A/N

J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter in every way, I'm just here to write.

Rated M for language and later sexual situations.

Chapter 1

23:00, October 31, 1981

"Shit!"

Flashes of color streaked past the fleeing man as he ran down an unfamiliar dark alley, ducking off of the main road. Had his situation not been so dire, he might have chuckled at his earlier thought. He may have even scolded himself, as his upbringing forbade the use of such "language."

As he ran through the light of a street lamp, his features were thrown into sharp relief. He had an attractive face, with high cheekbones and dimples that hadn't disappeared even as he frowned. His black hair was stylishly cut short, mainly for practicality. He looked to be around 18, if it weren't for his eyes. He had iron grey irises that held the pain and weight of a man more than double his age. To top off his "look" he wore pinstriped navy-blue robes with a powder blue shirt and a red tie that were all drenched in sweat and covered in grime. The knee was torn on one side and blood flowed freely down his shin.

"Give it up, Black!" another man's voice echoed down the alley. "We've got you surrounded!"

Regulus Black listened closely and debated peeking around the dumpster he had taken cover behind. He knew better than to listen to Rudolphus. If they'd had him surrounded, they wouldn't be chasing him quite so hard.

His inner-musings were brought up short when the metal container rocked with a resounding gong-like noise and exploded outwards, metal shrapnel digging into his back and hamstring. The exploding hex was followed shortly by the cackling laugh of a female as he limped further down the alley.

"Ah," he muttered under his breath as he ran, "They've even let Bella off of her leash tonight."

Regulus ached and was out of breath as he sprinted onto another, smaller road. His handmade leather shoes weren't exactly made for evasion.

Eyes darting around, he immediately made towards a sturdy-looking two story brick house whose windows were blackened out. More importantly, these particular Muggles had a fence that would buy him precious time.

With a thought, Regulus jabbed his wand at the gate leading into the back gardens and let himself in, making sure to lock it back in place to throw off his pursuers. Perhaps they'd even overlook him entirely.

He concentrated as he strode towards the bright yellow shed and waved his wand in several, complex motions and shuddered as the Disillusionment Charm took hold.

With a pained grunt, Regulus Arcturus Black tried to apparate once more, focusing on the dark forest he used to explore a few kilometers from his family's home in the country. As he had feared, the Death Eaters still had the wards in place that prevented his exit.

As he squatted between some wilting petunias and hydrangeas, he furiously thought about where he could run and regroup.

His mother's was out of the question, she'd either kill him or call the Dark Lord if she found out he'd defected. The Ministry was quickly scrapped as well, given the wards that vaporized anyone with a Dark Mark, as his former friend Edward Davis had painfully discovered. He vigorously shook his head when he thought of running to the Order.

"I'd rather die than admit the old man was right," he thought to himself. "Next thing you know, Dumbledore has me running errands for him like some commoner," he shuddered again, this time having nothing to do with his invisibility charm.

He pulled himself from his thoughts as he heard voices and footsteps once more.

"Spread out, the lot of you. Pettigrew, check those houses across the way there. Travers, stick by him and make sure he doesn't fuck it all to hell. Dolohov, go up the way and cover the play park. Bella and I will check these houses on the right. Kill any Muggles who step out of their houses. Send up the Mark if you find him, and remember, we're not to kill him. The Dark Lord wants to question the little shit personally."

Regulus knew he could take Pettigrew, but he wasn't sure about Travers, given his current injured state. Besides, the others would swarm the place as soon as they heard the sounds of battle, and to be questioned by the Dark Lord meant swift and brutal interrogation, with no chance of hiding information or living through the experience.

There was a growing cold on his chest, and he feared they'd even brought dementors to aid their search. He tried to get a glimpse of fog or maybe ice in the cloudless sky and on the ground around him.

But then he remembered the necklace he'd worn for three years. He'd almost forgotten he had it, as it had become as much a part of him as his own left arm. It had been from Sirius. From before.

He could remember receiving it as if it was yesterday.

12:00, June 31, 1978

It had been after the Hogwarts Graduation ceremony in 1978. Sirius had separated himself from his ever-present friends and jogged over to him, his long locks flopping. Sirius had never been one for displays of affection, friendly or romantic. He'd simply held out his hand, with that damned glint in his eyes, and dropped something into Regulus's open palm.

"If mum ever gets too rough, just turn the head and say 'Padfoot.' It'll bring you to my place."

Without another word he'd strode off towards Potter and the rest, leaving him bewildered and more than a little grateful.

He looked at the sturdy, silver chain and the dog attached to it, and shook his head at his brother's antics.

A creaking of the gate he'd disabled earlier brought him back to the present.

"Pettigrew, go check the shed," came the voice of Travers, "I'll cover you from here."

Footsteps approached his position, and he cursed himself, knowing the slight waver of the Disillusionment would give him away. He knew he had to act quickly.

Regulus grit his teeth and prayed that his former comrades hadn't thought to ward against Portkeys. As Peter reached the shed door, he seemed to be arguing with himself, hand paused over the handle.

Fast a snake, Regulus darted from between the flowers, Irish Greyhound necklace in hand, the head already turned. He simultaneously thrust his wand towards his unsuspecting foe and a beam of red light connected with Pettigrew's back.

He grabbed Pettigrew's arm and shouted "Padfoot!" feeling a touch absurd as he did so, and felt something cut deeply into his chest as the he felt the pull from his navel.

With a crash, he landed at his destination. He looked at his rather odd surroundings, drinking in the clash of Muggle and magical in the large room.

He pressed a hand to his side where he had felt the cutter nail him and sent another stunner into Pettigrew.

