Only Sirius Black would open his door at 2 in the morning without any security questions asked.

To be fair, he had hoped that by doing so, the unexpected visitor would be caught off-guard, thus giving Sirius the upper hand. Judging by the events in his life, however, he should've known that doing something stupid doesn't often produce good results. As soon as the lighted end of his wand illuminated the face of the man on his doorstep, Sirius threw the door close faster than he had opened it. It didn't click shut, and he looked down at the muddied, boot-clad foot blocking the door.

"Sirius," said the man outside, voice sounding hoarse and tired. "It's fine. I come alone."

Fine. It was fine, he said. Sirius pushed the door harder.

"Am I supposed to trust the word of a slimy Death Eater?" he snarled, his initial alarm fading and making way to anger.

He didn't know what he expected in answer to that, but it most certainly wasn't a chuckle.

"I guess not."

There was a beat of silence, then Sirius tumbled forward as the door snapped shut. The foot was gone.

Options, what were his options? He could - should - contact the Order. They'd been expecting a direct attack on Sirius for months - years, even. Dumbledore thought that many Death Eaters would be "not too pleased" (Sirius had scoffed at Dumbledore, mumbling "You mean down-fucking-right murderous," but Dumbledore just twinkled at him, and really, how did he do that) with the former Heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black going against the Dark. Sirius himself was surprised it took them this long to finally send someone. Now that they had, though, he thought it made sense, in a cruel kind of way. Of course Voldemort had waited this long; he wanted to send someone who could hurt Sirius the most, and he had to wait for that certain someone to graduate from Hogwarts - to escape Dumbledore's watchful eye - before he could Mark him.

"But you're supposed to trust a brother's," added the man outside: the one person who could hurt him most.

Sirius knew at that moment that he was fucked, and holy shit, he was going to get hell for what he was planning (or not planning). Before he could give himself too much time to think and figure out what kind of hell he could possibly get for this display of stupidity, he opened the door in full. The knob banged on the wall, and his hand tightened on his still-ready-but-not-necessarily-threatening wand. Bloodshot grey eyes followed the small movement, before darting back to Sirius' own mirroring colors.

"Why are you here, Regulus?" Sirius asked in a steely voice he didn't even know he could produce.

Regulus smiled, but there was nothing remotely happy about it.

"I have nowhere else to go."

Now that he could study him under better lighting, Sirius thought Regulus looked worse than he had originally thought.

His mother's perfect little heir's once tidy hair was now sticking on all sides, possibly even worse than James' (which was very impressive, because no one had hair worse than James). Dark circles surrounded his eyes, and he looked paler than he was when he had caught Dragon Pox in Sirius' first year at Hogwarts.

"Do you remember when Mother came upon that muggle mode of transportation you were fiddling with?"

Sirius does, of course he does. He couldn't forget his mother's ear-splitting diatribe even if he tried to (plus, his bruises took weeks to vanish. Hard to forget how he "liked muggles so much he could manage without healing potions").

Now wasn't the time to get lost in their shining childhood memories, though.

"Regulus," he sighed, the name now strange upon his lips. He hadn't spoken of it in more than a year. "Why are you really here?"

"Can't I visit you?"

"I heard about your Initiation."

"Ah, of course you have."

"I'm only offering you tea. I can't let you stay the night. Can't afford to die in the middle of the bloody war, can I?"

Regulus' face said he didn't care, but Sirius saw his hands flinch, telling him otherwise.

"Do you really think I could – no, would - kill you?"

Sirius barked a harsh laugh.

"Listen to yourself," he said, the hand not holding his wand waving vaguely in front of him. "All ambiguous replies and questions in answer to questions; ever the perfect Slytherin."

"The perfect Slytherin," Regulus parroted, as if he was tasting the strange words. "What if I told you that, in a few hours, I'm about to do something very... Gryffindor?"

Sirius' answer came automatically.

"Then I won't believe you."

"Ah."

Sirius didn't have much time to think whether that small sound was in agreement to his statement or what, because with one quick motion, Regulus downed his cup of still-too-hot tea like it wasn't still too hot. He returned the empty cup on the saucer, then the saucer on the table, before he stood up. Sirius took it as a signal to leave, so he followed Regulus' example, then led the way to the front door in silence. He opened the door with a flourish, and Regulus stepped outside, without even looking at him. In a daze, Sirius followed Regulus' slightly shorter frame with his eyes. He had tea with the current Black Heir, and said heir didn't even thank him. Sirius wasn't mad, but it was so fucking strange that Regulus' irritating and stifling manners hadn't made an appearance at all during their brief meeting. It was too bizarre to be a dream; even Sirius wasn't that creative. He was about to close the door, go back to sleep, and forget the whole thing had even occured, when Regulus' hand froze on the small, iron gate. He suddenly turned around and Sirius' wand arm rose in defense.

"I apologize, that was extremely rude. I didn't come to bicker," said Regulus, staring nervously at Sirius' wand, his words hanging in the air awkwardly like he was searching for something else to say. "I... Thank you for the tea. I'm glad you didn't call the Order to arrest me."

"Of course I didn't," Sirius exclaimed, sounding offended, even though he had considered calling the Order. "You could be a right bastard, but you..." his voice softened, his wand lowering as he noted that Regulus hadn't drawn his the whole time. Sirius coughed uncomfortably. "You're still family. It was strange and suspicious that you'd come to visit, but it was also oddly comforting to see you alive."

Regulus' head bobbed down. Sirius couldn't see his face but he liked to think he was smiling.

"Off you go, then," Sirius muttered in a gruff voice.

"Be safe, brother," Regulus muttered back, voice so soft Sirius wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear it at all.

Then Regulus smiled, and at that moment, he was free. He looked so young, so unlike the Regulus Sirius had come to know during his last few years at Hogwarts, and more like the little boy who'd tiptoe to his room at night to listen to his scary muggle stories under the blankets. Regulus looked so bright that Sirius felt blinded. He wanted to blink, to make sure he wasn't dreaming, but a silly notion at the back of his head said his Regulus might vanish if he took his eyes off him for even a fraction of a second.

Sirius felt panicked, and he suddenly was gripped with the need to say something, anything: that little boys shouldn't be made to fight a grown man's war, or that Regulus could still be a professional Quidditch player even though their mother said it wasn't proper, or that everything - everything was going to be fine, even though the both knew he would be lying.

In the end, Sirius didn't say any of them.

Instead, he settled on returning his brother's smile with one of his own. And perhaps, that simple act was better than any words he could have offered.

"See you later, Reggie," he said softly, unintentionally but knowingly reverting back to his old nickname for his little brother.

Regulus didn't reply. He just smiled wider, eyes sparkling. Then, he turned on his heels and vanished before Sirius's eyes in a swirl of black.

How was Sirius to know then that "later" would never come?