I usually don't want to put author's notes in the end of the story, so please listen up!
I right now have the last three Harry Potter books sprawled on my desk. Should clean those up. I've been scanning them and trying to make this story as close to the books as possible, including every small detail of happenings I can find.
Also, I'd like to thank you so, so much for reading and for being patient; it's a pretty lengthy story and I'm very happy that you are taking the time to read it.
Sirius dug through his handsome drawers, grumbling as he threw out underwear dating back to his childhood and other odds and ends he left in the cupboard and never bothered to clean out. Where was that mirror? He had hidden it in his sock drawer right after he came back home from Hogwarts so his mother wouldn't find it and demand why he had one. Paranoia flooded his brain when he concluded that the two-way mirror was not in its original hiding spot.
Perhaps he had already packed it? Sirius pushed away the thought immediately. He had checked—and double-checked—his trunk and he was certain that the mirror wasn't packed. Sirius glanced anxiously at the clock in his bedroom. One and a half more hours until he set off to his second year in Hogwarts. Sirius pursed his lips; if he didn't find it, the endless detentions this year would be downright boring without talking to James.
"Looking for this?"
Sirius turned towards the voice to see ten-year-old Regulus at the doorway, holding up the two-way mirror in his small hands. Sirius blanched and grabbed it from his little brother.
"Why do you have this?" Sirius demanded.
"I was looking for my book that you stole and found that instead," Regulus replied, sitting down on Sirius's bed.
"It's in the drawing room, inside the desk. Not my sock drawer," Sirius sighed exasperatedly. He dearly hoped that Regulus didn't discover the true purpose of the mirror.
Regulus paled, though it was hard to tell on his ashen face. "You threw it in the same drawer as that boggart, didn't you?"
"I'm not that mean," Sirius contradicted. "It's the other one. With the dead doxy fairies."
"You're crueler than a Blast-Ended Skrewt," Regulus grumbled. Sirius laughed and ruffled Regulus's hair.
"Hey, dead doxys can't hurt you. What scares you about them?"
"I just hate dead things," Regulus muttered. "It makes me sad, and then it scares me. You know how I'm like when we're walking down the street and I see a dead animal some blasted muggle ran over with his—his metal machine on wheels."
Sirius grinned at the thought of it. If Regulus ever came across road kill, he would stiffen, back away from it until he was outside of its ten feet radius, and sprint around it as fast as he could to avoid even looking at it.
"I'll get it for you, then. But really, what are you going to do if—I don't know—you get a child and he has a pet puffskein and then it dies. Who's going to bury it?"
"Well, I'll be able to do magic by then," Regulus pointed out. "I could easily vanish it from a distance."
"Good point," Sirius agreed, wrapping his mirror up in a cloth. Regulus frowned at the mirror.
"You've got a special mirror, by the way," he said casually.
Sirius turned his back away from his little brother so that he wouldn't be able to see his apprehension. "What do you mean?"
"When I found it in your room, a funny face came up on the glass instead of my reflection. He had glasses and was asking for you. Nearly dropped it; never imagined a mirror talking to me like that."
Busted, Sirius thought to himself. He slipped the mirror into his trunk.
"Is that how you kept in touch with your friends over the summer?" Regulus inquired. "And all those times I heard you talking to someone I didn't know in your room? I always thought you were talking in your sleep."
Sirius sighed. It was tempting, but he refused to lie to Regulus. It was like his protocol of some sort; lying to his brother seemed unforgivable to him.
"It's called a two-way mirror," Sirius explained, locking his trunk. "My friend and I use it sometimes in school when we're stuck in detention."
"That's against the rules, isn't it?" said Regulus.
"Well, considering the fact that I would be in detention in the first place, it doesn't really matter, does it?" Sirius smiled.
"Good point," Regulus concurred. "Your friend from Gryffindor, I suppose?"
"Of course," Sirius said. "So tell me—how mad was mother when she found out I was in Gryffindor? Even after a whole school year's worth of time of venting, she was still pretty nasty when I came back for summer."
"Let's just say that a Hungarian Horntail with the voice of a banshee would lose the battle against Mother."
Sirius gave a bark-like laugh. "Mother's a lot like a banshee already. Seems like she would much rather have me be a sly, tricky son than a brave Gryffindor."
"Definitely," Regulus said, nodding. "Why do Gryffindor kids have to be brave, though? Don't you think they'll get sort of full of themselves if they know that they're brave, even though they haven't done anything yet?"
Sirius grinned. "Why not? It's true, isn't it?"
"I suppose, considering it takes a lot of nerve to even write back to Mother telling her about your sorting."
