Disclaimer: This is JK's universe. Not mine. Or there'd have been a COMPLETELY different ending. : D

AN: Allo! I know! Shocker! I updated! You are all probably in various states of disbelief. I know, I know, I've been awful. I promised to update more regularly and didn't come through. I've been uber busy, but I haven't abandoned any of my fics. Lady Inspiration just hasn't been too generous lately and I didn't want to turn out anything subpar. Sorry for the wait.

Planeteer, you're absolutely correct-most people would've probably buzzed through a diary in a day (maybe two)...but you don't know me. And as embarrassing as it is to admit...I had a library book for 9 weeks...(renewed it twice)...and even then...I didn't read a single page! That's 63 days! I had it there on my bedside table for 63 days, and I didn't even read the introductory. Sheeesh, it may as well have been a roommate. What's worse is that...I bought a book-almost four years ago-and I still haven't read it! XDDDD So I guess Salem's laziness in this affair is an unflattering reflection of me! XDDD In a weak defense, homework and socializing does get in his way. And it would be extremely awkward if Snape or Reggie caught him in the act. Reggie: *glances *gasp* you're reading MY diary! DDDD: Gah! I mean journal! I mean: * points finger* ETERNAL ENEMIES FOR LIFE! XDDD which could be entertaining, but not quite the twist I was intending.

Thank you everyone for your reviews! They really motivate me and spur me onto each new chapter. It's my hope to always maintain my fics well and ensure that each chapter is even better than the one proceeding it. I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter! And all its ANGSTY goodness. (I apologize in advance for any spelling/grammatical travesties)

So without further ado:

Chapter 9: Snooping

Salem heaved a sigh as he turned another page. He'd spent most of the weekend secluded in the library reading his brother's diary. Not wanting any interruptions, he'd dragged a chair into the corner of the biography section.

It was becoming an obsession. So…so familiar…the sort of thoughts and feelings his brother had used to confide in him; open, unguarded…reflecting the pure essence of Reggie—to the point where it was almost like having him beside him again.

He supposed, looking back on it all, losing that closeness had left a hole. Constant adventure with the marauders distracted him from it in his teen years. Fear and paranoia from Auror raids pushed it to the back of his mind. Bitter vengeance became his religion in adulthood, and the need to redeem his failures by protecting Harry...

But he supposed there was always a dull ache that whispered about adventures before the Marauders. He'd always sweep it aside with a burst of bravado—he couldn't possibly have such great friends and still be lonely.

He didn't need a younger voice to praise his achievements. Peter (before his betrayal) and Gryffindor House practically worshipped his talent and wit.

He didn't need to check any closets at midnight to assure anyone that there weren't flesh-eating boggarts and that Bella was just being nasty. The only thing to be weary of was Evans at that certain time of the month.

He certainly never needed to correct James's wrist flicks with his wand-work.

Or straighten Remus's tie.

Or make sure Peter was wearing a scarf because it was cold outside and Mother would have his hide if he caught a cold. Or that he always felt bad when he forgot. And Regulus ran outside without a coat and they splashed in icy puddles—trying to push one another into one when they least expected. Or that sometimes his younger brother would come down with a fever later that week.

And he'd feel…he'd feel so bad for neglecting his older brother duties that he'd spend the day inside reading Reg stories to pass the time.

He didn't need those moments…he'd certainly learned to live without them.

But now being presented with a chance to befriend his brother, he found it all…lacking.

Being a housemate and friend wasn't enough—didn't lend him quite enough authority or intimacy in confidential matters.

Moments where he wanted to ruffle Reg's hair and couldn't. Supposedly, they were the same age, treating him that way would appear patronizing.

Couldn't really scold him to eat more or tell him when to go to bed or dote on him. People would think it disconcerting at best.

He sighed, running a hand through his curly hair. Whoever would've thought that the older brother part of him still existed? Let alone that it seemed quite ready to pick up where he'd left off over twenty years ago?

