Title: Sirius Mistakes

Team: Caerphilly Catapults

Position: Chaser 2

Prompts: (Mirror Dimension) Write about a story where good is evil and evil is good, or you could write about reverse characterizations. Think polar opposite from canon. A Portkey (2), 12 Grimmauld Place (3), Cloudy (11)

Betas: Sky and Bea

Warnings: Mild Swearing and Abuse

Fawkes watched from his perch as Albus copied the same message to different sheets of parchment, he was sending invitations. His old friend seemed more smug than usual and the bird couldn't help but wish that all stayed well. It was a dangerous time for the world when his friend Albus felt smug enough to drop his pretense of being a senile old man.

Albus looked up from his last letter to meet the gaze of the bird who was watching him carefully. "Ah Fawkes, dear friend, come here I have something important to show you."

Fawkes flew from his perch to land on Albus' wooden desk where he stood next to the pile of letters and by his friend's arm.

"These are, as I'm sure you can guess, invitations to invite the right people to join this group I'm forming. I'm naming it after you, my dear, The Order of The Phoenix."

He set his quill into its ink bottle and moved to stroke Fawkes' neck with his right hand. Wordlessly, the man summoned a yellowing picture to his left and looked at it for a long moment. He stared at the excited bouncing of his red-headed younger self next to his blond-haired love. Gellert stood with an arm around young Albus' waist, a small smile on his face.

Dumbledore closed his eyes before moving to face Fawkes. "I'm finally doing it, Fawkes"

"We are finally doing it. We're finally going to make progress on our plan," he looked down to face the picture, picking it up again and murmuring under his breath. Fawkes still heard him.

"I just need you to wait a little longer," his voice shook slightly, "I found some people that will help you with your goals, dear. I just need a little time to get myself out of here and you out of there." He set his jaw, "And then, I will give you the world, my love."

"Arianna will finally be avenged for what those Muggles," he said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth, "did to her and Justice will be served." His lips quirked upward, "And you and I, my dear, will lead together. We'll create a better world."

He closed his eyes, "For the greater good."

After a moment, Albus opened his eyes and dropped the picture back on his desk. He seemed a little more tired. He turned back to the letter, picking it up once again. Fawkes moved his head to look at the letter clenched in his friend's hand.

The letter read as follows:

Dear Mr. Sirius Black,

I am in search of individuals willing to fight against all that is wrong with the world and make the world a better place. As expressed previously, I believe that you are one of these few individuals. I ask that you meet with me at Hogwarts this Tuesday morning to discuss the details of membership into a group I am forming for this very purpose.

This will require you to distance yourself from your family - they are too entrenched within our corrupt governing body. Please don't completely cut yourself off from them yet: it may be valuable in the future to have access to your family's vast resources. I'd like for you to also think about the possibility of you passing information learned from your family.

I've enclosed a portkey that will take you to the meeting's location if you choose to come. Hoping to see you this Tuesday.

Most sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Fawkes sharply turned his head toward Albus, ready to chirp his anger, only to find the man lost within the picture once more. The phoenix shook his body off before launching himself out the window, going for a flight. He really needed some fresh air.


Somewhere, in a townhome in London, the thirteen-year-old eldest Black child would clutch the letter to his chest, eyes shining, before quickly penning an affirmative response.

It was a cloudy July day the day Sirius Black decided to run away from home to what he thought was a rebel organization fighting for better. Little did he know he would soon become a terrorist.

And it was not as if his home, 12 Grimmauld Place, was terrible enough to lead a teenager like himself to run astray and off to a terrorist organization; it was rather clean and nice. Their house elf, Kreacher, could often be seen dusting the many paintings on the walls of that old pureblood house and baking for young master Regulus who was becoming rather fond of blueberry scones.

As the house was rather pretentious and uninteresting to teenage boys who'd rather be anywhere but inside, in the holidays, when their house associations mattered little, Regulus and Sirius often spent time being brothers.

Regulus sat on the floor of Sirius' room, leaning against his bed, tossing a miniature quaffle he'd found on his brother's desk, a thing they'd toss to each other as smaller children, as he watched said brother speak enthusiastically with accompanying arm gestures and (self-made) sound effects.

