigan hanging loose off one shoulder like she had decided warmth was optional but drama was compulsory. Her hair was glossy and styled half-up with a pink claw clip, little face-framing pieces curled neatly around her cheeks. Gold hoops flashed at her ears. Her lip gloss shone like it had its own lighting designer.

She looked sweet.

Then the music snapped in.

And she became lethal.

Her chin lifted. Her whole face cooled. The bubbly softness vanished as if someone had shut a door. Her eyes sharpened, her mouth curved, and suddenly she was not a teenage girl at rehearsal in a local theatre.

She was Regina George, and the room belonged to her.

“Oh,” Lily whispered.

Sirius, without looking away, whispered back, “Yeah.”

Regulus stepped forward, shoulders loose, smile venomous.

“My name is Regina George,” she sang, voice clear and strong enough to cut straight through the dim auditorium. “And I am a massive deal.”

James’s eyebrows flew up.

Peter’s milkshake straw slipped from his mouth.

Frank went completely still.

Remus’s expression changed first into surprise, then something like admiration.

Marlene mouthed, bloody hell.

Regulus crossed the stage with the kind of confidence that looked casual until she turned and hit the next line like a threat wrapped in glitter.

“I will grind you to sand beneath my Louboutin-ed heel.”

Mary grabbed Lily’s sleeve.

“She’s good,” Mary breathed.

“She’s really good,” Lily whispered back.

Sirius’s face was painfully smug.

James looked sideways at him. “Why did you not mention your sister could sing like that?”

Sirius hissed, “Shut up and watch.”

Onstage, the ensemble shifted behind Regulus, moving with her, orbiting her like sparks around a match. She flicked her wrist, rolled her eyes, and snapped into the next words with the wounded fury of someone far too glamorous to be inconvenienced by betrayal.

“This is what I get for helping,” Regulus sang, stalking across the stage. “Helping someone lame fit in.”

She turned sharply, pointing into the imaginary distance with a smile that could have peeled paint.

“Cady Heron, enjoy your temporary win.”

Fabian leaned close to Gideon. “I’m frightened.”

Gideon nodded. “Appropriately.”

The director, seated near the front with a notebook on her knee, watched intently, pen hovering, her face lit by the stage. One of the producers stood near the aisle with arms folded, smiling like she already knew this was going to be the number people talked about after opening night.

Regulus planted herself downstage, hands on her hips, and sang again, louder, brighter, meaner.

“My name is Regina George.”

Then she pivoted as the ensemble filled the space around her.

From behind, a voice from the ensemble shouted, “Regina is a fugly cow.”

James choked silently.

Marlene slapped a hand over her mouth.

Peter looked scandalised.

Regulus turned back to the audience with a smile so sharp it deserved its own weapon licence.

“Hey Cady,” she sang, “how ya like me now?”

Then she belted.

The note rose and rose, bright and ridiculous and clean, filling the room until it felt too big for the little theatre, until even the actors waiting in the front rows stopped fidgeting and looked up properly. She held it with her shoulders back, one hand curled by her side, face blazing with Regina’s fury.

Sirius forgot to look casual.

His mouth parted slightly.

His eyes went soft.

Alice saw it and smiled to herself.

When the note finally broke into the next phrase, Regulus moved like a spark catching paper.

“I wanna watch the world burn,” she sang, dragging the line out with wicked satisfaction. “I got the gasoline...”

The ensemble shifted again, bodies angling, whispers and movement gathering behind her.

“I wanna watch the world burn,” Regulus continued, eyes glittering under the lights, “and everyone get mean...”

Remus leaned nearer to Sirius. “She’s terrifying.”

Sirius whispered, “She’s five-foot-nothing and once cried because a pigeon limped.”

“She’s currently making me fear for democracy.”

Sirius’s mouth twitched.

Onstage, Regulus spun back, voice stronger, sharper.

“I wanna watch the world burn, I got the gasoline.”

The ensemble pressed closer behind her in formation, backing her like a storm cloud.

“I wanna watch the world burn, and everyone get mean!”

Marlene whispered, “I love her.”

