Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and any characters, places or aspects that you recognise.

Author's Note: Inspiration for this story goes to Jenkt5 and their story Changing Sides. If you haven't read it, I would strongly recommend it without a doubt. I clicked on it by chance and I can honestly say it is so well written, my work suffered. It inspired me to write this story that I had toyed with but never penned around the time DH had been released. Additionally, American Wings and their story, Heart of Gold is worth a read (although I will be begging them to write an AU that takes place from the final chapter). In fact, these two have me hooked on Regulus Black and I am working through all the stories centred around him.

So this is a novel-length story and I have already written half of the second chapter. I must warn you that whilst I will stick with the story, the updates will be irregular, courtesy of my work. It is focused on Sirius and Regulus, although Regulus is the main protagonist. Other than that, I hope you enjoy reading this. Please drop me a line to give me your views, even if it is to say that this story is outrageously out of character or other criticisms.

Enjoy!


Shadows of Stars

The difference between what we do and what we are capable of doing would suffice to solve most of the world's problems. ~

Mahatma Gandhi

It feels like rain is Sirius' constant companion whenever a life altering event took place. Rumour had it that he had been born in the midst of a great thunderstorm, although he had always put that down to his mother's hyperbole and love for dramatics. There was a steady rain the entirety of the day that he had first started Hogwarts, the British summer living up to its infamy. It had been raining so heavily that he couldn't see more than a foot in front of him on the cold, wintry day, just a couple short of Christmas, when he had left his family and the family house for good. And he had felt the forceful splatterings of the spring showers the day he had all but disowned his own brother. It was, therefore, bizarre that rain produced zero emotions in him. The smell, the sound, the feel of it – Sirius was as indifferent to it as anyone could really be.

Sitting in the middle of the local pub with a pint of Butterbeer slipping easily down his throat, Sirius is oblivious to April celebrating its arrival with a flimsy drizzle, surrounded as he is by heat from an overcrowded tavern and the smell of sweat that so frequently accompanied it.

'To Alice,' James raises a glass pointing to the blonde with the heart shaped face. 'May she always come to our rescue,' he cheerfully ends the toast as all those around their table raise their glasses.

'Maybe you wouldn't need rescuing if you actually used common sense for once,' she retorts, cheeks red from embarrassment or alcohol, most likely both.

It wasn't understating things to say that Alice had literally saved their lives. It had been Sirius and James at the Order headquarters when news had come of a small scale attack on a Muggle village in the Yorkshire wilds. Pausing only to send an owl to Lily, they had rushed off, confident in their abilities to take on a handful of Death Eaters. Lily fortunately hadn't taken long to contact Alice, who had, in turn, contacted all of her fellow auror trainees she had been drinking with after work. Formulating a plan and forcing her friends to comply with it using threats, hexes and that dangerous glint in her eyes, they had encircled the village, only to find a dozen Death Eaters battling against Sirius and James, who had taken refuge inside a house. It had been luck, though the men would claim it was their skills, that had kept them alive long enough for the help to arrive. Though they hadn't managed to capture any Death Eaters or stop them in a more permanent manner, in these miserable times, it was great news if the Order members all survived and they had opted to celebrate living to see dinner with rather unhealthy quantities of alcohol.

'Shots for the hero,' Sirius demands, pointing enthusiastically in Alice's direction and sloshing half of his Butterbeer on the floor. 'In fact, shots all around.'

After cheerfully downing his shot, the varieties of alcohol mixing uncomfortably in his stomach, it is James that calls it a night first, eager to appease his fiancé and convince her that, really, it hadn't been a stupid thing to do to run headfirst into an ambush. James' departure acts as a sounding bell for the others, everyone drifting away to their homes in dribs and drabs, until Alice and Sirius are the only ones left.

'You alright?' She remains surprisingly astute, though the alcohol had reddened her cheeks and glazed her eyes.

'Course,' Sirius replies lazily, tilting his chair back such that it rested purely on the two back legs, hooded eyes contemplating the remnants of his glass of Butterbeer. 'Good day's work, all things considered.'