"Of course," Sirius said boldly. "Gryffindors are where the heroes are made."
"Only Gryffindor?" Regulus asked suspiciously.
"Well—I guess not, but I know I'll be the hero. Watch—when you come into Hogwarts next year and you get bullied, I'll swoop down and beat them up for you and you'll stand by thinking, 'Wow, he's definitely a Gryffindor.'"
"You make being a hero sound easy," said Regulus.
"I don't know," admitted Sirius, shrugging. "But I suppose that if you were driven enough, there's nothing that can stop you from doing good." He turned to his younger brother. "What about you, Reg? When the time comes will you take the chance to be a hero?"
"Maybe when I come to Hogwarts, I can swoop down and save your Charms grade. Looking at your exam results, you certainly need it."
Sirius's face reddened and he trapped his younger brother in a headlock. Regulus laughed and wrestled to get out of Sirius's iron grip as Sirius mussed Regulus's black hair. The clock struck ten o'clock and a deadpanned chime rang through Grimmauld place. Regulus and Sirius froze, staring at the clock's face.
"You're going to leave in an hour," Regulus moaned. "I hate being alone. Kreacher's the only friend I've got in this house, but he can't ride broomsticks with me or try to beat up the boggart or any of that. And Mother and Father get bossierwhen you're not around."
"I don't know a time when they're never bossy," Sirius quipped. "I'll write to you every day—is that okay?"
Regulus gave Sirius a funny look. "You already forgot that Algol kicked the bucket, didn't you?"
"Wha—oh! Oh yeah…" Sirius had completely forgotten that his old owl had accidentally flew into one of the House Elves heads in the hallway and knocked them down, and in a fit of horror and anger his mother killed the poor beast and refused to buy Sirius another one, claiming that the boy 'even influenced owls to disrespect.' It was a wonder why she let him come near her precious Regulus.
Suddenly, an idea came to his mind. He hastily unlocked his trunk and rummaged through his painstakingly packed things. It had to be in here somewhere…he never threw out anything from his trunk, always thinking that some other day he would need it.
"What are you looking for?" Regulus asked, peering over Sirius's shoulder.
"Something that we did in Charms class," Sirius grunted. "Here we go!" From the very bottom of his trunk, he pulled out two small silver lockets.
"You made jewelry in Charms?" questioned Regulus.
"I didn't make it—Remus and I were experimenting with them one day after I found this wicked chapter in our book about it," explained Sirius. He handed one of them to Regulus. He held it in his bony hand for a moment.
"Is this a token of your friendship to remember you by or something?" Regulus asked.
"No—well, yeah, if you want it to be, but it can do other things," Sirius said. "Here—" He ripped a corner off one of his sheets of parchment and scribbled a doodle of a Snitch on it. After folding it up into a small square, Sirius placed it inside the locket and clapped it shut.
Almost immediately, Regulus's locket grew hot in his hand. Regulus let go of it immediately, backing away.
"What did you do to it?" he demanded.
"It's not anything bad," Sirius protested. "Just open it—it won't burn you."
Regulus scooped the locket back from the ground and pried open the clasp. Inside was a small piece of folded parchment with the identical drawing of a Snitch etched on it. Regulus's gray eyes widened with amazement.
"How did you do that?" he asked in a hushed, awed tone.
"It was Remus's doing—he's great with the wand," Sirius said, extracting the parchment from his own locket. The two children hadn't figured out a way to dispose of the original paper smoothly, but that wasn't too much of a problem. "He did a really good job on it, so I'm sure the magic will last a long time. There—now this way we can talk to each other any time we want."
Regulus' thin face brightened with a joyous smile. He hugged Sirius, gripping tightly on the silver locket. Sirius grinned, feeling the satisfaction that all older brothers feel when they bring happiness to their siblings.
"Expect a whole bunch of parchment coming your way," Sirius grinned. "Too bad these necklaces don't hold a lot of paper at a time; I'll either have to write really small or use a lot of scraps."
"Thank you," Regulus said softly. He slipped the locket onto his slim neck. The locket rested next to his heart. His brother will always be close to his heart.
Regulus's heart beat wildly in his chest, like a ticking pipe bomb counting down the moments until death and destruction. Regulus wasn't sure why he needed a locket to do the job; he could just use the old snuffbox filled with Wartcap powder and the message would be the same. Nonetheless, it seemed to Regulus that only a locket would work. It felt like a better slap in Voldemort's face if it was.
He glanced up at the newspaper cuttings above his bed; a collage all about Voldemort and his deeds to the Wizarding world. A deep desire to tear down the newspaper cuttings and shred them to nothingness overtook Regulus, but he pushed it aside. He didn't have enough time. He didn't have enough time to even live.