He missed being his brother AND his friend. And he wanted it back. Wanted it all. James and Lily safe, Harry properly reared in a loving home, his brother back underwing—as emotional and exuberant and good-natured as his seven-year-old self used to be.

Now, he did consider James as a friend and brother—sort of what he imagined having a twin would be like. The Potters were definitely family to him.

But it wasn't the same as having a little brother.

Journal,

I'm so nervous. I'm going to Hogwarts, but I really don't know where I'll be sorted. Mum wants me in Slytherin. Dad says I'm a Ravenclaw. Sirius goes back and forth between Slytherin and Gryffindor. And I, well, I don't know where I will end up.

Journal,

I think Sirius is mad because I'm in Slytherin. He didn't talk to me yesterday or today. I really hoped he was gonna show me secret shortcuts and stuff. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Today sucked. McGonagall took five points from me in Study Hall because I laughed too loud at a joke. I mean I do sorta have a loud (Bella would say obnoxious—Cissy would say scary—Sirius would shrug) laugh. But that isn't my fault, it's (Snape had a word for it) jenettetics? I don't know why he talks to me. It's obvious he hates me because of my brother.

Snape is a jerk. He always insults my brother loudly whenever I enter a room. It's like he WANTS to argue with me. And then he goes poking at my Potions grade. It's not my fault I suck at it. Sirius says he's gonna help me, he just keeps getting busy. Third years have more work, so it's understandable.

I keep trying to catch up with Sirius but Snape is always interfering. He says I'm deluding myself. I said, "Keep your big nose out of my business." He just shook his head and said I'm stupid. I told him he's just jealous of Sirius. He shut up then.

Snape helped me the other day, but I still don't trust him. He got Professor Slughorn to give me an extra day to finish my Potions Essay. I guess it was his good deed for the day or something.

I don't think Sirius is as busy as he says he is. I think he's avoiding me. Potter said as much the other day. I always thought we'd be the best of friends wherever and whenever. I guess school changes stuff. But Potter's wrong about one thing. He might be Sirius' new best of best friend, but I'm his brother. And that counts for something.

Some jerks were mean to me. I don't really wanna write about it. But Snape was nice. I think he felt bad for me. That just made me feel worse though. He said I should tell my brother to tell the Gryffindorks to shove off. But I don't want to. What if he asked them to do it? I don't think I want to know.

I got lost today. Snape helped me find my way back. He tried to make conversation but he sort of failed. Maybe he's what Cissy calls "socially awkward." Translation: sucks at talking. If that's the case, then I'll have to listen more carefully. Maybe he isn't meaning to come across as such an arrogant prat.

Salem tried to ignore the twisting in his gut when Snape became Severus.

Severus and I hung out by the lake today. Guess he's a half-blood, and he was showing me some muggle stuff. His mum sent him some muggle candy and he shared with me. It wasn't half-bad. Definitely better than the lumps Aunt Lucretia serves—I think her taste buds are giving out and that's why all her treats are awful.

Last night, Severus and I snuck into the kitchen for a midnight snack. It was awesome. We almost got caught three times! But Snape knows all the right places to hide.

Severus is great at Potions. I mean, really, he's like super magnificent, I-can't-believe-he-memorized-the-ingredients, awesome. He helps me with Potions and other work when I'm too frustrated or tired to understand it. And he saved me the other day, when I forgot to study for a Transfiguration quiz. Whipped out a quill and wrote down a list of answers for me to memorize. I aced it! Thank you, Severus Snape!

It was difficult seeing Snape's name crop up more and more. Or that Regulus seemed to burst with praise for his housemate.

New year at Hogwarts! Glad to be back! Snape's been writing to me, but his letters are really bland. I'm gonna let him borrow Mum's book of rules on proper correspondence. It's supposed to be for Purebloods. But Snape's half pureblood, so I think he's qualified enough.

He found himself laughing at various misadventures and ruing that he wasn't a part of any of them. He wasn't there for Charms experiments or Potions mishaps or enchantments gone wrong.