Alice debates internally for a minute, plain for all to see. She'd never been particularly friendly with Sirius or his gang during their school years, their particular brand of humour uncomfortably close to bullying. Potter had joined up for Auror training but Sirius hadn't even attempted it, contrary to what she had expected, and it had only been when she'd joined the Order of the Phoenix that she'd spent time with him. And he was prickly, no doubt about that. Where James oozed saccharine charm that turned her stomach, Sirius was distant and aloof and outrageously flirtatious with anything that moved. Despite that, the time they had spent together on different projects and occasional missions had allowed her to see past the initial façade, although she wasn't arrogant enough to think she knew him through and through, or even close to it. She often doubted even James knew him that well, best friends though they might be.

The face he wore now, the forced nonchalance, the determined cheer belied by the storminess of his grey eyes was what she referred to as his 'family' face. 'Did you see a cousin?' She asks him bluntly, deciding that something like subtlety would be lost on a guy so skilled at brooding.

A familiar combination of anger and distaste distorts the otherwise handsome face and it's always been a source of wonder for Alice, to see such outward carelessness covering so much rage. 'They're all wearing masks, so how would I know?' he snaps back, each word short and clipped with an effort. His eyes, now flashing with anger, peruse the countenance of the blonde, the openness doing little but angering him more. She never hid what she thought, from when she called him mean in their younger days to calling them selfish and thoughtless when they rushed headlong into situations like the one just now. The one stance she had never made apparent was regarding his family. It was impossible to gauge whether she disapproved of them as heartily as James did or whether she felt some sort of sympathy, like Remus. Sirius wouldn't ordinarily have been bothered by it, if he wasn't certain that his outward total aversion to his family wasn't as total as he would like it to be.

He knew her well enough to know that she was preparing a reply, her stubbornness worse than Potter's when she thought it justified. He drops the chair onto all four of its legs abruptly. 'We should get going,' he tells her, preventing any further attempts at continuing the conversation. It hadn't passed his notice that she's become more appreciative of him or that her eyes frequently lingered longer than they should. Whatever attraction she felt, he had no intention of anything beyond a transient dalliance at best. He's left the table and reached the door without once looking back, exiting into the dark skies with the intangible mizzle that perfectly reflects his thoughts.

The walk back through the boroughs of London does little to soothe his thoughts. The drops of rain, gentle as they are, merely cling to him like drops of dew, achieving little in terms of soaking him. Sirius doesn't care. He needs this walk, even if the weather isn't compliant with it. His steps are firm to the point of being impactful, his head bowed down against the wet wind but he has purpose in his strides. He knows the direction to the flat he's sharing with Remus without having to apply conscious thought and he allows his feet to lead in the general vicinity, choosing on a simple whim to prolong the walk the better to rid his raging confusion and confounding anger. It is probably better that Remus is covering a night shift at the Order, but Sirius has always been a man of company and would have far preferred his werewolf friend to be there, even if it meant curbing his anger to whatever feasible extent he could. And on nights like this, when Sirius has little energy to formulate comprehensible thoughts and no energy whatsoever to disentangle his emotions, the company would have served as a nice distraction.

When Sirius finally reaches the stretch of road containing his flat, his mood has taken a turn for the worse, dipping from impotent rage to sorrow. The clouds do their best to hide the moon and any stars that may attempt an appearance, and the wind has picked up speed along with the rain. He shouldn't have taken the detour, Sirius thinks as he flexes his resistant fingers, stiff from the cold. He is completely soaked through now and that should have made him angrier, instead he is just more despondent. The darkness made monsters out of the shadows, flitting this way and that eerily, worsened only by the trees that line the suburban neighbourhood, reaching overhead like claws entombing the street. Sirius' steps have long lost their energy, each step costing more energy than they should, perhaps due to the added wet weight but he pushes on, disregarding the hairs on the back of his neck standing up straight and strong or that prickling feeling of discomfort that becomes louder than the roaring wind. He should have never distrusted his instincts, he'll think later on.

