Standing in the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place, Sirius decided Azkaban would in fact have been more inviting. There he would have had his own welcoming committee. Albeit, they would have been dementors, who may or may not have had the restraint to allow his soul to remain in its rightful place.
Remus followed him inside his ancestral home. As he had only ever heard about the terrors of the place from Sirius, he was taking in his surroundings with great interest. Not watching where he was going, he tripped over the blasted troll-leg umbrella stand.
"Regulus?" the female voice of Satan called.
Sirius exchanged a look with Remus before resigning himself to approach the apparent source of his mother's voice. He had no doubt which portrait would be the first he removed from the house.
Walking to the portrait, he unceremoniously wrenched open the velvet curtains. He set his jaw as he stared down the woman he had resented in his youth and despised in adulthood.
He took in her yellowing skin and overly sharp cheekbones; her bulging eyes as she recognized him. She had once been considered beautiful, but the years hadn't been to kind her. He was just spiteful enough to be glad for it.
"You!" She exclaimed, "How dare you return here!"
"Were you expecting someone else, mum? Your precious Regulus is dead. You have yourself to thank for that."
As if just coming out of a stupor, his mother's portrait sprang into action, "Filthy disgrace of my flesh! Blood traitor! Stain of dishonor! Be gone from here!" She shouted at him angrily.
Brandishing clawed hands she made to tear into him. Unable to reach him, she began screaming shrilly, and unbrokenly until every other portrait in the house had awoken and began hollering out as well.
Her eyes began rolling, she was drooling, and still she continued to shout out insults.
She had always been irrational and discriminatory, but it appeared her crazed ideologies had eventually driven her into madness.
Sirius fought to close the velvet curtains back over her portrait as he answered her insults with a colorful assortment of his own. There was some magical force on the curtains that made them nearly impossible to close.
Regulus carefully returned the once-horcrux to its packaging and stowed it back in his desk. He was just about to go downstairs to disapparate home to his family, when he heard his mother's portrait screaming out vulgarities.
He didn't know who had managed to break through the wards, but it should have been impossible for anyone who wasn't a Black. He left his room and carefully closed the door behind him. He strained his ears as he crept towards the staircase to hear what was going on below.
He could have sworn he heard voices before, but as hysterical as his mother was screaming and as noisy as the other portraits were being in result of it, he couldn't hear anyone else. He crept down the stairs to a lower landing until he was able to catch sight of the intruder.
His brother was standing at his mother's portrait, no doubt taunting her, while she screamed every obscenity she could think of at him for disgracing their family and soiling the house of her fathers, and the like.
Regulus couldn't leave Grimmauld Place from an upper level of the house, but he could disapparate to just inside its entrance and walk out the front door from there. In all of the commotion he thought it likely to go unnoticed.
The problem was that he was he genuinely curious about Sirius. He'd scarcely seen him in fifteen years, twelve of which Sirius had been in Azkaban. How had he managed to escape? Was he even remotely sane anymore? Had he been entirely sane to begin with?
That had always been questionable, really. Sirius' sanity. He had done everything he could to infuriate their parents when they were younger- knowingly worsening their treatment of him in response.
Regulus would never claim their parents to have been the coddling sort. They had high expectations. They were widely known for overreacting to anything that could have jeopardized their position in society, and they had no qualms about punishing their children as they saw fit.
Knowing that, why would any sane person, child or otherwise purposely bring their wrath upon themselves as Sirius had always done?
As he was now irately trading insults with the portrait of a woman who had been ten years deceased, Regulus could only presume Azkaban hadn't done his mental state any favors.
His mother in the portrait was distraught by Sirius' presence and was inadvertently making a fool of herself in response. He wondered not for the first time what his mother's reaction to her portrait would have been if she could have somehow seen it while still in her right mind.
She had the portrait created and hung with a permanent sticking charm out of spite when Sirius was the only one left to inherit Grimmauld Place. If the portrait would have been created a decade previous, her personality still would have been harsh, but at least she could have delivered her insults in eloquence and with dignity.
The woman in the portrait was not how Walburga Black would want to be remembered. If anything, the muse of the portrait induced Regulus' pity. She had been driven insane by the loss of her husband and the unknowing of her son's cause of death. The son, who despite being born second, she believed to be the rightful heir of the Black family.
While she had been left alone in a house that served as a constant reminder of what she had lost, Regulus had been abroad with a family of his own. He had severed all ties with the family he had been born into, in favor of protecting the one he and Maliah had created.
There wasn't anything he could do to comfort his mother now, nor Sirius for that matter.
As painful as it was to see his brother after all of this time without approaching him, he didn't have another choice if he wanted to keep his survival hidden.
His mother had evidently caught sight of someone else in the room, for her array of insults increased to include half-bloods and half-breeds.
As it seemed Sirius had not come alone to the house, Regulus considered going back upstairs and calling for Kreacher, rather than risk being seen by whoever had accompanied his brother.