Regulus had sent a letter to Dumbledore by owl a while ago, before Kreacher followed the Dark Lord to the cave. It briefly explained his suspicions about Horcruxes. Dumbledore had seemed like the only person he could write to during a situation like this. Regulus had tried countless times to write to Sirius—he undeniably shamed the Black family, but Regulus couldn't help but care for him. However, considering the many letters and absolutely no replies, it was no doubt Sirius was avoiding his younger brother.
"Here we are," Regulus muttered to himself. He was rummaging through his bookshelf, lodged between the pages of Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Geneology. He fished out the silver locket from its place. It was so long ago since he last put it on. He remembered the day he took it off for good was when Sirius left home. Sirius and Regulus got into a quarrel; Sirius was practically cursing the Black family and Regulus was desperate to convince Sirius that his family was better than those Potters, that they were no good for him. When Sirius finally disappeared, Regulus searched through his older brother's old room to find one thing Sirius might have left behind accidentally and would care about, just so Regulus could return it to him when they both returned to Hogwarts and he could have a chance to approach his brother.
Regulus found Sirius's old locket underneath his bed, covered with a thin film of dust. Sirius had packed James's and his two-way mirror, despite the fact that the two were always together every second. He had probably forgotten all about the lockets by now. That day Regulus tore the locket off his neck, shoved it into his least favorite book, and hid it in his bookshelf, swearing never to think about it again. However, every now and then hope would tap Regulus on the shoulder and he would tentatively peek in the book again to see if there was a secret message from his brother to him. There never was one, but Regulus couldn't help it when anticipation claimed him.
Now was no exception either. A small hope glowed inside of Regulus; perhaps Sirius had given him a message recently and Regulus never realized it! He fingered the silver locket; it was stone cold. His hope extinguished immediately and Regulus sighed. He wasn't expecting much at all, he tried to convince himself. Sirius hated him; he always will. The memory of that made the idea of Regulus's upcoming fate a little harder, but he couldn't stop now.
"Kreacher!" Regulus called out, stuffing the necklace into his pocket. He gazed down at his wand in his hand and slowly set it inside his old Hogwarts trunk before slamming it shut. There wouldn't be any need for it anymore, really. All he needed was a knife and that locket.
The wizened house elf appeared immediately in Regulus' room. He was still shaken from his terrible ordeal Voldemort forced him through, but nonetheless stood tall before Regulus and bowed deeply for his master.
"Yes, Master Regulus?"
"Kreacher, do you remember the place that the Dark Lord took you to a couple days ago?" Regulus asked. Kreacher's pale eyes widened at the memory and a tremor ran through his tiny body, but he nodded.
"I'm going to need you to take me there," Regulus said softly.
"It's a h-horrible place, Master Regulus," Kreacher whispered. "It's too dangerous for him. The bodies—dead bodies in the water—so cold, Master Regulus will most certainly get sick again—"
"It's all right, Kreacher," said Regulus, his voice surprisingly calm. "I can handle it. I must go there, though."
Kreacher swallowed. "Right away?"
"Yes," Regulus said.
Kreacher clenched Regulus's small wrist. Regulus could tell the old house elf was frightened; his fingers clutched tightly around his arm and he could feel Kreacher shaking. Regulus felt a pit of guilt form inside his stomach, but he couldn't back out. He had to go on.
The uncomfortable tight sensation of Side-Along Apparation gripped Regulus's small body. His lungs squeezed shut and he couldn't breathe. Was this close to the feeling of drowning?
When Regulus opened his eyes again, he was surrounded by darkness. He could hear wild waves crash against rock around him. He breathed in the crisp, salty air and ocean spray. His breaths were numbered.
"This way, Master Regulus," Kreacher murmured, gesturing to a dark tunnel. Regulus nodded and followed Kreacher deeper into the cave. Kreacher was not exaggerating; it was absolutely freezing.
When the two reached the dead end of the cave, Regulus ran his hand across the slimy walls. He stopped abruptly at a certain rock.
"Is this one it, Kreacher?" Regulus asked.
"Yes, Master Regulus," croaked Kreacher. Regulus smoothly pulled out a knife from his pocket, aiming it at his forearm. Kreacher rushed towards Regulus, restraining Regulus's arm so that the blade wouldn't touch his skin.
"No, Master Regulus! Let Kreacher spill his blood. Master Regulus will get hurt!"
"I'll do it, Kreacher," Regulus said firmly. "Besides, I've got some things I wanted to make clear to the Dark Lord."