He is mere metres away when the shadows on the steps to his block of flats transform into a person, somebody with a black cloak blending into the shadows and sitting in wait. By the time he has his wand out, the figure is standing, wand held out in right hand and his left clutching a material and Sirius has no hesitation in barking out a curse.

Casually moving his right foot back, the curse bypassed him completely, but by then, Sirius is just close enough to recognise the material held out in the left hand. It was his cloak, the one his brother had pilfered when he had first left for Hogwarts and his assumption that it is his brother is only proved false when they are a metre apart, in the meagre light offered by the streetlamps several houses away. The shoulders are too broad, height too tall, the hands clutching it are pale enough but they are the wrong hands and it isn't his brother and he's now in a physically disadvantaged position.

'Death Eater,' he hisses out but he is heard over the sound of the clouds unleashing their own vitriol.

'I come in peace,' he's answered back but Sirius makes no move to take the wand still held out to him, handle pointing outwards. Sirius had many flaws but stupidity wasn't one of them. He knew just how much damage wandless spells could accomplish.

'I should just kill you right now,' Sirius shouts, and there is relief flowing through him, born by finding a victim for his indistinct anger.

'It's Reggie,' is the non sequitor, wand hanging loosely between the right thumb and right forefinger, and they are the only words that have the potential to stop Sirius. Sirius knows that, as does the Death Eater before him, and that makes Sirius distrust the very nature of the words. His wand feels warm in his hands, magic pulsing through it, and Sirius knew he should just hex the man before him to oblivion. They are manipulative bastards, these guys in masks and he had been warned they would try to use his family against him. He has a hex in mind, his lips have all but uttered it when other words fall from them.

'And why should I care?' The question is furious and resentful, and the hex flew anyway, a foot to the left of making any contact and the fact that the figure was immovable, had remained immovable, worked up his ire all the more.

'Reggie's dying.' The wind has whipped Sirius' hair this way and that, his face is soaked to the point that it would be impossible to tell tears from drops of rain. A particularly vicious gust does its best to push him forward, but it has the benefit of forcing the hood of the Death Eater's cloak back. Sirius stares into those familiar eyes, piercing him with their intensity.

'And whose fault is that?' Sirius asks again, blame dripping in every syllable and he finds it fascinating to see just how much paler the face before him could become, a myriad of emotions passing before resuming its neutrality. He knew he should blast the monster before him, capture him and save lives, do the right thing and though that is what his head is telling him to do, he makes no move to detain him.

'He's dying Sirius, we need your help,' is the reply, not shouted but still loud enough to be heard over the storm that is in full swing and Sirius just stares at him, at the impossible choice before him. Do the right thing or… Or betray his friends, his conscience, his beliefs…

He utters the words without thought, and this time the spell hits the target, who's surprised enough to drop both wand and cloak. It's too dark to see the stain of blood spreading through the cloak he wears but he's clearly in pain, clutching his right arm, his wand arm. It's not for nothing that Sirius has survived the war thus far. His fingers itch to cage him, the magic thrums from the wand to his hand and back and the words feel natural, right, as they fall from his lips.

'What's happened? Where is he?' Once the decision is made, the uncertainty is gone. Instead Sirius wonders how he could have ever thought there was a choice to be made.


Morgana Le Fey had written that the smallest of actions could lead to the greatest of changes, that stepping on an ant could lead to the death of a dragon. Whilst her magical prowess were well recognised and her links to dark magic infamous, her philosophising had faded into obscurity, few aware that this had been her primary focus during her life or that she had conversed with the greatest minds of her time, magical and muggle alike.

As the poison worked its treachery, all Regulus had wanted to know was which bloody ant had gotten stepped on for this damnable outcome? He had remained on his feet until Kreacher had disappeared, thereafter falling ungraciously to his knees. The hallucinations of his darkest memories had been bad enough before they had mingled with the visions of the future he had feared most. They remained in the peripheries, but now that he wasn't actively drinking the poison, Regulus' head had cleared enough to be aware of the surroundings and the dismal outlook.