He did notice certain trends though. Mounting agitation became apparent right before winter break each year. Odd because he'd known the kid to adore Christmas and New Years.

Maybe it was because of how he always tried to make family events a scene when he was present…and he succeeded. All the blazing rows he'd start with Bella. Or the time he made Aunt Druella's cake explode. Strange, Salem had never really felt guilty about that until now.

Stupid Sirius! I hate him! Tear splotches. If he was really my brother, he'd just know! He'd look at me and just know. And he'd do something about it. Because I can't.

And what was he supposed to make of that? What did he do that was so unforgivable? Was it a rude remark? Was it about that time he sent him an assortment of candies for Christmas? Ones he knew his brother didn't like…and that was sort of the point.

Soon the entries became more sporadic. The distance between dates increasing ever further.

Salem gripped the journal tighter when Severus became Sev, and he became…"The Prat."

The uncomfortable feeling of being replaced, swept through him—making his heart clench painfully. And he wondered if that's how Regulus saw James.

The Prat and his goons blew up the Astronomy tower. I don't know what the hell they were doing. I probably don't WANT to know. But my project was blown to smithereens. Sev says I'm bloody lucky that Professor Sinestra already graded it. But I would've liked to have shown it to Dad, he'd have appreciated it. I guess it's a Black thing to enjoy the constellations.

Breakfast was a disaster. Flint wanted to have a go. And I got maple syrup all down my front. I clocked him with the marmalade jar, so I think we're pretty even. Thankfully Snape intervened before anything more could happen. Flint backed down then. Probably because it's well-known that Sev is a friend of Malfoy's.

Salem felt a swell of anxiety as he glanced at the next entry. The next two pages were brimming with small script. The words slanted and quick—None of the looping writing style he'd been recently acquiring. Meaning, there was no time to waste in detail or flourishing.

Salem swallowed dryly and read on.

It's strange. I guess Snape and everyone else was right. I'm stupid. I really never thought. I just don't understand how. I guess it doesn't matter. That you really are in every shade of the word—that you could do something so—

You know I used to relate a lot of words with my brother. Rebellious, brash, reckless, brave, adventurous. I never associated cowardice with him before. And so, part of me just can't accept that he ran away. Sirius never runs away. I have to run away from fights, unless I feel like getting beaten to a pulp.

Sirius, well let's face it, between the two of us he cuts the hero role far better than I. And so with corny dialogue (that normally makes me gag) he paints himself as a defender of Good. He always stands and fights. Because he's got the wand, the wits, and the muscle to get what he wants.

I'm the king on the chess board. I've got to use others to achieve my means. It isn't glorious, but it's the best I can do. And those were our roles. And I was used to them.

But he ran away. Like Andromeda. Life got hard and they just surrendered.

I don't have that option. I can't just leave the board. I have to wait for the end of the game. For the sake of everyone.

You know it used to irritate the hell out of me, when he'd stand there and scream at our parents. That he could be so damn ungrateful. But running away?

Well damn, Sirius. I thought better of you. I really (being the idiot I am) thought that you could and would redeem yourself.

For abandoning me for your newer, cooler friends.

For belittling ideals that you couldn't agree to disagree on.

For mocking our family, much to my distress.

For spitting on everything I held dear on a daily basis.

For making me a liar; every memory, where I defended your name makes me burn with shame.

What's worse is that I think I could live with all that. After all, put-downs are a given in Slytherin House. Mother's never thought much of my future goals. What with the way everyone spits on each other's beliefs nowadays–I've learned to wear a raincoat on my emotions. And I've forgiven Bella for far, far worse. But I just can't-

You always did enjoy destroying things. Even more than Bella does. Well, congratulations Brother, this is one hell of a mess.

I know you didn't see me there, because you've always been so fucking cocky. Telling your mates about what I said. How I was at your disposal to help you find a way to fix it all. That you could come home and I'd help smooth it all over.

You laughed. All of you. At it all. At everything you've done. It repulses me. That I offered my help and sincerity to someone unable to value it. If you had any decency you'd have censored yourself.