Kreacher reluctantly let go of Regulus. Regulus pulled up his sleeve to his elbow. The Dark Mark was burned into his forearm like a great ugly bruise. How deep did so-called loyalty go? There was only one way to find out. Carefully, Regulus used the knife to cut the thin layer of skin from his forearm, skinning away the Dark Mark. When the wound underneath only shone white before filling with dark red blood, Regulus smiled wryly to himself. His commitment to the Dark Lord was only skin-deep. His loyalty to the Wizarding world was in his blood; always inside of him and never lost even when his blood was spilt, only disappearing for good when he died. After Regulus successfully peeled off the Dark Mark from his arm, he hurled the dead skin on the wall and let his precious Pure blood stream down his arm and onto the stone. Regulus had long realized that his blood looked no different from any other person's.
The stone wall melted away, revealing a vast black lake. In the middle of the dark waters was a green glow. Kreacher pulled up the tiny boat from the waters and the two sailed to the tiny rock island. Regulus peered into the waters and he could feel the color in his face drain away. Dead bodies—so many that they were piled on top of each other, knocking into each other as the ripples caused the water to quake. Regulus felt lightheaded and hurriedly turned away from the edge. He never outgrew his fear of dead things.
When Regulus and Kreacher reached the island, Regulus was shivering with both cold and fear. Surely he wasn't brave enough to face death confidently; he wasn't placed in Gryffindor for a reason, right?
I'm not anything like Sirius, Regulus thought bitterly to himself. Knowing him, he would probably run recklessly towards death, waving his arms around and yelling some war cry.
He dreaded his fate; the slow, suffering process that would destroy his mind along with his life. But there was no force on Earth that could make him back out.
The island was merely a small, smooth slab of stone. In the middle was a pedestal supporting a stone basin, the source of the emerald glimmer. It was filled almost to the brim with a formidable green liquid. Regulus reached out to it, but his fingertips instead met an invisible barrier. There was a small brass goblet next to the pedestal; Lord Voldemort must've forgotten to dispose of it after Kreacher suffered.
Regulus slowly pulled his old necklace from his pocket. He rubbed his thumb over the simple silver. Would the charm still work after all these years? It didn't matter; he doubted Sirius would ever find his old locket again. Regulus pulled the folded parchment from his pocket and hid it inside the silver jewelry. Some of his blood that stained his hand dirtied the parchment.
"Kreacher, I need you to do something for me," Regulus said, his eyes never leaving the green poison.
"Kreacher will do anything for Master Regulus," Kreacher murmured. Regulus took in a deep breath. He handed Kreacher the locket.
"Once the basin is empty, I need you to switch lockets," Regulus ordered. "Take the Dark Lord's and replace it with this one."
"Yes, Master Regulus. Once the basin is empty, switch the lockets." Kreacher reached for the little goblet. He had assumed that he was to drink it again himself. Regulus immediately stopped the house elf.
"There's something else, too," Regulus said softly, taking the goblet from Kreacher. He swallowed hard. "Once you've done that, I need you to leave without me." His heart was hammering against his ribs now, desperate to make up some of the heartbeats it will soon lose. "You have to go home and never—never tell my mother what I've done. Don't tell any of my family." As Regulus spoke, Kreacher's eyes grew wider and wider with horror. "You must destroy the first locket, Kreacher. It is absolutely crucial that you do so. Please promise me this, Kreacher."
Kreacher cried out in horror. "Kreacher begs Master Regalus—don't drink the potion!" he howled. "Kreacher saw horrible things—absolutely heartbreaking things that made Kreacher cry. Please—let Kreacher drink the potion—anything for Master Regalus!"
"No, Kreacher," Regulus said steadfastly. "You're too good for me—this is my job to do." He no longer felt any fear or worry of his upcoming death. All he had inside him was his determination to die and help take Lord Voldemort with him. "This is an order, Kreacher."
Tears streamed down Kreacher's cheeks but he nodded. Regulus finally turned towards the basin and plunged the goblet into the potion. It was such a poisonous color that Regulus fought down the urge to throw it into the ocean instead. That could've been an effective way to avoid death, but Regulus believed that he had to die; if he survived, the Dark Lord might tear down his family, murdering every single person in search of his traitor. If he was dead—perhaps the chance was slimmer.
"Cheers," Regulus said, smiling. He closed his eyes and drank the poison.
Voices. He could hear muffled voices yelling, as if they were across the lake. They sounded familiar, but Regulus couldn't tell who they were. Even if the voices were distant, they caused a tremor to run down the thin Black's body. He opened his eyes, staring at the green potion.