The protections on their ancestral home had been primarily designed to keep out wizards. Kreacher, being their family's house elf was still able to come and go as he pleased using his own assortment of magic.
Remembering the time of night, Regulus preferred not to disturb the house elf. The last time he had called on him at such a late hour had been when he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave to retrieve Slytherin's locket over fifteen years ago.
Considering Kreacher's observation during dinner that Regulus appeared 'anxious,' calling him in the middle of the night like this was liable to give him the elfin equivalent of a heart attack. He wasn't as young as he used to be.
He was pulled from his musings when he realized his mother had stopped shouting.
"Regulus?" she called. He looked up to find her eyes were locked on him.
Damn. There was a muggle saying about curiosity killing a cat or something along those lines. Regulus could relate as there was no doubt his mother's portrait was about to give him away.
Perhaps it would be his downfall, but he still had his pride. He would not suffer the indignity of being caught lurking in the shadows of his childhood home.
"I'm here, mother," he said, calmly making his way down the rest of the stairs and towards her portrait. Ignoring the look of utter shock on Sirius' face, which might have been comical in another situation, he greeted him with a slight nod, "Sirius."
Choosing to allow his brother to take in his presence before bombarding him with an explanation, Regulus stood attentive but at an unimposing distance away from him and remained silent.
Sirius hesitated only briefly before launching himself at Regulus, violently forcing him against the wall.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"I would have hoped you could recognize your own brother," Regulus answered in the most neutral tone he could manage while being accosted at wand point, "I haven't changed that much over the years."
The same could not be said for Sirius. His body had clearly become emaciated during his time in prison, with little improvement being made since his escape. His once handsome face was now gaunt and his eyes had lost the ever-present laughter they once held.
It would have taken next to no effort for him to extract himself from his brother's clutches given his current physical form. He allowed Sirius to hold him there, knowing that pulling away would almost certainly guarantee a duel to ensue. He much preferred to offer minimal details in exchange for Sirius' word to keep his mouth shut. The last thing he needed was for his continued existence to become known to the entirety of wizarding Britain.
His mother's portrait was shrieking again, demanding that Sirius release Regulus, for he was unworthy even to touch him or some such nonsense. The other portraits once again joined in with the shouting.
Sirius released Regulus in favor of covering his ears as the noise level had reached a near painful level for his keen sense of hearing.
Regulus discreetly stepped away from Sirius, and caught sight of Remus Lupin as he did so. The werewolf had opted to remain in the shadows of the room, but naturally he too had his wand firmly trained on Regulus.
Regulus turned his back on the former Gryffindor, with the hope that Lupin would be decent enough not to attack someone from behind, unprovoked.
Careful not to look as if he was about to curse anyone, he began a complicated wand pattern. Upon completing it a moment later, the house became quiet once more.
Sirius regarded him warily. "How did you do that?"
"I was trained to become the head of the family after you left," he answered listlessly.
Sirius looked around them at the threadbare carpet, and old wallpaper. He took in the shrunken house elf heads mounted to their plaques on the wall leading up the staircase before looking back at Regulus. Apparently Regulus' ability to quiet the portraits had inadvertently proven his identity.
"You've been living here all this time?" Sirius asked contemptuously.
"No, I've lived abroad. I only came to check on things."
Sirius sneered, "Check on what, your master? Tell me, did you feel your supposed superiority while you were terrorizing my fourteen-year-old godson in the graveyard?"
"I am not a death eater," Regulus answered emphatically. "I come here periodically to ensure things are in order, but otherwise stay out of Britain. I don't know anything about a graveyard or your godson."
He supposed that wasn't entirely true in the case of the latter. He knew Harry Potter was referred to as 'The Boy Who Lived,' and that he had been the fourth champion of the Triwizard Tournament. Neither seemed appropriate to mention now.
"And you just happened to be here on the same night that Voldemort returned... mere hours after he summoned his death eaters to him. That is rather coincidental, don't you think?"
Regulus closed his eyes involuntarily as he felt his heart drop into his stomach. He had hoped somehow, something had gone awry and that Voldemort wasn't really back. It was like an old nightmare realized to hear the words aloud.
"Shouldn't you be out celebrating?" Sirius asked scathingly as he prodded him in the chest with his wand.
Regulus stared at it. It wasn't the ebony wand that had chosen Sirius in Diagon Alley when he was eleven. He vaguely wondered where he had gotten it.
"What is there to celebrate?" He asked morosely. "Despite what you think, I left the death eaters - fifteen years ago. The only reason I am still alive is because everyone thinks I am dead."
"So, it is true then," Sirius said slowly, "you really did change your mind... but then what happened?"
"One doesn't just resign from being a death eater," Regulus answered. "I saved Voldemort the trouble of killing me and found a solution we all could live with."
Sirius' brow furrowed at that, and he realized belatedly he should have referred to Voldemort by another name.
"Why didn't you come to me?" he asked.
