Author's Notes: This will be a multi-chapter story, but I can't promise how often it will be updated, so please bear with me. Feedback is always appreciated, as I've never written a story quite like this.

…

Contrary to what people believe, my brother and I were rather close growing up. He was only a year or two older than me, which meant we argued a lot with so little an age difference. At Hogwarts, he was in the year above mine, but we never saw each other. He was the only Gryffindor in the family; his House and mine were enemies. I think it's the hatred we were entitled to have as Gryffindors and Slytherins that ultimately pushed us apart.

It was our family, too. It was me.

Throughout our years at Hogwarts, he had his friends to pull him back from the edge; I had my friends, but they weren't as kind. Slytherins, you know, and connected to my family somehow. They were all obsessed with the idea that having the surname of Black made us practically royalty, and those related to us of a different last name could have been the court's servants. They weren't of the House of Black after all, but their blood still ran the same.

As a Slytherin, the belief that purebloods were ultimately superior was hurled at me from all directions, until I had no choice but to believe in it myself. And with that, Sirius was made even more of an outcast – the only member of the family who held opposing views. He was already the rebel; it made sense to do everything the opposite of him if I wanted my family to accept me. I didn't realize until too late just how far they wanted me to go for their acceptance, and how wrong they were in their beliefs.

It would seem their dislike of Sirius was nothing more than rage over the fact that he refused to be their puppet… I admired him for that in the end. And though I never saw my brother again after Hogwarts, though I eventually became a pawn in my family's sick game, one thing between Sirius and I still remains.

Our blood will forever run Black.

…

Seven year old Regulus Black sped down the stairs of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He held a dark stuffed fox in one hand, its tail locked in the death grip only children seem to have.

His brother, Sirius, was almost nine years old; Sirius was right on Regulus' heels. "Give it back!" he yelled. "I want it back!"

The stuffed fox swung ominously in Regulus's hand as the little boy zoomed around a corner, barely missing a collision with a small table. The people in the delicate glass frames on display squealed as Regulus came dangerously close to toppling them over. "You can't catch me!" the little boy taunted, still running as fast as his seven year old legs would allow.

"I can too!" Sirius chased his brother into the kitchen, a look of determination on his young face. "Mum said that fox is mine and I want it back, even if I have to catch you for it!" He drew closer to Regulus and lunged, grabbing his brother's ankles.

Regulus yelped and crashed to the kitchen floor.

"Told you!" Sirius scrambled for the stuffed fox; Regulus began whacking him with it.

"I want it, I want it!" Regulus yelled. "It's mine!"

Sirius covered his head with one arm and swiped with the other at the abusive stuffed fox. Regulus stuck out his tongue, still hitting his brother over the head with the dead animal.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Sirius yelled. "You're going to break it!"

Regulus stopped mid-whack; bits of stuffing floated to the floor. Sirius watched it gently swing back and forth. "Now look what you've done, the stuffing's coming out…"

"Is it sick?" Regulus cautiously asked after a few minutes. "Whenever I'm sick, weird things come out of my mouth."

Several more minutes passed before Sirius replied, "Yeah, I think it's sick." He plucked the stuffed fox from Regulus' outstretched hand. "We should probably put this somewhere else now, so it can get better."

Regulus looked solemnly at the stuffed fox now dangling above him. He poked it gently and when a bit of stuffing floated to the floor, he frowned. "He must be very sick," he said.

"Well, you weren't exactly being nice to him earlier, were you? Using him to hit me over the head, I don't think he appreciated that. And then poking him just now, when you know he isn't feeling good?" Sirius shook his head. "I'm glad mum is the one to take care of me when I'm sick and not you."

"I can make him better," said Regulus indignantly. "I'll just give him some soup, that works for me."

"He's a fox, stupid. Foxes don't eat soup, they eat chickens."

"Then I'll feed him a chicken!"

Sirius sighed and rolled his eyes. "You can't get a chicken, you're seven. Besides, it's mine. Mum said so. It's going in my room and I'll make it get better. Without soup or a stupid chicken."

Regulus stared petulantly at his older brother. He got to his feet and took a swipe at the stuffed fox, then marched down the hall and up the stairs to his room. Who needed a stuffed fox anyway, especially a sick one? Regulus closed his bedroom door and sat on the bed, unaware that he was pouting. He heard Sirius climb up the stairs and walk past on the way to his own room, undoubtedly swinging the fox in one hand. Regulus stuck his tongue out at the wall where he was sure Sirius would be, then crossed his arms and looked sullenly around the room for something to do.

He settled on drawing. He fished out some paper from his desk and found a pencil on the floor. He turned on a light; it was growing dark outside. He contented himself with stick figures pulling grotesque faces and when it got too late and his eyes grew heavy, he scratched them all out and crumpled up the paper. Regulus stared at the crinkled paper for a moment before scratching on a fox and then tossing it in a corner. He changed quickly into pajamas and crawled into bed, bored and tired and still annoyed.

Regulus looked out the window two feet from his bed, watching the moon and thinking of the stuffed fox. He secretly hoped it would get better; he thought of it as his friend, after all. After a while, he finally fell asleep. When he did, Sirius quietly snuck into the room and slipped the stuffed fox – which he had "cured" by replacing the stuffing – into his brother's arms. He looked at Regulus for a moment and then tip-toed out of the room, silently closing the door behind him.

When Regulus awoke in the morning, it was with one hand curled tightly around the stuffed fox. It was the one thing Sirius gave him that he would never forget.