Just pretend it's like that horrible drink Sirius made and dared you to drink when you were kids, Regulus urged himself. Sirius had mixed pumpkin juice, melted Bertie Bott's, and maple tree leaves mashed to a pulp and forced Regulus to drink all of it, convincing him that there was a ghoul ready to eat Regulus in his sleep and that drinking the entire concoction would protect him from harm. Smiling slightly at the small memory, Regulus filled his goblet again and downed it.
The voices grew louder and sharper and more distinguished. He suddenly recognized who they belonged to; they were the voices of Sirius and his parents. Their arguments reawakened a painful memory inside of Regulus. He hurriedly drank more of the potion before his strength gave out.
"Shit," Regulus muttered to himself. He gripped on the side of the pedestal to keep his balance. His head felt like it was splitting; the shouts and screams were like knives digging inside his ears. He realized what the memory was about—it was the day Sirius left home.
Voldemort had a sick, sick sense of humor.
Meanwhile, Kreacher watched in horror as his beloved master—young, kind Regulus was quaking with the unforgivable pain. The shrunken house elf held Regulus's small hand, hoping that he could at least provide some sort of comfort, even though Kreacher knew that Regulus probably couldn't even feel him. His heart shattered every time Regulus thrust the goblet back into the basin and drank more of that nightmare. It was a surprise that Regulus didn't speak, didn't protest the drink.
"Stop it," Regulus suddenly whispered, his voice shaking. "S-stop shouting."
Kreacher's grip on Regulus tightened, his eyes blurring with burning tears. He wished—he wished he could snatch the goblet from Regulus's grasp and down the whole potion himself, but his orders bound him from doing so.
"Don't go, Sirius," Regulus moaned as he brought the filled goblet to his lips, his hand shaking so hard that some of the potion spilt. He quickly swallowed the potion and suddenly dropped to his knees. "Please—don't leave me—why are you abandoning me?"
"It's only a dream, Master Regulus," Kreacher said desperately. "It's not actually happening. There is no blood traitor brother anywhere around here."
Regulus didn't seem to hear him. He tried to get back on his feet but was too weak. He gulped down another goblet and coughed. He was shaking so badly it seemed like he was stranded in a bitter winter snowstorm.
"Come back—Sirius, come back," Regulus begged blindly. "It's my fault—I know I'm wrong—please, don't forget us…"
Even through the horrid nightmare, Regulus persevered. No matter how much he remembered, he would always willingly sip the potion. He was near tears now, shuddering uncontrollably and his body and mind wracked with pain.
"I hate being alone—I don't want to be left behind—" Regulus choked out. He could barely kneel straight; he supported himself with the pedestal. "Stop yelling at him—don't make him leave…"
"It's almost over, Master Regulus," Kreacher assured him, his voice thick and sticky with tears. "It'll be all over and you'll—you'll be all right." Kreacher had never lied to Regulus until now.
Regulus drank and drank through his stifled sobs and his pained moans. As the basin became shallow, he took much longer to drink the potion.
"Sirius, are you replacing me?" Regulus whispered. His gray eyes were glazed and his voice was as thin as thread. He breathed in a quavering breath and closed his eyes before scooping out the remaining liquid with the goblet once again. The last goblet—Kreacher had no idea how to feel. Once Regulus was finished with the basin, the nightmares will end, but so will Regulus's life.
Regulus finally drank the last of the potion. The goblet slipped from his pale hands and clattered onto the ground before rolling away and down into the lake. Regulus slumped to the ground, unmoving. Kreacher rushed to Regulus's side, his heart pumping anxiety into his veins. Regulus's eyes were closed and his body was limp, almost lifeless. Kreacher cried out his master's name, nearing hysterics.
After a moment, Regulus finally opened his gray eyes. He glanced upward towards the basin and Kreacher remembered his orders. The house elf reached into the basin and pulled out the heavy golden locket; the emerald S gleamed as dangerously as the potion Regulus drank. Kreacher hurled the silver locket inside the basin and clutched tight on Slytherin's. Regulus gave Kreacher a smile; he was too weak and parched to thank him.
Regulus gathered up enough strength to drag himself to the edge of the island. He could hear Kreacher's ragged sobs nearby; they both knew what would happen next. Driven by an unquenchable thirst, Regulus neared the water and gazed down, where the Inferi were visible through the black surface. They no longer struck fear into his heart; he wasn't afraid of death anymore. He gently grazed his slender fingers across the black surface. Immediately, a rotting hand grabbed his wrist. More Inferi reached out towards him, grabbing at his clothes and arm and dragging him towards the water.
"What about you, Reg? When the time comes will you take the chance to be a hero?"
The youngest Black closed his eyes and took his last breath before he plunged into the icy waters.
I'm ready.
