GF: List of excuses: Spookfest (a Halloween writing competition that I didn't win because an 11 page story in size 11 font is "too long for 5th graders' attention spans"), Talent Show is next week, and so are Beauty and the Beast Jr. auditions. I'm sorry and that's all I can say. Moving on. I still suggest you follow me on tumblr to get updates, information is in the last chapter's author's note. I don't have much else to say except I was wondering if any of you would be interested in reading my Spookfest story about the Seven Deadly Sins and stuff. If so I will post it on Fictionpress. Time for the reviews.

DragonOwl: Thanks so much for another amazing review! You're welcome! *blushes* You're too sweet. I'm so glad you agree with my characterization of Reg, I find it hard to find people who think the same way I do. I was so worried what I wrote was unrealistic, but you assured me otherwise, so thanks for that! All will be revealed in time... *laughs mysteriously* I think Regulus has shorter hair because I think he would prefer to have a neater, and dare I say, classier look. I envision that their parents would have hated Sirius' hair and Reg would have kept his short as to not anger them. At least that's how I see it! Feel free to ask questions, I might not answer all of them because I don't want to give much away, but I will try to the best of my ability. :)

Guest: Yeah, I probably won't start the other story yet considering how infrequently I update, but I will start writing it for preparation. Thanks for your advice!

TenshiANGEL: Yes, there are going to be a lot of awkward pauses. I do like Snape, but I will try to keep everything canon and unbiased concerning him because I know many people hate him and I don't want to start any fights. Harry and Regulus are not going to be lovers. I'm a diehard Hinny shipper, and it's mainly because I want to keep non-canon romance out of this story. And probably canon will only be minor background stuff. Also because, although Regulus has been dead and is technically eighteen, the whole sixteen years thing would be kinda creepy... As for the reconnecting...you'll have to wait and see! Urgh! I want to answer your questions, but I don't want to give anything away! Hope you like this chapter!

Shae Vizla: Regulus is my favorite character and I completely agree with you about how sad it was that no one knew he died a hero! *tears* His reasons for joining the Dark side will be revealed later. (All these review answers sound so ominous...) I don't think very many Slytherins would join a guy who orders them to kill innocent people because of their blood status just to get back at Dumbledore and a few school bullies/pranksters. (Please don't hurt me, I love the Marauders!) In the end they would have just proved them right, and none of the Marauders were muggleborn so that wouldn't have really been defying them. I think most joined because they genuinely supported Voldie and/or they were pressured into it by their families.

GF: Thanks to all the others who reviewed as well, I hope you all are pleased with this update! :)

Old Times

Regulus Arcturus Black had been dead for fifteen years, eight months, and fourteen days.

Regulus Arcturus Black had been alive yesterday.

These two statements could not seemingly coexist, but, somehow, they did. This is what some would refer to as a paradox. Regulus Arcturus Black was a paradox. Currently, after being alive again for nine hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-two seconds, the paradox that was Regulus Arcturus Black wanted coffee.

The best coffee, as he had found after years of experimenting with flavors and mixes and brews, was an espresso ristretto, Spanish blend of course. Coffee in its purest form. Did this make Regulus a coffee snob of some sort? Perhaps it did. But he did not care. For Regulus Arcturus Black was a paradox and paradoxes do not trouble themselves with others opinions of their preferred coffee orders. Very few things trouble paradoxes. Very few things, indeed. The house knew of some of those few things. The house always knew.

The mission to obtain coffee and then consume it was one of the utmost importance. The paradox in human form peeled off yesterday's clothes, not even registering what had happened in them. A very many dark things had, things that he did remember but did not recall just then. New clothes were thrown on his body, dark and green and warm. There were no shoes on his feet, only socks, for paradoxes do not typically bother with shoes.

The journey down the stairs was hazy and forgettable. He held onto the railing with a deathgrip, knowing somewhere in the recesses of his mind, back where his secrets and hidden things were stored (things he wished he could forget but could not, for paradoxes forget nothing), that if he did not he would fall. He did not fall. Regulus Arcturus Black never fell. Oh, but he did once, the house whispered. Fell down, down, down.