“You’ve known she exists for six minutes,” Lily whispered.

“And I’m correct.”

Regulus snapped toward the imaginary Cady again, pointing with a vicious little smile.

“Cady, time to watch your back!”

She took another step.

“Cady, time to turn and cough!”

Frank blinked rapidly, then whispered, “That was very aggressive.”

Alice’s eyes were wide with delight. “It’s meant to be.”

Regulus’s voice dropped into something furious and wounded.

“Because you took me down!”

A pause. Her face hardened.

“But you didn’t finish me off!”

Then she belted again.

This note was bigger. Angrier. Cleaner than it had any right to be. It punched straight through the room and seemed to leave the air vibrating after it.

Peter whispered, “Is Sirius’s sister famous?”

“Not yet,” James whispered back.

Sirius shot them both a look that said he had heard them, agreed, and would still kill them if they kept talking.

Regulus threw her head back into the next line.

“My name is Regina George!”

She turned, stepping into the choreography with the ensemble, every movement crisp: shoulder, hip, sharp little turn, hand slicing the air. She was not just singing it; she was acting every breath. Regina’s rage lived in the tilt of her chin, in the little flash of teeth, in the way she looked out at the empty seats as if deciding who deserved mercy and finding nobody.

“And in case you’re keeping score!”

The ensemble moved around her, a sudden shuffle of bodies and voices.

“Cady may have won the battle,” Regulus sang, “but I will win the war.”

She held the next beat.

“For—”

The music swelled.

“I wanna watch the world burn.”

Behind her, the ensemble burst out, “Trang Pak is a grotsky beyotch!”

Peter’s eyes went huge.

Mary whispered, “Local theatre is so underrated.”

Regulus pointed down at the stage with a grin, voice slipping through the noise.

“I brought the gasoline.”

The ensemble hit back immediately. “Ms. Norbury’s a drug pusher!”

Regulus swept her arm across the room like she was setting the whole town alight. “I wanna make the world burn!”

“Janis is a space-dyke!” the ensemble shouted, the line jagged and ugly in exactly the way the scene needed it to be.

Lily’s expression tightened for half a second at the slur, but then her eyes flicked back to Regulus’s face, because Regulus was playing the cruelty, not enjoying it. That was the difference. The meanness was a mask she held up to the light so everyone could see the cracks in it.

The ensemble surged again.

“Regina is a fugly cow! Regina is a fugly cow!”

Regulus stood in the middle of it all, breathing hard, eyes bright with dangerous satisfaction.

“And you can quote this!”

Then she belted a long, huge, ringing “woah-oh-oh” that had James actually whispering, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath.

Sirius, smug beyond saving now, whispered, “That’s my sister.”

Remus gave him a sideways look. “You’re glowing.”

“I’m not glowing.”

“You’re basically a proud disco ball.”

Sirius elbowed him, but softly.

Onstage, the ensemble’s voices snapped into panic and accusation.

“Who wrote this? Who wrote this? Who wrote this?”

Regulus turned through them, feeding off it, grinning with the manic confidence of a queen who had set fire to her own throne just to watch everyone scream.

“I wanna watch the world burn!”

Her hand hit her chest.

“I got the gasoline!”

She took two sharp steps forward.

“I wanna watch the world burn and everyone turn mean!”

“So mean!” the ensemble called.

Regulus snapped back, “Mean!”

“So mean!”

“Mean!”

Then Regulus and the ensemble hit the final word together, a long belted “Mean!” that filled the whole theatre until even Fabian and Gideon looked impressed instead of amused.

The director’s pen had stopped moving.

One of the actors in the front row mouthed along with the words, eyes fixed on Regulus like she was watching someone pull off a magic trick without magic.

Regulus stalked across the stage again, hair bouncing, cardigan slipping further off one shoulder and somehow making the whole thing look more deliberate.

“I wanna watch the world burn!”

Behind her, the ensemble chanted, “Who wrote this? Who wrote this?”

Regulus spun. “I wanna make the world turn!”

“Who wrote this? Who wrote this?”

