Author's Note:
Hello! This one-shot is actually a posted work of mine for the Marauder's Era roleplaying site, Aerodynamic. I would highly recommend checking it out.

I should be posting more Sirius-things, since I love the bloke unbelievably much. Anyway, enjoy!

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It was just another day at Grimmauld Place, and Sirius was literally bored to tears. This business of not being allowed to leave his own home was nothing less than awful, and he had to keep reminding himself that he was a wanted criminal, otherwise he would have left the house hours ago without any second thought about the possible repercussions of his actions. Clearly, twelve years of Azkaban still wasn't enough to stop Sirius Black from leaving the home, but when he thought of the dank cells and the vivid memory of the disfigured faces of the Dementors underneath their hoods... That was certainly enough to prevent Sirius from stepping one foot - or paw, for that matter - outside for some fresh air. Such a bummer...

Yawning, Sirius sat at the kitchen table with the newest edition of the Daily Prophet again, still claiming that his godson was a nutter and that he was a criminal... Figures. Sirius thought, rolling his gray eyes. It's been years since this little piece of rubbish has had anything decent to write about... Of course, couldn't expect anything different, with that damn troll Rita Skeeter writing her damned thoughts on every corner. Now... Where is my drink?Aimlessly, his hand stretched out across the table to find a mug full of very sweet firewhiskey. It was his favorite brand, and one that Remus had dropped off only the day before. The bottle lay on its side on the counter, indicating that the unregistered Animagus man had spent too much of his time drinking, and little of it doing anything... Well, anything else.

Ah, Remus... Such a good old mate. Sirius' gaze wandered down to the Daily Prophet again as he drained the mug empty in a single swallow. He thought about calling the aforementioned lycanthrope over, but quickly decided not to. Remus had been over only the evening before, and Sirius knew that he had other deeds to attend to. For the Order and all, which really put Sirius in a bad mood when he thought about it as often as he did. Being solitary confined for a year wasn't his cup of tea - nor his mug of firewhiskey, for that matter - and he knew sitting there where he was wasn't helping anyone at all. Releasing a deep exhale, Sirius stood up from the table and towards the bottle of firewhiskey. He filled the mug to the brim, before there was a sudden noise that diverted his attention. Eyes narrowing, the middle-aged man already knew what that was...

... Kreacher...

"KREACHER, YOU WORTHLESS LUMP OF STUPID! Keep down that racket before I hex your ears off!" Sirius shouted at the house elf, although there was no response to his cruel words. His voice echoed off of the walls, and all was quiet for several seconds apart from the ticking from the grandfather's clock in the front room... Until the noise started up again. Fuming, Sirius began swearing under his breath before reaching for his wand and heading in the direct direction to locate the source of its whereabouts. With every step he took, however - arriving up the stairs, and halfway through the first hallway - he realized where it was leading him to. And it was the only place in the house that he hadn't revisited since he had been forced to make permanent residence of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. The one room where even his mother and father hadn't dared visit, and - as far as Sirius was concerned - no other human being had been in since the death of the person who had once inhabited it.

Sirius scowled at the sign that laid on the front of the door in front of him, wanting to blast it out of the way with his frustration. "Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black." Really, who had Regulus thought he had been? Scoffing, Sirius' hand made way to grab the handle to rip his way into the room and give Kreacher the punishment he deserved, but his fingers trembled just as he made way to do so. However, he knew how illogical he was being. It was just a room, after all, and it wasn't as if it actually belonged to his brother anymore. Regulus had been dead for sixteen years, and this house - along with this bedroom that he didn't dare enter - was all Sirius'. Somehow, though, Sirius felt as if he was invading someone's privacy... And it was a ridiculous idea. Shaking his head with frustration, Sirius held his breath as he firmly grasped the handle of the door and pushed it open.