Regulus made it to the kitchen, the familiar path forever etched into his mind. He didn't glance at the table when he entered, but he knew it was there. It was there in his mind, empty and waiting for breakfast to be served. At seven o'clock there would be food on the table, Kreacher would set out the priceless silverware at seven-o-five, and by seven fifteen Regulus and his parents would sit around the circular table and eat in silence. Breakfast was the only meal they ate in the kitchen, but Regulus had never known why. After age seven he had stopped asking questions.

The cupboard that housed his mug was where it usually was. His mug was not. He frowned as he stifled a yawn, pulling out other mugs to find his. The first few were clean, recently used, but the rest were dusty and old and it didn't make sense. Regulus found his mug, black and with his initials etched into the bottom, in the far back of the cupboard. It was covered in grime and there was a chip in the handle that he did not recognize and it didn't make sense. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong indeed.

(His chosen comrades thought at school: he must grow a famous man. He thought the same and lived by rule, all his twenties crammed with toil; 'What then?' sang Plato's ghost. 'What then?')

The house hummed a sympathetic tune, low and sorrowful and unheard by those sitting at the non-empty kitchen table that would not have food set on it at seven o'clock and would not be occupied by a family at seven fifteen.

Regulus turned to the small doorway that led to that non-empty table, this time with a mug filled with coffee. He didn't want to walk out there. He didn't want to see what he knew to be true. He didn't want to remember what he could never forget because Regulus Arcturus Black forgets nothing. He walked through to doorway.

The table that was supposed to be empty (but it was, wasn't it? The house thought so) was filled with six people. The Weasley parents, Andy's daughter, Lupin, Potter's kid, and Sirius. Of course.

"Morning," Regulus said. His voice was bored and phlegmatic while his mind was horrified and disturbed. He only got a few nods in return and a mumbled response from Tonks, as she apparently liked to be called. There was only one empty seat at the kitchen table, between Tonks and Sirius. Regulus could go back to his room, he could go to the library, he could go to the parlor, he could go anywhere but the kitchen. But at the same time he could not.

With very little noise and absolutely no eye contact the youngest Black sat down between his too old brother and his too old niece and sipped his coffee in silence. Silence was something the house was all too familiar with, silence and secrets and soot.

"So," Tonks raised one of her eyebrows, the orange one not the pink one, "what're you doing up so early?"

Regulus didn't answer right away, instead choosing to let the burning liquid trickle down his throat and warm him from the inside out. "Just woke up, wanted some coffee."

"Where'd you even get the coffee?" Regulus could hear the hesitation in Sirius' voice. Oh how long had it been, twenty years or four? Regulus did not know anymore. He still didn't make eye contact, just stared at the swirling black liquid and remembered things he wished he could forget.

"Kreacher." Lying was second nature to the young man and his tongue was familiar with the taste. (the house had missed this, had missed the taste) "What are you all doing up this early? What is it, six?"

"Five forty-five, actually," Mr. Weasley mumbled into his right hand.

Lupin's answer was short and curt, "Harry has a hearing at the Ministry." Distrust lingered in the air and the house fed on it gratefully.

(Everything he wrote was read, after certain years he won sufficient money for his need. Friends that have been friends indeed; 'What then?' sang Plato's ghost. ' What then?')

"A hearing?" Another sip of coffee. "But you're like, what? Fourteen?"

"Fifteen," the correction was automatic and sleepy. "I had a run in with some Dementors back in Surrey."

The paradox that was Regulus Arcturus Black took a few seconds to process this information. His response was collected and delivered with barely any inflection in his voice. "Dementors, hm?"

The boy gave him an incredulous and befuddled look, but responded nonetheless. "Yeah. I managed to fend them off, but, you know, underage magic and all that."

Very powerful magic user, then. "You can cast a patronus?" He allowed his voice to carried an impressed cadence, but only a little. He received a nod in return. "Well you needn't worry too much about the hearing. Underage magic used for defense cannot be punished."

"It shouldn't be," Sirius muttered darkly. Regulus cast his brother a glance, questioning and grim.

"What do you mean?"

"He means that the current Minister isn't very likely to want to help Harry in anyway," Arthur supplied, glancing at the boy in question. Harry scowled at his empty plate.

"Who is Minister now?" Regulus asked.

"Cornelius Fudge."

Regulus almost spit out his coffee. "Wait, hold on. Fudge? The daft Hufflepuff three years above me?"