She paused, breathing in the beat, one arm lifted, face lit with vicious triumph.

“So—”

Then she hit it.

“Mean!”

The belted note shot clean through the room.

Mary’s jaw dropped.

Marlene leaned forward in her seat like she wanted to throw flowers.

Alice pressed both hands over her mouth, smiling behind them.

Frank whispered, “She’s incredible.”

Lily, quietly, said, “She really is.”

The ensemble’s chant built behind her, overlapping and frantic.

“Who wrote this? Who wrote this? Who wrote this? Who wrote this?”

Regulus held the centre like gravity.

“Who wrote this? Mean!”

The ensemble broke around her.

“Who wrote this? Who could be so—”

And then Regulus stepped into the very front of the stage, looked out into the empty theatre like she could see every enemy she’d ever made, and sang one final time.

“I wanna watch the world burn!”

The last belted note was enormous.

Not just loud. Controlled. Bright. Full. The sort of note that made the hairs rise on people’s arms, the sort of note that proved she knew exactly what she was doing and had no intention of apologising for it.

The music cut.

The ensemble froze.

Regulus froze with them, chest rising, eyes cold, mouth set in Regina George’s victorious little smile.

For one second, the theatre was silent.

Then the director clapped once, sharp and delighted.

“Good. Good, Regulus, that was much better through the transition.”

And Regulus Black vanished.

Not physically, obviously. She was still standing there in the pink top and white skirt, still glowing under the lights, still breathing hard.

But Regina disappeared as if she had never existed.

Regulus blinked, smiled, and suddenly she was all warmth.

“Yeah?” she said, voice bright, sweet, almost breathless. “I was trying not to rush the bit after the ensemble comes in, because last time I think I fully sprinted through it.”

James stared.

Peter stared.

Mary stared.

Marlene looked like she had just witnessed possession.

Lily’s mouth twitched.

Remus leaned slowly toward Sirius. “That is deeply unsettling.”

Sirius whispered, delighted, “I know.”

The director nodded, flicking through her notes. “It was cleaner. Your diction is much better on the Cady lines, and the last belt is fantastic, but don’t throw away the score line. Let the audience catch it.”

Regulus nodded quickly, hands clasped behind her back, suddenly looking like the politest person alive.

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Sorry, I get excited there.”

“No need to apologise,” said the producer near the aisle. “The energy is exactly right.”

Regulus beamed.

It was absurd. Five seconds ago, she had looked ready to burn down civilisation in heels. Now she looked like she might offer to help stack chairs.

One of the ensemble actors jogged over and nudged her shoulder. “You absolutely murdered that last note.”

Regulus made a tiny embarrassed noise. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did,” another actor said from the back. “My soul left my body.”

Regulus laughed, bubbly and bright, nothing like Regina’s razor-edged smile. “Sorry. I’ll give it back.”

Marlene whispered, “I want to be her when I grow up.”

“You are older than her,” Lily said.

“Spiritually, I’m not.”

Sirius finally stepped into the aisle, unable to wait any longer.

Regulus spotted him instantly.

Her entire face lit up.

“Sirius!”

There it was: no coolness, no stage venom, no queen-bee stare. Just a sixteen-year-old girl in sparkly tights and trainers, hopping down from the edge of the stage with careless familiarity.

Sirius opened his arms automatically, as if this was a routine older-brother reflex he would deny under oath.

Regulus crashed into him.

“You’re early,” she said into his coat.

“I’m not early. You’re dramatic.”

“I was rehearsing.”

“You were threatening to grind people into sand.”

“That was Regina. I’m innocent.”

“You’re never innocent.”

She pulled back with a gasp, scandalised and grinning. “Rude.”

Then she noticed the group behind him.

Her eyes widened.

Sirius winced.

“Before you say anything—”

Regulus looked from Sirius to James to Remus to Peter to Lily to Mary to Marlene to Alice to Frank to Fabian to Gideon.

Then she smiled.

Not Regina’s smile.

Hers.

Big, bright, sweet enough to rot teeth.

“Oh my God, hi.”