It was increasingly burning him from the inside out. It was clearly a complex mixture and a part of his mind that had become unfogged thought that Severus would have delighted in experimenting with this, examining its workings and building on it. Severus would also despise him and berate him, probably hex him too, if he ever found out what he had done. His hands had found the water and dripped it down his throat before his mind had processed it. He repeated the action thoughtlessly. Each drop pushed the inferno further and further within him, and had the double effect of easing the clouding of his mind.

It was only when the first set of deathly cold hands had grabbed him that he was jerked out of his stupor, his compulsive hands abruptly stilled. For a moment, he had stared affixed at the ghastly hands. Then with a choked gasp that Regulus wasn't certain had actually left his mouth, he had scuttled away. The imminence of his death had struck him, removing whatever little vestige of colour that had remained in his face. Knowing he would die was apparently an entirely different experience to facing its immediacy. If he had to die on his knees, mother would surely be proud that it would be on his knees before these gauche dead beings rather than living ones, he had thought grimly, lips refusing to twist into a wry smile despite his best efforts.

The burning had returned with a ferociousness that all but had him screaming. His mind was entirely muddled and he lost any awareness beyond that of the steady smouldering. His hands had reached for the water of their own accord, and even the cold hands of corpses had not hindered him. Again and again he dropped the water into his mouth and the more that slipped down, the more the burning receded, as did his confusion. His entire being trembled, and down on his knees, animated corpses surrounding him, he was never more thankful that his father would never see him, not like this, nor whatever hellish thing he became after his death. His father would be disgusted by his pathetic death, but even more so by the wretched entanglement he had created by his own willing slavery and the ineptitude of his attempts at extrication. Hopefully not enough for his father to finally be pushed into disowning a child; though it wouldn't help him in the afterlife that he faced, it might help others... But best not think about that...

As he gained enough capacities to comprehend the dead hands pulling at him, scratching, clawing, grabbing, he remained spellbound, too many now with a hold on him for him to pull away. By all the damned in Hades, maybe none in his direct family would miss him. Possibly Severus wouldn't either, but at least he had cousins that would! Poor Cissy would be quite cut up about his death when she would find out, and his Cousin Evan, dearest Evan… Yes, he would be missed by the cousin who had guarded him so closely throughout their years. Although knowing Evan, and this time Regulus summoned a travesty of a smile, knowing Evan, he would probably comment on missing nothing more than their badinage in that drawl that had never failed to draw an answering smile from him. And curses, he would miss his cousin terribly too, and he would deny it to his dying days (matter of seconds now, really) that he had ever shed any tears over the thought of letting his dearest cousin down.

His limbs were frozen, too cold to move in a manner that was anything but sluggish and it was such a contrast to the poisoned internal furnace within him. Really, who could have ever imagined such a torturous method of death? Freezing, burning and drowning? He shivered, the thoughts of drowning shoving all else from his mind for the moment. Third time was the charm for the Fates, it seemed. And how aptly it fitted that the drowning that would keep would occur by his own hands. He probably deserved it, he thought sleepily, the effort of moving against the hands pulling him under too difficult to maintain. But the news of the attack on the only two members of the Order of the Phoenix he had tried to protect, and the certainty of the news that would await him following the attack had banished any constraints that had chained him into inaction. Gone were thoughts of survival, of the months he had spent plotting and planning, gathering scraps of information scattered here and there. In its place had been the sort of foolhardy, reckless action that had made his brother so well adjusted to the House famed for their idiots – Gryffindor. And as much as he hated his brother, there was still that part of him that held him dear. Adding to his list of regrets was that he had never told his brother just what an arse he was or how his estimation of himself surpassed the estimation others held of him or how he hated him but still cared for him and that he would always be his brother.

He had finally opened his mouth, unable to battle it any longer, and as the water had rushed into his lungs, the haziness in Regulus' mind seemed to clear entirely. Had this been intentional? Riddle was sadistic and it seemed entirely plausible that he had concocted just such a poison that would be neutralised by water, allowing the poisoned clarity just before their death. His life was a just price if it made Riddle mortal were his last thoughts as he died.