So now I have a new word for you brother. And I see now in the grand scheme of things, that it suits you so much better.

BLOODTRAITOR

It stung. As badly as if his brother had cut the word into his flesh. Branded. As though anyone would be able to look at him and see it. And maybe they did.

Suddenly, the amused sneers of Lucius Malfoy during Ministry Board meetings—where Salem ignored him and continued on with his fellow Aurors, presenting new measures for the safety of wizarding citizens—seemed decidedly more wicked.

Whispers behind his back that he'd ignored, ones that had followed him from his final years at Hogwarts to the Wizarding World at large.

He'd always assumed that it was about how he'd walked out on his inheritance, on the prestige of his bloodline, on Pureblood traditions as a whole—an utter rebel against all their ruthlessly enforced hierarchies.

But now…now he was starting to wonder if there was a deeper layer to it all.

The open look of disdain on Snape's face—like he was less than dirt. And to him, someone who'd had a front row seat to his failings as a role-model…

A surge of self-consciousness swept through him. How much did Snape know about him? How often had those dark, beady eyes sized him up and scoffed?

He left the library in a daze, jostled back and forth by the other students.

All he could think about was that…he did laugh. An action so spiteful and cruel that no apology could really take it back.

How do you mend that?

He realized now that part of him had always wanted to get back at Regulus, punish him for being the favourite—for believing their rubbish—for championing their ideals—and to what end?

My side won that first war. My side won... Sirius thought blandly. It sounded so…childish. I was in the right and you were in the wrong. We won. And we will continue to win.

An image of a young Bellatrix flashed through his mind, Because winning always makes you right.

Yes, I was right, Reggie. Just like I told you I was. And now you're dead. I'm so glad I was right. It was so worth it.

Bile rose in his throat.

There was a sad quirking smile on his brother's pale face, as he faced him that overcast afternoon. Something like determination…more like resignation in his eyes. He knew something—something he wasn't going to share. 'Goodbye, Brother.'

All his recent time with his brother had granted him more insight.

He knew that look now, it meant…

Salem's eyes widened.

He knew…

He stumbled over a jutting stone in the walkway, barely keeping his balance.

He-he knew. God. Good God. He KNEW.

"Trust you? Trust you, Sirius? How on earth could I manage that?" Lilting, as though he'd found humour in the whole situation.

I know perfectly well, that I can't trust you. And even if I could, it's too late.

"So you're just going to throw your life away?"

He smirked, again like he'd been told a joke. It's already over. The Reaper just hasn't caught up yet.

There was silence and then, "Goodbye, Brother." I wanted to see you one last time.

Sad smile.

And all he could say was: "You're no brother of mine."

He continued smiling and gave a nod. As we speak, there are Death Eaters amassing, eagerly waiting to murder me. I know I can't escape.

But I wanted to see you one last time… to say Goodbye…

"Goodbye, Brother."

You're never going to see me again.

"Goodbye-"

I'm a walking dead man.

"Brother..."

You may despise me. You may have disowned me. We may have blasted you off of our tapestry. But you are my brother.

And Brother, I wanted to see you one last time. Because I'm going to die. Probably tomorrow, maybe the day after if they're running a bit slow.

Shoulders back, head high, gait even—Regulus walked away.

Arrogant little berk, Salem had thought, disgusting.

Walking away into the darkness…a Darkness that would swallow him up until he was gone, gone, gone!

A star imploding! And then there would just be a great black hole. Deeper than any burn he or Andromeda could earn.

Calmly walking to his death—even pausing once to look over his shoulder and giving a short cheery wave: I'm off to the underworld, Siri. Have fun winning. I know how much it means to you.

Victory! Another despicable Death Eater vanquished!

He gagged and clapped a hand over his mouth as he rushed into the boy's bathroom—barely making it to the sink, before being violently ill.

On the ground, the Slytherin beaters were practicing their swings, while the chasers were busy doing passing drills.