Every single one of Sirius’s friends, who had just watched this girl perform theatrical murder with a belted note, responded like they had been greeted by royalty.

James straightened. “Hi.”

Peter lifted his milkshake awkwardly. “Hello.”

Mary waved too fast. “Hi.”

Marlene pointed at the stage. “You were insane.”

Regulus’s cheeks went pink. “Thank you.”

“No, like, scary insane,” Marlene said. “In a good way. I felt personally attacked.”

Regulus laughed. “That’s the goal.”

Lily stepped forward, smiling warmly. “You’re really talented.”

Regulus’s blush deepened. “Thank you. That’s really nice.”

Sirius made a smug little sound.

Regulus turned on him immediately. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a noise.”

“A supportive noise.”

“A weird brother noise.”

James lit up. “He’s been making those all day.”

“I have not,” Sirius said.

Remus, traitorously gentle, said, “You have.”

Regulus looked delighted. “Has he been embarrassing?”

“Yes,” said Lily.

“No,” said Sirius at the same time.

Fabian stepped forward with a grin. “He told us he was picking you up and then tried to act like he wasn’t proud.”

Gideon nodded. “Failed miserably.”

Regulus turned back to Sirius, eyes shining with wicked joy. “You’re proud?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “No.”

She stared at him.

He lasted three seconds.

“Fine. Obviously I’m proud. You just yelled the roof off.”

Regulus bounced once on her toes. “You think it was good?”

Sirius looked genuinely offended. “Good? Reg, that last note nearly killed Peter.”

Peter nodded, serious. “It did.”

“I saw a tunnel,” James added.

Mary pointed at Regulus. “And the character switch afterwards? Terrifying. You went from evil blonde dictator to literal sunshine.”

Regulus giggled. “That’s acting.”

Marlene crossed her arms. “That’s witchcraft.”

“No magic,” Sirius said. “Just annoying talent.”

Regulus leaned into his side and smiled sweetly. “You love me.”

“I tolerate you.”

“You promised McDonald’s.”

“I love you.”

She patted his arm. “Thought so.”

Alice stepped forward, still smiling. “How long have you been rehearsing?”

“Since, like, after school,” Regulus said. “We’ve been doing that number mostly because the timing’s a nightmare with everyone coming in at the right points.”

Frank nodded, earnest. “It looked really clean.”

“Thank you,” Regulus said, and she sounded genuinely thrilled by every bit of praise, like she was collecting it carefully in her hands.

The director called from the front, “Regulus, you’re free to go in a minute. Just remember what I said about the score line.”

Regulus turned at once. “Yeah, definitely. Thank you!”

Then she looked back at Sirius. “Can I get changed first?”

Sirius looked her outfit up and down. “That’s not costume?”

“No, this is rehearsal clothes.”

James blinked. “That’s rehearsal clothes?”

Regulus glanced down at herself. “Yeah?”

Marlene nodded approvingly. “Icon behaviour.”

Lily smiled. “Very Regina.”

Regulus looked pleased. “That was the point. If I dress boring, I rehearse boring.”

Remus looked amused. “Sound logic.”

“It is,” Regulus said seriously. “You can’t emotionally destroy a school in grey joggers.”

Sirius pointed at her. “That is going on a mug.”

Regulus gasped. “It should.”

Peter leaned toward James. “I’d buy it.”

James nodded. “Same.”

Regulus slipped back toward the stage to grab her bag, and the group watched as three different actors stopped her to compliment the run. Each time, she reacted with the same sweet, fluttery surprise, thanking them like she could not quite believe it, despite having just commanded the stage like a tiny pink tyrant.

Mary watched with soft eyes. “She’s lovely.”

Sirius looked after Regulus with that proud glow again, less hidden this time. “Yeah. She is.”

James nudged him. “You never told us she was cool.”

Sirius scoffed. “I didn’t want you lot near her.”

Lily arched an eyebrow. “Because we’re terrible?”

“Yes.”

Remus said, “Reasonable.”

Frank looked wounded. “I’m not terrible.”

Sirius glanced at him. “You’re acceptable.”

Frank smiled. “I’ll take it.”