The dark red stain was flowing through his fingers and into the expensive shirt and robe his father had gifted him towards his already ruined pants and he turned towards the softest whisper and found himself looking down the end of a familiar wand.

As he locked eyes with his brother for the first time since June 31st, 1978, he felt his head swimming, and saw the ground rushing up to meet him.

All he heard was "Reggie?" as darkness engulfed him.

(*v*) (*v*) (*v*)

A/N (these "birds"will now signify a line break)

Sirius Orion Black was frustrated. He was laying on his couch, tossing his trusty quaffle to himself, tuning out the football match between Manchester United and Chelsea that was blaring out of his speakers attached to his telly.

For nearly nine months he'd been forced to stay in his flat. Barring his little "excursions" into Muggle London under the influence of Polyjuice, he hadn't been able to go anywhere or communicate with people who weren't cleared by the Order. He'd quickly realized this meant the Marauders, Lily, and a large number of people fifty years plus his senior.

"Joy," he remembered thinking to himself when an overeager Elphias Doge regaled him with a story about himself and a much younger Albus Dumbledore when asked to check up him.

With the help of Moody, Dumbledore, and obviously his fellow Marauders, he'd completely transformed what had started as a one-bedroom flat into what he called "The Doghouse."

He'd consulted with Moody via floo call about what to do with the place, and the auror had an endless supply of suggestions on how to properly secure his living quarters. Sirius took them all to heart.

Then he'd reasoned with the Headmaster, stating that if he were to be completely safe from filthy mongrels like the Death Eaters, they'd need to renovate. Dumbledore had laughed at that and made a swift rebuttal about filthy mongrels, but acquiesced. His eyes had twinkled merrily when the eldest Black son had given him the three meter roll of parchment with the layout he wanted, including the charms and materials outside his field of expertise.

"You've been speaking with Alastor," was all he'd said before smiling once again, offering him something called a lemon drop (he'd declined), and disappearing into the newly conjured obsidian fireplace.

Sirius looked around, smirking to himself at the unbridled potential the place now held.

The Headmaster had expanded it to the size of a small warehouse, changing the flooring to a polished hardwood. The walls had all been charmed into mirrors that were magically resistant and would reflect spells, should the need arise. The lighting had been entirely replaced with industrial fluorescent lights, that operated on magic, rather than electricity, and could be controlled with his wand, instead of a pesky switch.

The Fidilius had been removed, and replaced with a series of intent-based wards, that would only inflict pain and even death on those who intended to him harm. He'd also added a combination of befuddling, muggle repelling, and "special" wards that were most certainly harder to break than a Fidilius.

Of course, the only reason he had the flat in the first place was thanks to his dear old dad, who'd refused to officially disown him back in his sixth year, against his mother's wishes.

What his dad hadn't known at the time was that by leaving him as the heir to his titles and properties, he'd essentially given him unfettered access to everything in the family.

He thought himself awfully polite by only helping himself to a few ten-thousand galleons.

"Better to spend it on me than on Voldemort's campaign for Minister!" he'd always joked to Prongs and Moony.

From there he'd innovated the entire space into one, unending room. He'd bought all the latest muggle appliances for his kitchen, and had his newly hired house elf Pokey (you certainly didn't expect him to do it all on his own, did you!?) lay black granite for countertops and close off the space from the rest of the place.

He'd also designed a comfortable living space, a loft sort of bedroom, and a full-sized Muggle automotive garage.

With some help from Lily, he'd managed to make Muggle technology work in a magically-saturated area, and owed his remaining sanity to his telly and motorbike. He'd picked up football and rugby, but didn't understand for the life of him how men running about on the ground trying to kick only one ball into a single goal was more entertaining than quidditch. Bonkers, the lot of them. At least rugby players were allowed to crash spectacularly into one another.

Forcing himself to set down the scarlet ball and return to the present once more, he begrudgingly made himself return to the football match.

He was once again quickly growing bored of the players in red and blue and their inability to score, and was debating going to tweak the newest addition to his motorbike when...

CRASH!

He was on the alert immediately, wand flicked from his wrist holster as he sprang from the large black leather couch and fluidly ducked behind it.

He hastily darkened the lights and baited his magical traps with two soundless flicks of his wand.

He palmed the device in his left hand of the Marauders' and Moody's design, rather like a magical grenade, called the pineapple ("This is why Wormtail isn't allowed to name things!"). Sirius sprinted at a crouch towards the front door, where the sound had come from.

His wards hadn't been tripped, but he knew he couldn't be too cautious, especially after what had happened to the Prewett twins a few months back in their own home. Moony had said cleaning up the blood and gore had taken hours, and that hadn't included the other damages.

With that thought, he rolled out from behind his refrigerator and pointed his wand towards the intruder, ready to curse them to kingdom-come and hurl his "pineapple" at the same time.

When he locked eyes with who it was, his wand fell limply to his side and the magical discharger fell forgotten onto the floor with a dull thud as confusion swept over him.

Then he noticed the condition his brother was in, blood rapidly draining onto the floor and all over his finery. Not to mention the gruesome, jagged blue pieces of metal sticking out of his back and legs. He barely registered the stunned Death Eater on the floor when another wave of bewilderment once again came over him.

"Reggie?"

With that, he came to his senses and stunned his younger brother, stepped towards his fireplace, and went to find out just what was happening on this rather unusual Halloween night.

(*v*) (*v*) (*v*)

A/N: Hey guys, Mr. P here. This is going to be my first full length Fanfiction. As you can see I'm trying to develop Sirius and Regulus a bit before launching into the Harry part of the story. BUT don't worry, that will come next chapter!

Just let me know what you lot think and I'm aiming to have another chapter in a couple of days here. Leave me a review and do let me know where you think this story should go!

Thanks again,

Mr. P