"'Fraid so," Sirius shot him a glance. "Bagnold replaced Minstrum back in 1980, and Fudge replaced her in 1990. Bloody idiot still won't believe Voldemort's back."

Regulus raised an eyebrow, clearly asking for an elaboration. Lupin explained, "Harry was the only one who actually witnessed Voldemort's...return. Many members of the magical community deny the fact that he's back, Fudge included.

Regulus sipped his coffee and said the only thing that came to his mind, "That sucks for you." Harry looked mostly confused and little concerned but before he could comment Regulus spoke once more. "So did you ever find out what Dementors were doing in Surrey of all places?"

More confusion from the Potter boy. (confusion was almost as delectible as fear, but not quite as tasty as lies, the house thought)

"What do you mean?" Regulus didn't miss Lupin's accusatory tone.

"Dementors are the guards of Azkaban," the paradox in human form said slowly, "and Azkaban is the Ministry's. Any and all Dementors, unless things have changed in the past sixteen years, are controlled, to a certain extent, by the Ministry of Magic."

"No one in the Ministry would try and attack Harry!" Mrs. Weasley's tone was that of a worried mother. It was foreign to both Regulus and to the house.

"Well I should certainly hope not," Regulus cocked his head, "but it does raise some interesting questions, now doesn't it?"

The paradox that was Regulus Black sat his now empty coffee mug on the too old and too dusty table and stood up. The world felt off kilter, it had ever sense he'd arrived. Tilted and askew and not at all like home. There would never again be breakfast at seven fifteen in the morning, that much Regulus was certain of.

"I'll be on the third floor library if any of you need more for some reason," he called over his shoulder as he exited the room, quiet and cautious. "Try not to get expelled!"

He left six people in his wake, staring at one another with bewildered faces and fear hidden deep within their eyes. He left behind a trace of soot and secrets and silence, and the house welcomed it all.

~X~

Wizarding History: 1980-1990 was a one thousand, six hundred, and twenty-four paged tome covered in black leather binding and silver marbled boards, complete with a silk bookmark hanging delicately between the pages and the binding. It covered topics spanning from the end of the Wizarding War to the most recent sighting of the notorious Roko Arklys, a magical creature native to Latvia, Lithuania, and Belarus that only came out of hibernation for three hours every twenty-seven years.

The curling letters that filled the pages of the book bestowed information upon Regulus Black. Information that scared him, told him of a time when he had not been alive, not been an existing being, not been breathing. A time when he had simply not been. The thought of not being is not a pleasant one, the house knew this. Regulus had not been before the thirtieth of November in 1961, there had been billions of years when he had simply not been. And then he was, merely there and existing and being, and by the twelfth of December in 1979 he was not there and no longer existed and no longer was being. He had not been. And now he was. The house shuddered along with the child.

(All his happier dreams came true-A small old house, wife, daughter, son; Grounds where plum and cabbage grew, Poets and Wits about him drew; 'What then.?' sang Plato's ghost. 'What then?')

"You called, Master Regulus?" The croaky voice that interrupted his reading was all too familiar yet all too foreign. Regulus drew the bookmark between pages sixty-two and sixty-three, the name Benjy Fenwick was at the bottom of his current page and he cringed slightly at the sight of it. Only bad news was sure to follow.

"Kreacher," Regulus turned to address the small elf, "I know it's been a long time, but you can still call me Regulus when it's just the two of us. Nothing's changed there."

The old (much, much too old) house-elf did his best to look disapproving, and perhaps he was. But Regulus could see the relief in his relaxing forehead and in his wide, drooping eyes.

"Yes, I did call for you," Regulus continued, standing up from his place at the table. "We need to talk...in private." He couldn't help but glance around the room, knowing far too well what eyes and what horrors could be hiding in every corner. The house saw all and heard all and was seen and heard by none, but Regulus Arcturus Black had always been a special case, this the house knew.

Sending a silent thank you to Severus Snape, Regulus muttered a quiet "Muffliato" under his breath.

"Alright," Regulus saud as he sunk to the floor, sitting crossed legged with his slender hands in his lap. "Like old times?"