"Reggie, it is essential that you pay attention to what I am trying to tell you"

"Siri, I highly doubt that learning punching technique matters when I have a wand," he scoffed, "and all the charm of a pureblood man."

Sirius looked unimpressed, "Firstly, you are thirteen, dear brother, barely even a teen" to which Regulus rolled his eyes, "And secondly, more importantly, do you expect the cruel kidnapper who's just taken your wand to listen when you politely ask for it back."

"Merlin Siri, don't be ridiculous-"

"Exactly my thoughts, don't be ridiculous and remember to tuck your fingers into your fist unless you'd like to break them," his mouth on the verge of grinning.

Regulus' mouth twitched in response. He slowly rose from the floor, balled his fist and instead of swinging toward the ever-present pillow that Sirius had gotten Kreacher to levitate for them, he aimed for Sirius' shoulder. Sirius, however, seemed to expect this and very easily dodged the blow that, in all likelihood, wouldn't have hit him in the first place.

Regulus groaned, laughing through his nose, and kept swinging.

He grinned widely as he continued to dodge, "Good gods, Reggie, maybe at least try aiming," he snorted as he side-stepped each of Reg's desperate attempts at a punch, "I wonder if there's something in that pureblood charm of yours for aiming your punch, like yes good hand ple-"

"I'll show you aim, asshole." Regulus tackled his brother to the ground.

Sirius fell with a thud, wheezing on the floor as he tried to catch his breath, laughing despite the pain, before sobering down to a canine smile, "I think you'll do quite well brother, well enough to protect yourself in a fight, at least."

"Why do you know how to fight anyway," he turned to look at his older brother.

Sirius glanced at the Slytherin emblem stitched on the front of Regulus' jumper and looked away, "It doesn't really matter anyway."

Regulus frowned.

Regulus was Sirius' younger brother, the 'nicer' brother, as friends of their parents might remark. To them, Regulus and Sirius seemed to not be more different. Regulus was quiet to Sirius' loud and Sirius was obnoxious to Regulus' very much not. They balanced each other, one talked and one listened, to outsiders, they seemed to not be complete without the other.

But Sirius was unfortunately not as liked as Regulus by their parents, Walburga and Orion. They preferred to have a child they didn't have to think about, a child who would suffer in silence instead of being open and telling them about things. Why should they, as parents, have to deal with something as inane as their child crying?

While neither child felt that they were treated by their parents in the way that they should have (the usual: kindness, affection, care), one felt far more strongly that the other was to blame. Sirius blamed Regulus for not speaking up, for letting Sirius take more of the blame, he thought of him as an intentional bystander in their abuse. Whereas, Regulus saw his brother as too loud and outspoken, not fit for a pureblood household. He loved his brother, couldn't imagine how he'd last in that house without him, but couldn't help but wonder how much better his life could be if he were to stay quiet.

Nevertheless, the two were well-loved not by their parents, of course, but by each other, Kreacher and their friends. Sirius ached for more.

Young Sirius Black longed to bring change to the world, moreso he longed for a life of adventure - even if he had to make his own. As the clock struck two in the morning on that tired July eve, Sirius gathered what he deemed to be his most necessary belongings and set forth to find his destiny in the form of organized terror by way of a bright orange sock (portkey) that was sent to him by Dumbledore himself. He never looked back, not once, not even to see little Reggie peek around the sitting room curtains to wave a teary goodbye, clutching the mini quaffle they used to play with.


The night that Sirius left, Regulus was baking in the kitchen with Kreacher. Lord and Lady Black were out of the house to attend some ministry gala and Regulus had easily decided that the best way to spend the evening was to help Kreacher make croissants - a tribute to his French heritage. Kreacher really did not need help, but he did not want to upset young Master Reggie and decided to humor him by allowing him to knead the dough (for a couple of minutes) and taste the blueberries (which amused him for less than that).

Sirius was as subtle as a Niffler in a goldmine, that is to say not at all. So when Regulus felt the vibrations of footsteps that were unmistakably Sirius', it only made sense to wipe his hands on his apron and see what his rather impulsive brother was up to.