Regulus came back a minute later with a small bag over one shoulder and her cardigan properly pulled on now, though it still looked more stylish than warm. She had removed the claw clip and redone her hair looser, making her look even younger somehow. Softer. Still glowing from rehearsal.

“Ready,” she said.

Sirius looked at her bag. “Got everything?”

“Yes.”

“Script?”

“Yes.”

“Water bottle?”

“Yes.”

“Phone?”

She pulled it from her cardigan pocket and waved it.

“Keys?”

“In my bag.”

“Lip gloss you’ll panic about losing halfway home?”

Regulus paused.

Then she dug into her bag and pulled out the lip gloss triumphantly. “Ha.”

Sirius nodded. “Professional.”

James leaned toward Remus. “He is such a brother.”

Remus murmured, “Painfully.”

Regulus looked at the whole group. “Are you all coming to McDonald’s?”

There was a sudden silence.

Sirius turned slowly. “No.”

James said, “Yes.”

Mary said, “We don’t want to intrude.”

Marlene said, “I absolutely do.”

Lily gave Sirius a look. “We can leave you two alone.”

Regulus looked up at Sirius. “I don’t mind.”

Sirius softened at once, because apparently that was all it took.

“Fine,” he said. “But I’m buying Reg’s, not all of yours. You lot have jobs.”

“I do not,” James said.

“You have parents.”

“Barely counts.”

They started filing out of the theatre, Regulus tucked comfortably beside Sirius, chatting as they walked through the lobby.

The woman at the desk waved. “Brilliant today, Reg!”

Regulus waved back with both fingers wiggling. “Thank you!”

Outside, the evening had turned colder. Streetlights had clicked on, throwing pale circles onto the pavement, and the town had shifted into that after-school, after-work hum: people heading home, shops closing, teenagers loitering, traffic crawling slowly past.

Sirius immediately adjusted his pace to match Regulus’s shorter steps.

James saw it. So did Lily. So did Remus. No one said anything for the rare and holy reason that Sirius looked too happy to tease.

Regulus, meanwhile, was in the middle of explaining something to Mary and Alice about rehearsal notes.

“It’s not even the singing that’s the hardest,” she said, gesturing with both hands as she walked. “It’s keeping the character through the transitions, because if I think too much about the choreography, my face goes blank and then I look like I’ve forgotten where I am.”

“You didn’t look blank at all,” Alice said.

“Good,” Regulus said, relieved. “Because inside my brain it was just panic and counts.”

Marlene grinned. “You looked like you were about to commit crimes.”

“That’s also panic and counts.”

Fabian laughed. “Respect.”

Gideon added, “Theatre is just organised crime with better lighting.”

Regulus pointed at him. “Exactly.”

James walked backwards in front of her for a few steps, grinning. “So, Regina George.”

Regulus narrowed her eyes playfully. “What about her?”

“Do you enjoy being mean?”

She smiled sweetly. “Only professionally.”

Sirius snorted.

Remus said, “She’s got your timing.”

Sirius looked proud, then immediately tried to look offended. “Excuse you, she’s much nicer than me.”

Regulus patted his arm. “It’s okay. You have other qualities.”

“Like what?”

She thought about it.

Sirius stopped walking. “Reg.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Regulus.”

“You have nice hair.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

Sirius looked betrayed. “My own sister.”

Regulus grinned up at him. “And you buy me McDonald’s.”

“Beautiful. Reduced to hair and nuggets.”

“Not nuggets,” she said. “Chicken mayo.”

“Obviously.”

Peter, walking behind them, whispered to Frank, “They’re cute.”

Frank whispered back, “Don’t let Sirius hear you.”

“I heard that,” Sirius called.

Regulus beamed. “We are cute.”

Sirius sighed. “Unfortunately.”

By the time they reached McDonald’s, James had somehow finished his chips and declared himself starving again. Lily called him impossible. Marlene ordered like she had been preparing for battle. Peter took so long deciding that Fabian threatened to order for him. Frank and Alice shared fries. Gideon insisted he only wanted a drink and then immediately stole half of Fabian’s food.