Currently unneeded, the Slytherin Keeper and Seeker were entertaining themselves. Barty Crouch was sitting in the hoop of the middle goal post folding paper airplanes that he jinxed to fly into people eyes when they weren't paying attention.

Meanwhile, Reggie was soaring overhead—flying in lazy loops.

He was upside down in the middle of an arc, when he noticed Salem alone in the Slytherin section. He promptly gave a cheery wave.

From his slumped position on a bleacher, Salem stared at him blankly.

Sure, Salem wasn't exactly the most chipper of fellows, but even he returned obligatory greetings. Unlike Snape, who normally only gave one acknowledging nod…if he was in a good mood.

If he didn't know better, he'd say his housemate was brooding. He knew Salem to be the sort who'd zone out, but he'd never seen him so down before. Downright depressed.

Regulus flew his way over, hovering just over the rail.

"Hey Salem, what's with you?"

His fellow housemate remained silent.

"Because you look dreadful," he observed.

"Just having an off day, I guess," his friend murmured hoarsely.

Regulus frowned. "Are you ill?"

"No, I'm just-I probably just ate something…" I just swallowed a nasty bit of truth, it's still settling.

"You know, Sev probably has a potion that'll clear that right up. I swear, he's got a dresser full of concoctions. If you ask him, I'm sure he'll-"

"I don't want anything from Snape!" he snapped. Not from the bloke who'd usurped his spot in Reggie's life.

Regulus blinked at the outburst. Of Heaven and Hell, he couldn't understand Rosting's hatred of Snape. He'd have to get to the bottom of that eventually.

He'd already made a mental list of all of their interactions and just couldn't identify where the anger stemmed.

He must've been musing for quite some time, because now Rostings was looking at him in concern. He shook his head.

"Alright," Regulus relented. He wouldn't try to force a friendship with Snape. If Salem could learn to just tolerate the Potions Prodigy, he'd be leagues ahead of most of their dorm.

Mother had taught him that sometimes, despite the best of hopes and intentions and

well-wishes…some things just weren't meant to be.

And he knew from first-hand experience, that forcing shards of broken glass to come together will only cut your hands.

It was best to change the subject.

"So…" He cleared his throat. "So, our match is tomorrow after History Class. Are you…I mean, you seem to like Quidditch…but I know school sports don't quite compare to professional ones and I'd-I'd understand if you had something better to do." At this point, he'd begun fiddling with his gloves. "That battle ax McGonagall assigned a ton of work on Friday, I'll probably have to pull an all-nighter tomorrow to finish it. So if you wanted to get ahead on that I'd understand, but I was…wondering-"

"Rostings, I'll save you a load of deciphering. This is Rego-speak for: please come watch the game and support Slytherin," a despicably familiar drawled.

Regulus flushed while Snape snickered, climbing up the bleachers near his housemates.

Rostings bit back his urge to tell him off, and faced his brother.

"I'll be there," he vowed.

Again, Regulus flushed. "I mean, it's not that important to me—no skin off my nose—I just—Slytherin needs it's whole house's support—you know, because we really just don't have that many fans and-Oh! Flint's calling us in for a huddle-Gotta go!"

With that, he urged his broom into a nosedive toward the pitch.

Snape chuckled. "And THAT means thank you."

Salem glanced at him.

Snape shrugged. "If you do intend to be his friend, you'll have to get used to it. Phrases like 'I'm sorry' or 'Thank you' just aren't typical of Blacks."

"Ah, so you're an expert," Salem bit out flatly.

"I've known him since his first year," Snape replied matter-of-fact.

Salem grit his teeth, I've known him since he was born.

"Purebloods," the sixth-year sighed. "They're different from us. Prouder, stuffier, more inflexible. They get more prestige than us certainly. But they also get twice the stress. Appearances have to be maintained. Expectations must be fulfilled. So you see, these sorts of things-" He waved a hand. "-Are everyday life."

"Reeeally?"

Snape nodded. "I mean, if other Purebloods had heard that—you'd have both been mocked. You're his ally now, you're expected to come. He shouldn't even have had to ask."