Sirius was sprawled over a chair in his dining room. It was nearly two in the morning, but he no longer felt tired anymore. He only felt numb.
Only minutes ago Andromeda had Apparated into his home, her face pale and distraught. It wasn't that far away in the past at all, but Sirius felt like it was hours ago.
"What are you doing here, Andromeda?" Sirius asked, concerned. "Is something the matter?"
Andromeda opened her mouth but at first no words came out. She swallowed and tried again. Her voice was tired and cracked, and Sirius noticed that her eyes were red.
"Andromeda, tell me what's the matter," Sirius said slowly.
"Regulus is dead, Sirius," Andromeda whispered.
And just like that, time stopped.
"You can't be serious," he croaked.
"Narcissa told me," Andromeda told him.
"Narcissa—she gossips more than barmaids. She probably heard 'Regulus is not right in the head' and half of it went out the other ear and she thought that—that it meant—" Sirius's words were lost; his voice refused to make a sound.
"She went to your mother's house," Andromeda said softly. "Aunt Walburga—she's sick with grief, nearly mad because he disappeared and the family tree—Sirius, Cissy saw with her own eyes—Regulus has a death date!"
Sirius felt his heart drop down to the soles of his feet. He turned away from his cousin, staring out his window towards the empty streets. It felt like there was nothing inside of him.
"How did he die?" he asked, his voice hollow.
"Nobody knows," said Andromeda. "Aunt Walburga says—screams, actually—that Regulus just disappeared. Narcissa says that even Bellatrix doesn't even know."
Sirius laughed cruelly; his tone even surprised him. "Bellatrix? You trust her word?" He growled, gripping hard on the edge of the dining table. Bellatrix could've killed his brother—it was so like her to do such a thing to him.
Sirius didn't cry or moan or even show the slightest anger when Andromeda was around. When she was with him, he received the news of Regulus's death calmly and flatly, as if he didn't care. Now she was gone, and Sirius felt so terribly tired.
My brother is dead, his mind reminded him. My brother is dead. My brother is dead. My brother is dead.
And no one even knew where his body was.
Sirius used to hate Regulus, or at least strongly disapprove of his choice of life. Death Eater—for goodness sake, Regulus was never meant to be a Death Eater. He froze up when he saw death. He cried when even the vicious puffskein that dwelled under the couch died, even though Regulus didn't like it very much because it always tried to bite him when his skinny ankles came too near. Sirius knew—he was positive that if Regulus was just born to a different family, to different parents even, he wouldn't have gone down that path. He never had it in him to kill and hate in such a way that murder was acceptable.
But now all that didn't matter. His baby brother was a Death Eater. His young, innocent, aiming-to-please brother was kneeling over Voldemort's feet. Now he was dead. Sirius was pretty sure that Voldemort had something to do with it.
Sirius felt cold, but his legs were too tired to move from his place. His chest hurt badly—heartache. He remembered all those letters that Regulus sent him over the years, each envelope had Sirius's name scrawled on it with Regulus's sharp handwriting, and now he deeply regretted throwing every one of them in the fire, not even staying long enough to watch them burn. He never knew what Regulus wanted to tell him all that time. Sirius had kept telling himself that he would read Regulus's letters again once he finally cleared his mind and stopped being brainwashed by Voldemort, once he was disillusioned and returned to what was right. Back then, Sirius never considered the possibility that Regulus would never have the time or the chance.
Finally, Sirius dragged himself out of the chair towards his bedroom. It was getting dastardly cold, even though it wasn't close to winter just yet. If Regulus was here, he'd probably get sick almost immediately; the kid's immune system was as faulty as Kreacher 's service was to Sirius.
Sirius entered his bedroom and slowly draped a jacket over his shoulders. It felt extremely heavy—or was it his heart? He lied down on his stiff bed, staring at the blank ceiling.
He thought he didn't like his brother. He hated how Regulus followed Bellatrix's footsteps instead of his own and followed Voldemort, supporting blood purity and anti-Muggle and Muggle-born movements. But now, he can only remember his baby brother whom he tricked into thinking ghouls would eat him, who glowed with happiness when Sirius cheered him on when he caught the Snitch, who yelled at Bellatrix and tried to protect Sirius when the two older Blacks got into fights and ended up with a broken arm.
But Regulus was gone. He was lost, people would say, and for once they were partially right. No one knew where his last moments were. His funeral wouldn't even have a body. No one would be able to find it. Couldn't that be considered lost also?
Sirius rolled off his bed and crawled towards his trunk. It was old; he had used it in his Hogwarts days. Sirius pried it open and rummaged through the old possessions that seemed like they belonged to a different lifetime.