Sirius bought Regulus exactly what he had promised.

She accepted the bag like a sacred offering.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning into his side.

Sirius kissed the top of her head without thinking.

James saw it.

James’s face changed with delight.

Sirius pointed at him instantly. “Don’t.”

James raised both hands. “I said nothing.”

“You were about to.”

“I would never.”

“You absolutely would.”

Regulus looked between them, amused. “Does he always argue with people before they’ve spoken?”

“Yes,” Lily said.

“Constantly,” Remus said.

“It’s a defensive gift,” Sirius said.

They claimed a long table near the back, noisy and crowded and bright under the fluorescent lights. Regulus sat beside Sirius with her food in front of her, still talking animatedly now that the nerves had fully burned off.

James kept asking questions about the show because he had the attention span of a golden retriever and the enthusiasm of one too.

“So do you get, like, properly nervous?”

“Before singing? Yeah,” Regulus said, unwrapping her burger. “But then the music starts and it’s fine.”

“How?”

She shrugged. “Because I’m not me then.”

Remus looked interested. “You find that easier?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “Like, if I’m nervous as me, that’s embarrassing. If Regina is angry, that’s useful.”

Lily smiled. “That makes sense.”

Marlene pointed a fry at her. “You were way too good at being evil.”

Regulus smiled around a bite. “Thank you.”

Sirius frowned at Marlene. “Don’t encourage her.”

“She should be encouraged,” Mary said. “She’s brilliant.”

Regulus tried to hide her smile behind her cup.

Alice leaned her chin on her hand. “When’s opening night?”

Regulus glanced at Sirius.

He answered immediately. “Three weeks.”

Regulus blinked. “You remembered?”

Sirius gave her a look. “Course I remembered.”

Her smile turned soft.

Everyone noticed.

Sirius noticed everyone noticing.

He kicked James under the table before James could say anything.

“Ow,” James said.

“Prevention,” Sirius replied.

Regulus laughed into her drink.

For a while, the table settled into easy noise. Coursework complaints returned. Apprenticeship horror stories got exaggerated until Frank was telling Regulus about loyalty points like it was a war wound, and Regulus listened with complete seriousness. Mary asked about costumes. Lily asked whether the show was tiring. Marlene demanded to know if Regulus got to yell at people often. Fabian and Gideon started debating whether Regina George could survive working retail. Peter suggested she would become manager in a day.

“She’d fire everyone,” Marlene said.

“She’d promote herself,” Gideon said.

“She’d make the uniform pink,” Mary said.

“She’d weaponise the staff rota,” Lily said.

Regulus nodded solemnly. “She would.”

James pointed at her. “Would you?”

Regulus smiled sweetly. “Only if necessary.”

Sirius leaned back, arms folded, looking around the table as if he had accidentally let two parts of his life touch and discovered the world had not ended. His friends were being loud and stupid. His little sister was laughing. There was ketchup on Peter’s sleeve. James was trying to steal one of Lily’s fries and failing because Lily had reflexes like a cat. Remus looked calm and fond. Marlene was already insisting they all had to come to the show. Regulus was glowing under cheap fast-food lighting, all pink gloss and sparkly tights and post-rehearsal happiness.

Sirius looked at her.

Regulus caught him staring.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

“That’s true.”

“Rude again.”

“You love me.”

Sirius sighed dramatically, as if the burden was immense. “Yeah. I do.”

Regulus’s smile softened, but only for a second before she bumped his shoulder with hers.

“Good. You’re still paying for McFlurry.”

Sirius groaned.

James slapped the table. “Sibling movie night and dessert? Black, you’re domesticated.”

Sirius pointed a fry at him. “Keep talking and I’ll make you walk home.”

James looked at Regulus. “Would he?”

Regulus nodded. “Definitely.”

Remus said, “But he’d feel bad halfway through.”

Sirius said, “I would not.”

Regulus and Remus both looked at him.

Sirius lasted two seconds.

“Fine. I’d turn around.”

James grinned. “Soft.”

Sirius threw the fry at him.