Regulus' eyes flitted from his brother to Lupin. The older male had lowered his wand slightly though had not yet put it away. Regulus hoped that he might have the grace to leave them alone to talk in private. After seeing the distrustful way he was looking at him, it was evident that was not going to happen.
"We had barely spoken in the previous three years," Regulus said quietly.
It was unlikely that Sirius would have believed him if he had shown up on his doorstep, and even if he did, what could he have done? Deep down, he knew that wasn't the point. He found it rather difficult to look at his brother just then, and carefully avoided doing so. "Do you know how he managed to return?" he had to ask.
Sirius didn't immediately answer. It was likely that he was debating whether or not to trust him. Perhaps a part of him still believed he had been there, traumatizing his godson, as he had suggested before.
"He used a ritual," Sirius said eventually. "Dumbledore believes it may have been of his own creation. It required the bone of his deceased father, and the blood of an enemy - that was Harry. He then dueled with him as his gathered death eaters watched... it was Harry who told us of what had happened - after he managed to escape."
"Do you mean - he survived?"
Sirius nodded tersely.
Regulus wouldn't pretend he wasn't impressed. He had no doubt that if Voldemort involved him in his rebirth, it had been to make a point, what with all of those 'Boy Who Lived' rumors. For Harry to have escaped would have taken far more composure than most possessed- certainly more than he recalled having at fourteen.
Still, it wasn't as if he knew him or would have truly mourned his death if it happened. In looking at Sirius now, Regulus was more worried for what it would do to him, if something worse should happen to James Potter's son.
"Have you considered getting him out of the country?"
"I have no intention of raising my godson to be a coward," Sirius answered vehemently.
Regulus elected to keep his experience on that matter to himself.
It was shortly after his near-death experience in the cave that he learned Maliah was pregnant. Maybe it would have been braver to have left her to fend for herself while he valiantly joined forces with the Order of the Phoenix. He probably would have been carted off to Azkaban rather than allowed to fight with them, but he might not have been considered as cowardly for his efforts.
If his leaving the country fifteen years ago made him a coward, then so be it. It was worth it to him, to know that he had protected his family in the best way that he knew how. If he was in Sirius' situation, he would do the same for Harry - if not to hide him, then to ensure he was properly trained. As far as he knew, Hogwarts had a new Defense against the Dark Arts professor every year of his lifetime. There couldn't be much consistency there. Whatever happened in the graveyard would have only justified his leaving all the more. Children deserved to be protected, not thrown into a war of old men, unprepared.
"You wouldn't have to hide as much if you left. You could train him-"
"Are you seriously trying to give me advice right now?" Sirius asked in disbelief. "What could you possibly even know about caring for a teenager?"
Regulus hesitated, "I do have a bit of experience in being wanted by the Ministry. I can't show my face here anymore than you can."
"The difference is, I am innocent!"
"I don't doubt that," Regulus said calmly. "But you can't very well stay in Britain without being noticed. What good are you to your godson if you're arrested, or...?" He recalled the Ministry's announcement that Sirius would receive a dementor's kiss upon capture.
"If I wanted your advice, I would have asked for it," Sirius said coolly. "Now, if you will excuse us, Remus and I were-"
"You want me to leave?" Regulus asked, rather stunned.
"Well, I obviously didn't come here expecting to find you," Sirius said pointedly.
Regulus had anticipated that it would be difficult to evade Sirius' interrogation. While it certainly made his exit clearer, his brother's casual dismissal stung more than he cared to admit.
"I'll... see myself out then," he said, moving to do just that.
"I wouldn't come back if I were you," Sirius called after him. "Unless you want to find out what Azkaban is like in person..."
Sirius stared after Regulus as he left Grimmauld Place without another word. His brother was alive. He couldn't even begin to sort out how he felt about it.
"Would you really want him sent to Azkaban?" Remus asked after a moment.
Before he had experienced the prison firsthand, the idea might have been tempting. After twelve years of living there himself with only his worst memories as company, many of which starred his then believed to be dead brother, he knew the answer was no. It was part of the reason he advised Regulus against coming back. If Grimmauld Place was to be used as headquarters for the Order, his brother needed to stay as far away from there as possible.
Rather than admitting that, he said simply, "He was a death eater."
"It seems evident that he isn't anymore. Why else would he have bothered with faking his death? Snape would have told Dumbledore if the death eaters were in on it."
"Snape's word counts for nothing-"
"It does to Dumbledore," Remus corrected him tersely.
There was no reason to refute his point. For reasons beyond anyone else's comprehension, Dumbledore did trust Snape.
"I wonder why he changed his mind," Remus said after a moment.
He could wonder all he wanted, Sirius thought. He wasn't certain if he would see him again and he was determined not to think about it now. Not yet.
He silently made his way towards the kitchen in hope of finding something strong to drink. Removing his mother's portrait from the wall would have to wait. Too many people had returned from the dead that day for him to deal with anyone else, least of all her.