The house-elf looked hesitant at first. The sixteen years all alone in to too big, too empty house showed in the wrinkles that littered his skin. His eyes had always shown his age but now they did more than ever. Regulus was about to move again when Kreacher finally sat across from him, his knobby knees tucked under him. And at this Regulus smiled.

This wasn't going to be easy.

"Kreacher." Probably best to start slowly. "I'm sure you remember what happened, all those years ago?"

A nod from the small creature. Fear now joined the old age in those eyes and Regulus hated it.

"You remember the locket?"

Another nod. More fear. More hatred.

"And what I requested of you?"

Kreacher answered too hurriedly and too fearfully and Regulus hated it. "Regulus told Kreacher not to tell Mistress. Kreacher never told, Kreacher kept his promise."

Regulus hated himself for pressing on. "And what else?"

The answer was quiet, too quiet in the too big, too empty room. "To destroy it…"

"One last question," Regulus assured the elf before him, "and I swear to you that, no matter what the answer, I will not be angry." A deep breath. "Did you succeed in destroying it?"

The house knew the answer. It knew of every single night the house-elf had spent alone, curled up under the stairs and in cupboards. It knew of all the tears spelt over attempts and of all the words screamed and shouted. It knew of every last ounce of magic used on the locket. It knew of sixteen years of guilt.

"No...Kreacher did not succeed," Kreacher whispered, broken and afraid. "Kreacher tried, Master! Kreacher tried everything he knew! But the locket...Kreacher is so sorry Master, so very very sorry!"

The small elf was now a shivering and quaking mess of tears and wrinkled skin, all piled together on the floor. Regulus reached forward, withdrawing instantly when Kreacher flinched in response. Oh Kreacher… The young man swallowed painfully and reached out again, scooping up the house-elf in his arms before he could stop him. As expected, Kreacher fought him hard, struggling to escape Regulus's grip. Mutters of how such behavior was improper and of how his Mistress would disapprove were hushed with quiet rocking and words whispered into overly large ears.

"Kreacher, I'm not mad," Regulus spoke calmly and so softly that his words could have been made of glass, fragile and about to break. "I don't blame you, not at all. I should have realized that a house-elf's magic wouldn't have been able to destroy something so powerful so...so...so despicable. I think I did know, perhaps, deep down. As long as you still have it, as long as no one else knows, I will be very pleased with you."

The elf scurried out of Regulus's arms, eager to nod his head up and down. "Kreacher has it, Kreacher never told."

Regulus offered up a small smile. "You're a good elf, Kreacher. Best there's ever been. Kreacher gave him a watery smile of his own in return.

"Would Regulus like Kreacher to get the locket for him?"

"No, no, I'm fine. But thank you, Kreacher," Regulus said hurriedly. "Let's just talk for now. Like...like old times. All right?" He received a nod in return and Regulus supposed that would have to be good enough for now. "Now, what can you tell me about that new dolphin figurine I saw in the kitchen?"

Kreacher eagerly launched into the story of how the figurine had come to be in the house, who had bought it and why it had been placed there. The conversation changed from there, ranging in topics but never with a lull. The house listened, ready to hear new and exciting things, or to hear old things but told in new ways. The house had missed this almost as much as Regulus and Kreacher had. Missed the times before, when Regulus had not been a paradox and when Kreacher had not been much too old house-elf. When they had been friends, first and foremost.

(The work is done,' grown old he thought, 'According to my boyish plan; Let the fools rage, I swerved in naught, Something to perfection brought'; But louder sang that ghost, 'What then?')

GF: Not my longest chapter, 1,560 words, but still decent. ...Right? I hope you all think so at least. I tried to give you a little of my version of Regulus Black this time around, there were a few questions on how I was going to portray him. I also tried to show you how I imagine Kreacher and Regulus' relationship. I have so many headcanons of those two being best friends at Grimmauld Place! Kreacher reluctantly teaching little Regulus how to cook when Sirius was at Hogwarts, Regulus bandaging Kreacher up after he punished himself, those two playing chess and talking to block out Mrs. Black and Sirius fighting. So many adorable headcanons I just might die! Anyway...please review and tell me what you thought of the chapter! Until next time my little birds! (Thought I should call you that since my name is GoldenFinches...I don't know. Can you all send in some nickname ideas for me to use?)

GF: Back to editing these things. Sorry for the disappearance, school is Hell.