PRINCEPS ET CANIS-ADVENIAT REGNUM

Ok, there are few things I want to make clear.

1) PRINCEPS ET CANIS-ADVENIAT REGNUM means "The Prince and the Hound- Kingdom Come".

2) 'Regulus' means "Little King"in Latin. In Arabic, this star is called "Heart of the Lion", an allusion to which has been made regarding the lions' heads.

3)'Sirius' is the Dog Star, the brightest in the constellation Canis Major, which is an allusion to which has been made regarding the hounds' heads.

4)Toujours pur means "Always pure" and is the motto of the House of Black.

The first thing he heard was the absolute silence all around, heavy and oppressive in a way, almost forbidding. It was only then that he realized that he was lying spread-eagle on the floor and that he was unclothed, yet for some reason, he couldn't feel the ground under him. In fact, he couldn't feel anything. This made him sit up in panic. Just how did he end up here and where were his clothes? Just as he thought of this, however, a set of robes appeared before him on the ground, the fog surrounding him parting enough to reveal their presence.

Wait, fog?

He began to pay more attention to his surroundings and saw that there was a thick fog everywhere save a foot's radius around him. Whichever way he stepped, the fog cleared in that direction and obscured the position he had occupied not seconds ago, always in a perfectly circular distance from him. Then, it all came back to him; he remembered dueling Bellatrix in the Death Chamber in the Department of Ministries and the bitch had fired a Killing Curse at him. He dimly remembered the moment of realization that had dawned on him, even as he fell through the Veil. A strange feeling seemed to settle at the bottom of his stomach.

So I'm dead.

He had felt just the slightest fear during the duel in what proved to be the last mission he'd ever perform for the Order of the Phoenix, but a sense of understanding and finality settled on him with the realization that he'd passed from the land of the living forever. There was no turning back now and it was time to him to face what lay for him here. And with this resolution, he stepped back to where the robes lay and began to pull them on before stopping. There was a crest on the robes and it was the coat of arms of the House of Black. For a moment, he stared at it agape, before growling and flinging it to the ground. He willed for another set of robes to appear, but everything remained as it was. His forehead creased in amazement and irritation and he tried again. The result was no different. He stood there for what seemed like several moments, alternately trying to summon a new set of robes and staring at the ones lying at his feet, as if his glare would incinerate them. Eventually, he gave up; there seemed to be no point in trying and he felt uncomfortable standing around in his birthday suit, regardless of the fact that there was no one around but him. He grudgingly picked up the discarded robes and pulled them on. They were the same colour as the background of his family tapestry at 12 Grimmauld Place and they managed to fit quite comfortably, much like a second skin. He patted himself all over and then realized that he was wandless. A wave of regret and a feeling of being…incomplete washed over him. He dimly recalled buying his wand, which he had held when he'd fallen through the Veil, at Ollivander's in Diagon Alley years ago, in what seemed to be a time and place so long ago; losing it was almost as losing an arm to him. No sooner had he thought that that lo! His wand appeared before his feet, just as he remembered it, almost thrumming with magic that he could sense, as if begging him to pick it up so that they could be reunited. He bent down and took it up and as he did so, warmth washed over his arm, his wand rejoicing as much as him to return where it belonged. Now there was nothing lacking; he was whole again.

He looked ahead and without a second thought, he stepped forward boldly and began to walk without pause. Something inside him told him that there would be no danger, that he had nothing to fear. After all, he was dead; what's the worst that could happen. On and on he went, his thoughts simply focused on the road ahead. The ground, he noticed, was bright white, the same tint which one would associate with clouds and that he could not feel it, even as he walked on it. Far above him, there was a light somewhere far above that seemed to grow brighter with every step he took forward, obscured by mist though it was. He carried on ahead at a pace neither hurried nor slow; all would be revealed in good time.

For what seemed to him like hours he walked, although he could have sworn afterwards that it took him no more than a few minutes when finally the fog cleared before him, revealing a wooden bridge beyond which there was a stretch of stone path leading up to a sturdy door of oak. He paused and as if on instinct, he stepped back, with the mist immediately obscuring the bridge and the door from view. He retreated further, but this time the fog had closed in on him and would not lift, regardless of whichever direction he went. He had suspected this; it meant that whatever his destiny was, he would face it beyond that bridge, after he had gone through that door.

He retraced his steps and immediately, the mist swirled away to reveal both bridge and door again. This time, he stepped forward with the same confident stride as before, walking ahead at an unhurried pace. He walked on and turned his head to look back while still walking, only to discover that the distance behind him had been swallowed up by the mist. He knew that should he retrace his steps, he would once again find himself blind in the fog which would not lift unless he took the path that he was meant to.

But meant to by whom and what?

