Non-disclaimer: I can't be bothered with a disclaimer, but anyone with half a brain will know that I don't own Sirius and all that.
Death of a Non-brother
Regulus was dead. Regulus was dead and Sirius wasn't sure how he felt. Sad, he supposed, but not nearly sad as he should be. He was his brother, but for some reason Sirius didn't associate Regulus with that word.
In any case Regulus, his non-brother, was dead and Sirius had hated him, and was sad he no longer had a non-brother around to hate. Sirius was surprised to find that he also pitied him. Regulus was the perfect Black, everything Sirius wasn't, he even became a Death Eater. And that, Sirius supposed, was the reason for his pity.
Regulus was daft in every way that mattered. He was talented enough, skilled enough, but he would do anything for his mother and the proud family of Black. And so, in Sirius' mind, he was daft. So daft as to become a Death Eater purely to uphold the family 'honour,' daft enough to try and back out when it had all become too much, he practically dug his own grave.
Regulus was dead and Sirius had decided how he felt. He felt sad, pitying and sorry. Sorry because he didn't feel enough.
Why?
Sirius stormed down the hallway blatantly ignoring his mother's screeches. However, no matter how hard he tried to block them out, a few words reached his ears.
"MOODBLOODS! ... MUGGLE-LOVING! ... BLOOD-TRAITOR!"
He scowled, his skin itched with fury; how dare that hag insult his friends! He forced himself to keep walking, forced himself not to hear, it wouldn't do for him to attack his mother.
"Sirius?" came an inquisitive voice. He looked around into the face of his brother Regulus. "Why are you friends with them?"
"Why not?"
"Well, they're mudbloods."
Regulus thought he had a point. Sirius knew better.
Dreading the Morn
Sirius was dreading the morn. Of corse every one was, in a way, they had spent all day packing and declaring how much they would miss the old castle. But now they slept just as easily as they would any night, for they did not dread as Sirius did. Because the morn meant to them, simply, that they would be returning home for the holidays. But for Sirius it meant he would be leaving the only place he would ever call home, to return to the House of Black, the place he never would.
He knew what would be awaiting him when he returned to the ancient house, and it was much worse than howlers, or letters of severe disapproval, or stuck up black owls that thought they were better than him. It was his mother. It was his brother. It was his father. It was the look he was certain they'd give him, the look they reserved for muggle-lovers and blood-traitors, the look they reserved for him. It was the shouting that was so much worse in person then it could ever be from a howler, or in the form of capital letters and exclamation marks.
Sirius glared out the window and dared the sun to rise. Dared it to send him back. Dared it to give him his death sentence. But it wasn't time just yet; there were still hours of dark left for Sirius to dread the morn.
Author Note: I'm sorry I take years to update, but what can I say, I am The Lazy One. And that is all there is to it. I hope you enjoy theese and any reviews will be appreciated.