Salem glowered, he didn't need to—I'd have come even if he told me not to.

"Civility, cordiality, courtesy—call it what you will—it's a tool for alliances," he sniffed. "Being nice just for the sake of being NICE? Only people without connection or ambition go looking for kindness in complete strangers."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you don't get it. Reg isn't just some random bloke you met on a train. He's the heir to a prestigious Pureblood family. There are…" he paused searching for the right wording, "certain procedures and rules to abide by and if you don't learn quickly, you'll find yourself removed from his presence."

"Is that a threat?"

Now, Snape looked genuinely wary. "No, it's a guarantee. His family's rather…involved in his life."

Salem raised an eyebrow, but Snape didn't elaborate. In fact, he purposely looked away—feeling like he'd shared too much already.

Salem's gaze focused on his brother who was nodding at whatever Flint was saying. His face fixed in an uncaring, bored expression—not a trace of the flustered uncertainty he'd displayed moments ago.

Salem's brow furrowed. It was distinctly disturbing that there should be such an apparent disconnection between what Regulus expressed and what he felt.

Again, he longed for the carefree days of his childhood, where everything was simple. When Reggie was happy, he grinned. When he was angry, he stamped his feet and slammed doors. When he was sad, he cried and clung to big brother's robes.

Salem could understand that—he could live and comfort and confront that.

It was these new reactions that kept throwing him off.

Now…now when he was happy, you might see his eyebrow rise in amusement. Or his mouth quirk slightly in a smirk. If you were damned lucky he might smile or chuckle.

Salem COULD get him to laugh, but it was hard!

When he was angry, his teeth would grit and his expression would smooth out. Emotionless. Eyes dark. Posture rigid. And sometimes he'd just smile nastily.

And when he was sad, he…what?

He didn't know.

Emotions are a weakness, a teenage Bella had sneered, and weakness is unbefitting of the House of Black.

In other words, don't have emotions…and if you can't rid yourself of them: Hide them, bury them, swallow them down…

Until each and every one faded with time and only worn out photos proved you had them once.

Salem's hands clenched; I won't let it happen again, I won't let you destroy yourself.

Sirius fought down a grin. Sneaking around on Marauder business always put him in a good mood, especially when it meant putting Slytherin in its place.

Years of practice had him and James, creeping down the dungeon stairs perfectly synchronized.

Silently, they followed a little girl in green trimmed robes down to the Slytherin dormitory.

The first year shook back her pigtails as she came before the wall and pronounced haughtily, "Nobility."

Both Gryffindors rolled their eyes, so Slytherin.

As the stone bricks pulled apart, they slipped in behind her.

They took care to find an empty corner; waiting patiently as the girl trotted into the common room, retrieved a book, and skipped back out.

They waited a beat before striking out towards the dorms, moving carefully through the stone tunnels. It seemed rather empty for a Sunday afternoon.

"God, it IS bloody freezing down here," James muttered into his ear. "I mean, I know we've been down here before, but I never really took time to notice."

Sirius nodded his agreement. No wonder his brother wasn't recovering. A drippy dungeon was hardly hospitable to a fragile immune system.

"From the looks of things, I'm betting the sconces don't get lit until midday."

Both Gryffindors looked doubtfully into the cold, dark abyss that loomed ahead of them.

Sirius let out a low whistle. "Slytherins must learn to be bloody nocturnal."

"Kinda reminds one of Dante's Hell, doesn't it?"

"After you, mate."

"Oh joy."

The path forked into two archways, each marked with a silver plate. It was more from memory than sight that they correctly chose the Boys' dormitory.

They passed several doorways before settling on one.

"It's the fourth door, it has to be it," James guessed.

Sirius murmured his agreement, he'd never actually pranked his brother like this—normally opting to try and mock him in public.

Wands at the ready, James cautiously opened the door.

Empty.

Both Gryffindors sagged with relief, immediately shrugging the invisibility cloak off.

Sirius carefully shut the door behind them, catching James' eye and winking.

"Well, Pads, what've you got in mind?"