He walked on and on and finally came to the end of the bridge and even as he stepped off it, there was a heavy groaning and creaking, the sound of a drawbridge being raised. He turned around and he saw that sure enough, the wooden bridge was being raised, rising ever upwards until it stood absolutely vertical before it stopped. And then the fog lifted and he saw something that plucked at his heartstrings in a most bittersweet way. All around, there were green, grassy fields and gently undulating hills, with trees dotting the landscape here and there. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky and he could hear the rush of water and the trill of birds singing. It was so beautiful, so familiar, so…Hogwarts. Tears welled up in his eyes which he brushed away and then looked around to see that he was standing before a great castle with huge towers and battlements. Standards of white were placed upon them, bearing a device which seemed strangely familiar to him, kindling his suspicions. There were shuttered windows in whose recesses songbirds were perched, warbling their sweet melodies. The drawbridge was the point of access over a moat whose water was surprisingly in flow and traversed in a gigantic arc to a point beyond his view. The place where he stood was itself large enough to hold about ten rows of men with fifteen in each; the walls of the castle lay beyond that, the water of the moat lapping at them.

He turned his attention back to the door and discovered to his surprise that that Black coat-of-arms was boldly emblazoned on it. And that's when he realized what device the standards on the battlements bore; one look upwards confirmed it. Some of his sense of hesitation and annoyance returned; he couldn't understand why he was being made to confront his family legacy in death. After all, hadn't he spent all his life defying it, even getting himself killed by his own cousin in the process? But he knew that this was the only way ahead and whatever was to happen would only take place beyond the door. He stepped forward and grabbed the knocker which had a lion shaped head and knocked thrice. Immediately, the door swung open inwards to reveal a darkness inside which the light outside did not illuminate. He paused and stared with all his might, trying to pierce the pitch dark with his gaze, but to no avail. For the first time, uneasiness came over him; what lay beyond that door and how it's discovery would affect him. He was loath to step out of the light and into the dark, being unsure as he was of what awaited him. But he couldn't stand there forever; at some point, he would have to go on, no matter how long after. Resigning himself to his fate, he stepped through the doorway and into the dark. No sooner was he through that the doors shut noiselessly, cutting off the cheery world he had left behind and leaving him in the pitch black.

He had not the time to even register his surprise before there was a sudden flash and all was illuminated. He was standing in a long passageway which stretch to a point beyond his view, much too narrow for what he'd expected to lie beyond the door, which he'd assumed that would eventually open into a courtyard, despite all his trepidation. It surprised him all the more to see that the light came from lanterns that hung from the ceiling, but there was something strange about them; though they glowed bright, they did not bear any flame. Rather, they were like little imprisoned suns, brightening the passage in a way that not even Muggle electrical lights could, putting to shame the chandeliers of the palaces he had visited or sneaked into in the past. He saw green velvet bearing the crest of the House of Black adorning the walls, reaching all the way to the ceiling. But what he saw first and foremost was that on either side of the corridor stood brightly polished suits of armour, complete from head to toe with visored helms, breastplates, gauntlets, sabatons and all, guaranteeing complete protection to any who would wear them. Each suit had a longsword hung about in a steel scabbard at the waist, with the Black coat-of-arms etched on each.

He stood staring for a while before taking a step forward. Just as he did so, all of the suits of armour drew their swords and held them at salute before raising them to form an arch overhead. The suddenness of it all made him flinch before he recovered his senses and took a cautious step forward. Nothing happened. He took another and then another and when still nothing happened, he continued on, slower than before this time, ever mindful of the silent men of iron on either side, their swords held overhead unwaveringly. He felt awfully tempted to step up and raise the visor of one of them, yet some deeper sense restrained him; it did not seem dangerous to him, but rather disrespectful, the same way it would be to laugh and dance around someone's sickbed.

Some Marauder I've turned out to be. Since when did I care about the solemnity of occasion?

On and on he went, passing identical suits of armour all along the way under drawn swords until he came to the end of the passage at which lay a door. This door was quite like the previous one, however it made of marble bearing the Black crest. On closer inspection, he saw that the coat-of-arms was made of encrusted gems and the family motto was inlaid with gold. This was it, his final destination and the moment of truth. Whatever happened now would decide his destiny in this world once and for all. It seemed to be too soon, far too early to confront his fate. Yet there was no turning back now, nor had it ever been since he fell through the Veil and ended up in the mist. It was now or never. Steeling himself, he pushed open the doors and stepped through.