He'd purposefully quieted his own steps and disillusioned himself as he walked up the stairs, intending to scare his brother, but was shocked when he opened the elder Black's bedroom door to find Sirius packing his bags and somehow talking to someone, instead of planning some elaborate prank as expected - oblivious to his presence.

"-I know mate, I just have to leave tonight itself. They're out right now and doing it any later wouldn't give me enough time to settle myself at your place and then attend the meeting afterward-"

"-What Reg? Regulus is probably asleep or something, he won't even notice," He scoffed, "Some Slytherin he makes-"

By now Sirius had a pile of rejected clothes strewn on the floor and was in the middle of closing his school trunk, "Yeah I'm about done mate," he looked down at his golden watch, the one that Lord and Lady had given him, as per custom, on his 17th birthday a few months prior, "I'd reckon I'm fit to activate the portkey soon."

He looked around his room, it's Gryffindor regalia and posters of muggle women, with a look of finality, "I'll see you soon then," He laughed through his nose, "Yes I love you too. Bye, James."

Sirius proceeded to levitate his trunk off his bed, pushing toward the door, bag following behind him. But he hesitated at his door. Sirius turned back to take in the room he'd spent his breaks in one last time.

'Siri,' he'd almost called out, 'What are you doing?' But he couldn't force himself to do anything more than watch helplessly as Sirius marched past him out the door. He quickly moved to the sitting room's window and pushed back the curtains to look outside. He kept his eyes on his brother, watching him step quickly and confidently away from the house they'd both grown up in.

Reg almost hoped that Sirius would turn his back and see him and laugh to say that this was all some cruel prank that had gotten out of hand. But he didn't. Sirius kept his head up as he strode away from the house, never looking back, not once, not even to see Regulus waving goodbye.

His cheeks were wet as he pushed the curtain back into its place and his hands shaking as he carefully wiped them. The younger child turned to find Kreacher standing there watching him with sad eyes, "Young master should not concern himself with traitors to my poor mistress."

Regulus just shook his head in response, too tired to correct Kreacher's assumption that Sirius was somehow a traitor. He might've said something about needing to get ready for the evening and Kreacher probably said something about trying their croissants, but Regulus wasn't paying attention. He made his way up the stairs to Sirius' room, his position mirroring the one he'd held some minutes earlier, before making his way into the room and studying it.

His eyes drifted over the posters of scantily clad Muggle women and Gryffindor-colored lions permanently charmed to the walls, to the horror of their mother, and the things piled on his desk that he seemed to not mind leaving behind. On the top of the pile sat the mini-quaffle ball from his memories.

The sixteen-year-old left the room with the ball in his hands.


With Sirius out of the house, Regulus spent a lot more time in the Black Library, with the company of biscuits made by Kreacher. He'd spent more time in that library that summer than in all of the time he was home back from Hogwarts. He felt more alone than ever before.

To say that Mother and Father were not pleased with their supposed heir running away from home was a severe understatement, though neither were they rushing to find him. They'd suspected Sirius to be on the other side of their values for some time, unbeknownst to Regulus, and privately thought of it as a blessing in disguise for their troubled child to run away on his own rather than find an excuse to burn him off the family tapestry.

And burn him off the tapestry they did. Sirius' face was charred off the tapestry with a single silent wave of their mother's wand: that was that.

Regulus was left with the burden of being the heir and a child perfect enough to make them forget Sirius' absence. They made Regulus a figurehead of youth involvement in muggle-born rights, sending him straight into Auror training the second he graduated from Hogwarts. He became someone important, a trailblazer in the Auror office, a ministry prodigy, and one of Minister Riddle's most precious men.

Meanwhile, Regulus clung to the memories of the brother he'd lost to Dumbledore. He still felt sharp anger toward the Headmaster he knew to be manipulative and let that anger drive him into his work - working long hours to make sure Riddle's system of inclusivity stayed in place against Dumbledore's whims.

One cloudy night, as he returned to 12 Grimmauld Place, he looked at the now ragged mini-quaffle ball on his desk, picked it up, and gently tapped it with his wand.

"Portus," he murmured, picturing the Black family home and of giving the portkey to Sirius.

He wished that Sirius was somewhere well and happy, but Reggie didn't expect to see Siri soon. Maybe someday he'd get him back.