All was dark in the room, but Sirius still didn't dare step inside. He wavered for a moment; peering some, even though part of him just wanted to leave the room behind forever. Finally, gaining all of his courage, Sirius took his wand in hand and murmured an incantation to light up the room. Cautiously, he took the final step that would close the boundary between himself and the place that his brother had once been. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath as he looked around. It was clean, of course, apart from the dust that had grown there over the years of misuse and abandonment. No one had ever exaggerated when they had said that Sirius and Regulus were polar opposites. While Sirius was disorganized, Regulus had always been clean and orderly. Sirius preferred fruits, while Regulus preferred vegetables. Sirius liked muggle rock music, and Regulus listened to the wizard orchestral classics like their parents...

Sirius had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Regulus had been a member of the Death Eaters.

Hardly breathing at all, Sirius' gray eyes darted back and forth towards the clippings on the walls, all about Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters. On one end, there were pictures of his friends from school. Sirius had trouble remembering the names of most of them, as he certainly hadn't thought of a single one of them, considering where he had been over the years. Azkaban hadn't exactly been the perfect place to reminisce over old school times, nor what he had looked forward to at the time, nor thinking about all of the friends he had... James and Lily's death had been a cold, cutting reality he still didn't quite fathom, after all, and with Peter at the end of his every thought... Well, Sirius hadn't exactly thought about where these people were anymore. Although, he suspected they were dead, if they had ended up joining the Dark Lord like his brother had.

Sniffing, Sirius then remembered that he had been looking for Kreacher. Eyes narrowing, the middle-aged man decided that he needed to get out of this room and fast, before he suddenly became intrigued with whatever else might be there, hiding in the bookshelves shoved to the sides of the room. Just as he flipped around, however, Sirius realized that he had stepped on something. Looking down, he looked to find a small journal of sorts. It was brown, leatherbound, and despite that he didn't want to think anymore about his low-life deceased brother, Sirius knew he wouldn't be able to put the diary down. Not now, as his calloused fingers touched the small, coarse book and his mind begged him to look through it. Frowning, Sirius lightly sat down on the bed, and his slightly shaky fingers opened the first page of the book to find that it was blank.

Eyebrows knitted together, Sirius quickly came to the conclusion that his brother hadn't written anything in this small pad. It hadn't been used, and for some reason, this became irksome to Sirius and he found himself frowning sadly and closing his eyes. He had realized that only a moment ago, he had depended on this tiny inanimate object, for proof that his brother had been there - in this room, perhaps - only sixteen years ago. In fact, Sirius didn't even know why he wanted to see the familiar but forgotten handwriting of his younger brother. For memory's sake, maybe...? They had grown up together, after all, and at one point in their lives - though Sirius didn't want to admit to it - they had been close. [i]So[/i] close... Regulus had even shared his beliefs at one point, and they had done everything together. Apart from the level of mischief, of course. His brother had always been the angelic one. The smaller, slighter one... The gentler one.

The one who had become a Death Eater.

Opening his eyes, Sirius blinked for several seconds. He looked down at the journal again, before deciding to try just one thing before he left the room forever again. Keeping his eyes focused and his jaw clenched, Sirius barely moved his mouth as he tapped his wand against the first, fresh page of the pad. "Specialis Revelio." As soon as the words left his mouth, ink began to appear on the page. At first, it came up indecipherable, but after a few moments, Sirius realized that Regulus had been attempting to write him something. And it had only been a few days before his death, too, judging by the dates...

"Dear Sirius,

I know you refuse to talk to me because of my decisions, but I - "

"Dear Sirius,

I'm not the only one who's made mistakes, you know.

You made plenty of those when you left home at sixteen - "

"Dear Sirius,

Mum and dad still miss you, you know, even if you don't think that they care - "

Until finally...

"Dear Sirius,

I know you'll never be proud of me.

I miss you. Despite that you'll never miss me in return.

You'll only ever see me as the boy you grew up with, or the Death Eater that I was, rather than the real person that I grew up to be.

I'm truly sorry that I could never live up to your expectations.

R.A.B."

Sirius had always hated that his brother was usually right. And in this case, he certainly was; yet again. Closing the journal, Sirius quickly stood up from his sitting position. He dropped the pad on the bed, shook his head, and forced himself to forget about it. Just as he had everything else of his brother.