For a moment, he was blinded by a flash of light, one that left him unable to see anything but white for several long seconds before slowly fading, revealing several large shapes which made no sense at first given his dazzled eyesight. As his vision cleared, he could make out that they were people, then that they were wearing robes, then that their robes were the same as his, crest and all, that they were members of the House of Black throughout the ages and finally that they were all in a great hall, palatial and sumptuous hall, larger than any he'd seen before, being almost twenty times the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts and that was only a crude guess. A great chandelier hung from an immensely high ceiling, bearing lanterns of the same type he had encountered in the passageway, but even brighter, bathing the hall in a golden glow which only enhanced the dark yet alluring beauty of the hall, whose walls he noticed were painted the same way 12 Grimmauld Place's had been; the whole effect seemed to remind him of a Black family reunion like the many which had taken place in his ancestral home before he started attending Hogwarts, before he began to rebel and before his relatives started dying out, except that this was on an unimaginable scale and that somehow, this was linked to his fate in the afterlife. He notice figures of various animals, both ordinary and magical, which were carved into the pillars. Stained glass windows depicting otherworldly beings, some of those figures representing constellations were set high upon the walls, adding to the grandeur. He noticed that he was standing on a magnificent velvet carpet whose dark red colour reminded him of that of blood and then he saw that the carpet led to the very end of the hall where there was a raised dais with marble steps leading onto it and on it rested two richly ornate thrones made of obsidian, one which had armrests whose ends were carved into the shape of lion's heads. The other throne was similar, but bore hounds heads which were painstakingly carved into it. It was empty, but the lions' throne was occupied by a man with a golden circlet on his head, dressed in dark green robes over a tunic of a forest green inlaid with gold thread, bearing his family crest. It was then that his heart seemed to leap out of his mouth and he advanced as if in a dream, the shaking of his legs barely controlled. He came right up to the steps and then fell on his knees, looking up with disbelieving and moist eyes at the smiling face of Regulus.

"Welcome, brother" said Regulus as he stood up and held his arms wide.

Trembling, he got up and walked up the steps, stopping before his brother. Beyond all hope and belief, this was real and he was speechless.

"R-Reg?" he managed to croak out.

Regulus's smile grew wider and his teeth flashed. "Yes, Sirius, it is me. I-we-have all waited for you for so long. You're finally here, back where you belong, home. You're back with your family, the true place for a scion of the House of Black. And you are it's last son."

So many thoughts raced through his head; he wanted to laugh, scoff and cry-yes, even cry. How and why had he received this honour, seeing as he'd rebelled against every tradition of his family, was the first Gryffindor in a family of Slytherins, was a blood-traitor, had fled home, was a follower of Dumbledore and had fought his own family till the very end? He hadn't even passed on the torch to a new generation, dying unmarried and fatherless and even if he had, the child would have been born of a Muggle or Muggle-born mother in all probability. But all he could do was to choke out weakly, "But I failed."

Silence reigned all around, but the smile on Regulus's face didn't falter and he put his hand on his shoulder. "You made mistakes, brother, but you died a warrior. One of the traditions of our family has been bravery, in addition to blood purity. You may have disdained that in your short-sightedness, but you did uphold the former in the face of all odds. But above all, we forgive you your transgressions. Also, yes, we know how you met your end. That is indeed a sad end for the last male of a most ancient and noble house, to be felled by his own cousin, but let me tell you, where we are is eternal. The House of Black lives on in eternity and shall do so forevermore. With your coming, we have received our prince and the throne shall be empty no more. You already know it's for you, don't you? The carving on it alone should have left no doubt about that."

His eyes flicked to the throne and back. "After all I've done to oppose you, you'd have me back?" Something was beginning to melt in him. He had always had that soft spot in his heart for Regulus, no matter what the differences and had mourned his disappearance so long ago in private. His parents were an entirely different matter altogether; he could never remember having loved or respected Orion and Walburga Black. The reason he'd run away from home was his parents whose influence he felt stifled under, never to return until years afterwards, after he'd fled Azkaban. Regulus seemed to understand, however, and gently pulled his brother to his feet wheeled him towards a regal looking witch and a tall bearded wizard standing close to the dias. He nudged him slightly and Sirius walked forward as if drawn by an irresistible force, down the steps and towards the pair, each step slow and burdened until he came to a stop before them. For a moment, he did nothing but look at each of their faces before dropping his gaze to his feet and muttering "Hullo, Mum. Hullo, Dad."

He was answered with a stinging slap, something which made him look up in shock at the furious face of Walburga Black. Stifled gasps were heard in the room, but their sound was drowned out by his mother's screech.

"OVER TWENTY YEARS AND ALL YOU SAY IS 'HULLO'?!"