Wasn't there some locket that he had? He remembered having Remus charm the lockets and giving one to Regulus so they could communicate. Regulus sent floods of messages to Sirius through that little necklace, and Sirius never threw any of them out. Surely it had to be in here somewhere? It was his last hope, his last proof that his brother truly existed on this Earth and that Sirius would never forget him.
There was no sign of Regulus's messages anywhere inside the trunk. Maybe Sirius had left them at Grimmauld Place. However, Sirius found a worn, bent photograph caught in between his old Defense Against the Dark Arts books. Sirius lifted it from its original place and brought it close to his eyes.
"Lumos," he whispered. His wand emitted a strong, pearly glow. He could see the photograph clearly now.
To his utmost surprise, it was a photograph of him and Regulus. They were at a park surrounded by tall trees. Sirius and Regulus must've been about fourteen and twelve respectively. Sirius remembered that Andromeda had taken the picture while the Black children ran away from Bellatrix, who was threatening to hunt them down because Sirius snuck tadpoles into her hat. Thinking they were far from harm, they all started goofing around and Andromeda took a picture of Regulus and Sirius.
However, the photo was bent since it was stuck in between pages of his book. The crease ran right through Regulus and Sirius; now their picture selves couldn't reach each other. They kept reaching out their hands towards each other, but their fingers couldn't penetrate past the white crease that jailed them. Sirius tried to flatten the picture as best as he could, but the damage was already done. He was careless and now the picture was ruined.
Sirius let the photo fall to the ground. He sat cross-legged on the cold bedroom floor, shivering in the cold and letting time pass him by. It seemed surreal to him, that his baby brother was gone and dead and would never exist in this world. That no one even knew how he was dead, and the only proof that they had was the family tree at Grimmauld Place.
"Damn fool," Sirius muttered, a lump forming in this throat. Why did Regulus have to join the Death Eaters? Why was he so convinced that it was the best choice? Look where he ended up.
He was gone. Sirius would never see him again. The bloody damn fool.
Sirius let three tears fall. He stopped himself from crying after that. There was no point anymore.
Sirius cursed, holding up his wand and patrolling the house like an Auror. He thought Molly had already taken care of the doxy infestation. Turns out she forgot that some doxys lived in the study also and that they could easily sneak out and cause havoc everywhere else. One particular doxy started yanking at Buckbeak's feathers when the hippogriff was already injured and Sirius had to tend to him. That meant war.
Sirius grudgingly scanned the rooms for one of the troublesome doxys. Even Molly Weasely, the neat freak, was out doing something worthwhile for the Order while he was stuck under house arrest doing housework. It also didn't help that while he was tending Buckbeak, Snape contacted him via Order-style and made snide comments about Sirius being a housewife. Fate certainly liked to watch him suffer.
"There you are!" he hissed to himself as he caught sight of the doxy. However, the doxy heard him and whizzed through the air, darting away.
Sirius ran after it, his wand pointed before him, thinking of all the nasty curses he could pay back to that doxy. The stupid thing slipped inside his old room. Sirius followed it, irritation getting the better of him.
"You're not getting away!" Sirius declared, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him so that the doxy couldn't make a quick getaway. The doxy hissed and dived under his bed. Sirius fell on all fours and ducked his head down to see under the bed. He raised his wand, ready to strike at the fairy, before something else caught his eye.
Sirius frowned. Usually there was nothing under his bed except for the occasional dead rodent. He reached out and grabbed the mysterious object. The surface was gritty from layers of dust and grime. Sirius blew away some of the dust and gaped.
It was the old silver locket that he and Regulus had.
Sirius sat down, staring at it incredulously. He had forgotten about this for years! Did it still work? Where was Regulus's old locket? Sirius couldn't help but smile at the memories the necklace brought. How one time in Sirius's fifth year he was taking a Defense Against the Dark Arts review test to prepare for the O.W.L.s and he had suddenly forgotten for some reason how to defend himself against a grindylow. He hastily wrote the question on a scrap piece of parchment and shoved it in the locket. When he felt it burn, he eagerly took out his brother's response:
Stop trying to cheat, you prat.
P.S. Shoot a jet of boiling water in its face.
Suddenly Sirius realized something strange; the locket was unnaturally warm.
He frowned. It couldn't have been from his body heat. It certainly couldn't have stayed warm, shoved under his bed forgotten. A sudden flutter of hope awoke inside of him. Perhaps there was a message from Regulus's locket! But Regulus had been dead for about fifteen years (fifteen long, dark years). Nevertheless, Sirius slowly opened the locket and to his utter surprise, found a folded piece of parchment inside. In a hurry, Sirius flattened the parchment and drank in the words. He immediately recognized Regulus's sharp handwriting, even though he hadn't seen it for nearly two decades.