Regulus laughed so hard she nearly dropped her drink, bright and loud and nothing at all like the girl who had stood under theatre lights and promised to burn the world down.

And later, when they finally left McDonald’s and spilled back out into the evening, still talking over each other, still laughing, still walking too slowly down the pavement, Sirius kept Regulus close on his left side without thinking.

She leaned into him without asking.

The town hummed around them.

No stage lights. No choreography. No audience.

Just Sirius Black and his little sister, heading home for a film after rehearsal, with half his friends trailing behind them and pretending not to be completely charmed.

Regulus looked up at him as they walked.

“You really thought I was good?”

Sirius glanced down, face softer than he would ever admit in front of James Potter.

“Reg,” he said, “you were fucking amazing.”

She smiled at the pavement, pleased and shy and sparkling.

Then she lifted her chin, flicked her hair over her shoulder, and said in the coldest, meanest Regina voice, “Obviously.”

Everyone lost it.

Text:

Mabel: You thinkin' what I'm thinkin', Grunkle Stan?

Stan: Way ahead of ya, sweetheart.

She is unfamiliar with him yet, unaware of just how inept he is with the subject of nightmares. Not his own, of course. He has experienced plenty in his years. But with his brothers’. He has never been the first choice for comfort. Not even the second or third. They would rely first on their own methods of self-soothing than come to him. That is a fair and logical assessment. He understands in the same vein that it grieves him. 

After all, he did not choose to be as he is. And in all his vast and impressive knowledge, he cannot seem to figure out any other way to be. He can rewire innumerable systems effortlessly, and yet his own mind is untouchable. It is frustrating, but it is a fact. He has come to reluctantly accept it. 

Omega does not know that. Not yet. 

But she will. She is incredibly observant. It is only a matter of time. 

Tech turns to face the doorway and acknowledges her fully. “Omega.” 

The little clone girl stands there, stiffly, Wrecker’s worn stuffed animal strangled in her narrow arms. They watch each other for several long moments. Tech is not sure what she is waiting for. Or what he is waiting for, for that matter. 

He clears his throat. “Is there something I can assist you with?” 

Omega blinks at him, and she suddenly looks all too much like a young Crosshair. Pale hair and knowing eyes, searching his face for something Tech could never hope to grasp. But Crosshair is gone, and Omega is here. 

Tech moves his gaze to the ship floor between his boots.

“I dreamed I was still on Kamino,” Omega tells him. 

Tech nods. “I see. That must have been disorienting.” 

Omega makes a quiet noise of assent. Then, “Can I stay with you?” 

Tech forces himself to look up at her soft, open expression. “If that would be helpful, of course.” 

Omega smiles at him, and Crosshair vanishes behind the gentle expression. “Thanks, Tech.” She moves to the copilot’s seat and climbs up; one arm still protectively wrapped around Lula’s stuffed neck. Omega shifts and adjusts her position to make herself comfortable. 

Silence reclaims the cockpit, but Tech cannot find it in himself to go back to his previous task. So, he waits attentively, should Omega want to say or ask anything else. 

Tech is surprised when his own voice speaks up, unprompted. “You are here, and you are safe, Omega. I find that it is helpful to reiterate known facts when one’s subconscious has suggested falsehood.” 

Omega smiles at him, and if he isn’t mistaken, there is something like relief evident in the sudden slack of her shoulders. “It helps more when you say it,” she tells him. 

Surprise seems to be Tech’s other companion in the cockpit tonight. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Omega says, but to his disappointment, she does not elaborate further. 

“Any of the others would have said as much,” Tech assures her. 

“But it’s different hearing it from the smartest person in the whole galaxy,” Omega returns indulgently. 

A warmth of pride floods his chest cavity, even if her assessment is an astronomical exaggeration. “Well,” he tells her, chuckling. “I am seldom wrong.” 

Omega’s smile deepens. “That’s why I knew you’d help me most.” 

Most. 

More than Hunter or Wrecker or Echo. 

Gratified by this unexpected turn of events, Tech smiles back. Perhaps Omega is more aware than he initially anticipated. 

Fascinating.