He opened his mouth, ready to protest hotly before he saw that his mother's eyes were swimming with tears. This was a sight he'd never seen in his life and was absolutely unprepared for it. His father looked to be on the verge of tears himself, his mustache quivering as his upper lip trembled. The sight of that made him strangely guilty; he'd disappointed every hope of theirs and brought them no end of grief and shame, no matter the reasons behind it. And even as he looked back on it all now, his reasons seemed drab and hollow in comparison to what he had forsaken. He had been born an heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black and had been his parents' last hope in a time where the bloodline was dying out, something he had flung to the wind and gone off on his own, valuing his friendships at the cost of his responsibilities and his family. For the first time, he saw what a blow it had been to his parents; Walburga had died grieving, both her sons and heirs lost to her, her family and the Black legacy shattered to pieces. For the first time, he saw how he'd failed.

He laid a hand on his mother's shoulder with the other, he cupped her cheek and looked into her eyes. Words couldn't suffice, so he kept staring into the dark expressive orbs with his own grey ones, willing her to understand all the unsaid things, all the unspoken regrets he couldn't voice. It was the moment he saw her eyes soften and her tears fall that he enfolded her in a hug, holding her head to his chest, wiping away her tears while letting his own flow and crooning reassurances in her ears, softly kissing the top of her head. At length, she drew away and looking him in the eye, she placed a soft hand against his cheek and softly said, "I'm glad you're home, son. And you need not ask, you have my forgiveness", biting her lip to hold back a fresh wave of tears. She pulled him into a soft, maternal embrace and held him long to her heart, much to the cheer and applause of those in the room which rose up loud and joyous; he could even hear some sobs carry through. Long he held her, doing nothing but cry in the arms of the mother who he'd never valued in life. It was only after what seemed like an eternity that he gently broke off and then almost threw himself on his father, enfolding him in a tight embrace, causing him to stagger in befuddlement at first, but he responded warmly enough when he realized what was happening; the cheers and sobs grew even louder. He stood there with his arms around his father for what seemed like an eternity, savouring the moment of reconciliation and homecoming this had been until finally, he let go and returned a smile at their proud, beaming faces. He finally felt at peace; he had done what he'd once deemed impossible. He had reconciled. He finally realized what had brought him here.

My destiny brought me here.

He finally understood; he was a Black and this was where he was meant to be, a realization that turned into conviction as he looked at his parents' faces. He would not fight his destiny anymore; he would step up and make amends for his past AND he would fulfill his responsibilities which he had abandoned in life. He turned back to the dais where Regulus stood and walked towards and onto it, even as the room grew quiet again. He looked at the empty throne with the hounds' heads and then at Regulus. He received a smile and smiled back; his decision was made. But he needed a final answer before that.

"Regulus, this place, where and what is it?"

Regulus laughed, the sound outclassing the most melodious music to him, for Regulus had never laughed like that since his 11th birthday again.

"This is the what the Veil hid. This is our Kingdom Come."

Kingdom Come. Yes, that sounded just right indeed.

"Then I accept the offer to rule with you as the last scion of the House of Black."

A deafening cheering, loud and thunderous broke out, even as Regulus's face broke into the widest smile ever. At that moment, knights in armour began to pour in through the door he'd entered the hall from. They all marched single file towards the dais and arranged themselves in rows before it. Soon, there were a host of iron arrayed before them and behind it, a sea of green. Regulus clapped his hands and the knights sunk to their knees and raised their visors, revealing handsome, bright faces with proud, stern countenances.

"Behold, Sirius, these are the Knights of the House of Black, it's sons who perished before they could sire another generation", Regulus said. He then clapped his hands and called out, "Lord Phineas, if you please." And through the door stepped forth a wizard with bright eyes and a beard that poured over his chest like a dark waterfall, bearing a silver tray on which lay an item covered in silk, and made his way forward, through the rows of knights and onto the dais.

"By your leave, Lord Phineas", Regulus said deferentially.

Phineas Nigellus Black, former patriarch of the House of Black smiled, his pride evident from his shining eyes.

"I am ready, Little King."

Regulus turned to his brother. "Kneel", he said.

Facing the crowd, Sirius knelt and Phineas Black uncovered the tray, revealing a golden circlet identical to the one resting on Regulus's head. He took it up and he it up for the crowd to see before placing it on the head of the last of the Blacks. Thunderous applause and cheers burst out again; wands were drawn and spells cast, resulting in fireworks followed by a rain of cherry blossom petals and swan feathers. The knights rose and drew their swords and holding them to the salute, they cried, "All hail Prince Regulus and Sirius!"; the cheers intensified. He spied his mother sobbing in the arms of his father, who himself was shedding tears of joy. He looked at Regulus and for the first time in almost 25 years, he drew him into his arms. Long they held each other, oblivious to all but the other. When they broke apart, they held each other's gaze for a while, smiling brightly before Regulus spoke.

"Toujours pur, Sirius."

He grinned and they both took their seats on their thrones.

"Toujours pur, Regulus", he replied, a wave of final understanding washing over him.

"TOUJOURS PUR!" he roared.

And the knights and the crowd answered, "TOUJOURS PUR!"