To the Dark Lord,
I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.
R.A.B.
Sirius couldn't believe what he read. He reread it countless times. There were dark stains on the paper that Sirius immediately recognized as blood. Was Regulus bleeding when he wrote this? Questions and confusion formed a tumult inside of him. Why was Regulus writing a letter to Voldemort inside the locket? He read the last line and drew back in surprise. Was Regulus meaning to kill Voldemort? What were Horcruxes? And once again, why was the note inside his locket?
Sirius checked the old locket again to make sure there wasn't a second part to it. There was absolutely none. He didn't understand. What made Regulus turn against Voldemort? What was Voldemort's secret? Was this the answer to how Regulus died? Why was the note inside his locket?
Sirius traced each word with his finger. Regulus had written these very words and placed them in his locket fifteen years ago. Sirius had no idea why, but it was proof, some proof that Regulus was once alive, and that he understood that Voldemort was wrong. Both relief and grief filled Sirius's heart. His little brother finally knew the truth, but it apparently cost him his life.
But how and why?
Sirius suddenly remembered someone who could possibly answer his questions.
"Kreacher!" Sirius called out. "KREACHER! Get in here!"
He heard the scurry of footsteps and finally the aged house elf appeared.
"Master Sirius called?" Kreacher said hoarsely, bowing low. "Traitorous little imp, he is."
Sirius ignored the last comment. "Kreacher, I need you to tell me something," he said gruffly. He held up the locket and the note. "Explain to me this: what happened to Regulus?"
Kreacher caught sight of the old familiar relics. His eyes widened with horror and suddenly his little body shivered. Sirius felt cold inside; this couldn't be good.
"Where did Master Sirius find this?" he whispered.
"Never mind where I got it," Sirius said dismissively. "The wonderful magic of replication and two-way lockets. What do you know?"
Kreacher shook his head vigorously, squeezing his eyes shut. "Kreacher cannot say. Kreacher mustn't say a word…"
"Why?" Sirius demanded. "Kreacher, I order you to tell me what the hell happened to my brother!"
"Kreacher has been forbidden to tell," rasped Kreacher, his tiny hands clenched into fists. "Master—Master Regulus wanted no one to know. Kreacher must obey his orders—"
Sirius's eyes widened. Why did Regulus want to keep his death a secret?
"Did he have a locket with him?" Sirius interrogated. "A locket that looks just like this?"
"Why would Master Sirius want to know?" Kreacher howled, his eyes burning. "Master Sirius never cared for his respectable family that had provided him with so much! Master Sirius, the ungrateful and ignorant swine, tried to throw away what Master Regulus fought with his life for! The memory of Master Sirius abandoning his family tortured Master Regulus when—" In horrified realization of what he revealed, Kreacher slammed his head against the wall repeatedly. Sirius wrenched Kreacher away from the wall, holding him tight so the damned house elf wouldn't do anything drastic.
"I don't understand," Sirius said, his voice trembling. "What did I try to throw out? What did I do to Regulus?" How much of his little brother did he never know?
Kreacher was seething and dry sobbing at the same time. Sirius shook the house elf unceremoniously. He wished so much that he could perform Legilimens on the house elf or draw his memories out and throw them in a Pensieve.
"Come on—tell me the truth!"
Before Kreacher could say a word, a Patronus in the shape of a silver doe appeared in the room. Sirius, immediately recognizing Snape's Patronus, let go of Kreacher. What did the greasy man want this time?
"Harry Potter was lured to the Department of Mysteries by Voldemort," the Patronus announced. Sirius's blood ran cold. "Assemble at Order headquarters to discuss aiding Potter."
When the Patronus disappeared into thin air and Sirius could hear the many cracks of Apparating Order members downstairs, Sirius slowly woke from his shock. Instead, he felt the burning desire for revenge. He had already decided; he was going to the Ministry of Magic and he would face Voldemort himself.
He stood up, clutching his wand. Kreacher was strangely quiet; he had quickly stopped his moaning. Sirius made his wan downstairs, already prepared for battle. Voldemort had already taken the lives of two of his brothers; he wasn't going to let him take Harry now.
Sirius looked down at the locket still in his hands and gritted his teeth. Before he went downstairs to meet with the rest of the Order, he slipped the necklace around his neck. It felt cold against his chest and it will always remain cold. He clutched the locket, his mind ready for revenge.
He remembered asking Regulus if he would take the chance to become a hero. Sirius wasn't sure what happened to Regulus, but in his mind he knew his little brother already proved himself. Now it was his chance.
I'm ready.