"I'm thinking personal, with a tad of mortification, wrapped in raucous laughter from our fellow students."

James chuckled appreciatively.

Sirius glanced at the room, sizing up each bed. One usually tidy one in the far corner caught his eye. That HAD to be Regulus' bed.

He was proven correct when he recognized his brother's broom hanging carefully against the wall.

"I ought to steal his diary, find out all his crushes and announce it to the student body."

A plush, green rug sat perfectly parallel to the four-poster—matching the green satin covers and silver coverlet. Sirius swallowed his disdain at seeing the Slytherin Emblem embroidering everything.

The deep green drapes framing his window had been drawn back, letting the light of the lake cast strange patterns on the floor.

So this was the lair of his younger brother. How…uninteresting.

He glanced at the side table…boring: a bronze alarm clock, a snow globe, and one hurricane lamp. But what could he have been expecting? Mummy's little angel wouldn't be caught dead with a sloven living space.

He unlatched his brother's trunk and lifted the lid.

He made a face. His brother was devastatingly neat. His trunk divided into four corners. All of his parchment was stacked pristinely against the upper left corner. His ink bottles were all in a straight row. His quills laying just so.

In the bottom left corner there was one small crystal ball with a pack of tarots resting beside it—carefully balanced atop of some sturdy Divination books.

The right half was devoted to painstakingly well-folded clothes and coiled belts.

Ugh, it was all just so bland except for one small chest in the center with silver designs spider-webbing across it. Beside it rested a small bundle of letters tied with string.

They looked awfully official with fancy seals and thick parchment envelopes—all addressed to a Mr. R. A. Black. But there was no return address. Odd.

His fingers twitched nervously. It was one thing to ruffle through his brother's things, planning on hoisting Regulus's boxers as a flag over the Quidditch Pitch. It was another thing to actually read his private mail.

He tentatively picked up the bundle; it was probably just junk mail dressed up to look important. Some of the Quidditch magazines he and James subscribed to were like that.

He heard James open his brother's wardrobe and curse.

He glanced up to see James fighting off two turtlenecks. He struggled briefly before muttering a countercurse, though not before one galosh kicked him squarely in the shin.

Sirius snickered, "Fashion always was your enemy, eh Prongs?"

James glared but took much more caution in inspecting the wardrobe.

Sirius turned the letters over in his hands. Should he read one? Should he?

He hesitated several more moments before James prodded him. "Pads?"

"What?" he snapped.

"Nothing of much interest in the wardrobe. Clothes, a ton of books, shoes, ties, you know—the usual. I think there was one bottle of cologne. We could whip something up for that. Maybe bleach his skin a different color, or give off a putrid smell?"

"Yeah, maybe," Sirius murmured noncommittally before he turned away from his mate and slid out an envelope.

He swallowed a bit anxiously as he opened it and unfolded the parchment inside:

Mr. Black,

It has come to our attention that last month's payment was insufficient in covering the costs of…

These were…these were bills! He began sifting through each, ignoring James's inquiring looks.

Bill, Bill, Bill, I.O.U., I.O.U., Fine, late payment, bill.

But why the hell were they owling his brother? He couldn't do anything about it. He wasn't the…riiight…Dad was in Azkaban and so the title of Head of House fell to…

But that was ridiculous! Where was Regulus supposed to get this sort of money? He was fourteen! And he didn't have access to their parents' vault.

Why hadn't Mum sorted this out? And if she couldn't, why hadn't Uncle Cygnus or Uncle Alphard stepped up?

They couldn't expect Reggie to handle this all alone?

"Sirius, you look worse than the Bloody Baron. Good God, man, what is it? What-"

Before he could even piece together what to say, voices were approaching.

The two Gryffindors shared the same thought: Hide!

Sirius swiftly replaced the bundle and flipped the trunk close as James closed the wardrobe re-jinxing it.

They dove under his brother's bed just as the door swung open.

With bated breath, Sirius watched a set of shoes draw near, they looked awfully scuffed up. The laces of the right one were particularly worn out.

"Should've known there'd be a pop quiz on the last Friday," Regulus groused.

Sirius started. He'd never known Regulus to wear anything that was less than pristine.

Come to think of it, the bottom edge of his robes looked rather frayed as well.

Beneath the bed, Sirius frowned—their mother would have a fit seeing Regulus in such a state.

Now, Sirius didn't fancy himself overly snobbish...Heaven knew he overlooked Remus's rather shabby apparel and he certainly didn't hold others' financial status against them.

Yet…the thought of his brother wearing threadbare outfits and worn out shoes disconcerted him.

Unbidden, he remembered their last train ride. Regulus hadn't bought a thing from the trolley cart.

If he was trying to pay these debts out of his own pocket…

"Regulus, are you alright?"

"No," he snapped and flopped onto his bed, unwittingly causing both Gryffindors to stifle swears as the mattress hit their heads.

"Ahh, Rostings, you get to bear witness to the Reggie Ritual," Snape remarked amused.

"Yep, he always hurls before a game," Flint stated knowingly.

"What? Why?"

"I don't know he just does."

"We've started taking it as a good omen. If he pukes more than seven times in three hours, we usually win. So do your best to gross him out."

"Sod off, Rabastan."

"Reg, smell my shoes."

"Get out of my face, Barty!"

"Smell them!"

"No!"

"SMELL THEM!"

"Ack, God, that's-that's-It smells-It-it smells awfu-awf-ugh-"

"Someone grab the bucket!"

"Got it!"

"Here!"

"Throw it, quick!"

Sirius and James winced at the sound of vomit hitting the bucket.

"Regulus!" came Rosting's concerned shout.

"Oh this is nothing," Snape assured the blonde-haired Slytherin.

"Yeah," Flint agreed, "if we were facing off against Gryffindor, he'd have started puking last night."

"We're going to practice a few more drills, if you feel up to it come, if you don't, no sweat," a voice near the doorway announced.

James and Sirius watched the room empty of several pairs of shoes.

"My God, what a stench! It was like he frolics through sewers."

"So the game's tomorrow," Rostings stated softly.

"Yes."

"And you're nervous?"

There was a long-suffering sigh, "…yes. Once I get out on the pitch, I'll be fine."

"Yeah, he'll normally throw on his robes, mis-lace his gloves three times and have two panic attacks on his way from the locker room to the pitch—but he hasn't froze up yet."

Silence resounded for a few beats before Rostings asked, "When are you going to return HIS robes?"

"Let him sweat a few more days."

"That's cruel."

"That's just deserts. Don't give me that look. He's a jerk to me all the time."

"I don't think that justifies making him forfeit the Quidditch match."

"Salem, relax. I'm pretty dastardly, but I'm not heartless. I'd never strip any man of his right to Quidditch. Even the Prat."

"Look, if you want, I'll return them. I can leave them in front of the Fat Lady or in McGonagall's office or something."

"No, I know just where I want to leave them."

"…in the Great Hall?"

"Nope. I'm gonna hang them on the Quidditch Pitch."

Snape laughed. "That has some merit, but I think you should shrink them or dye them neon green or something…where'd you put them anyway?"

"No Snape, can't trust you with that. You'll do something."

"True."

"They're safe, that's all you need know."

"Here, I'm going to be right back. I wanted to grab my book."

"Alright."

Snape swept out of the room. The moment he was out of earshot, Salem asked lowly, "What did you really do with his robes?"

Regulus snickered. "Nothing."

"Regulus?" his friend questioned sternly.

Regulus laughed harder. "Absolutely nothing. I hung them up in his locker at the stadium. He's such a git, I'll bet you he never even bothered to check."

Meanwhile, beneath the mattress, Sirius slapped a hand against his forehand. He hadn't even thought of checking there.

"What was that?"

"Your paranoia," Snape announced as he re-entered the room.

"Look, I don't deny that I'm crazy. But there ARE people out to get me."

"Perhaps, but you are your own worst enemy. I still can't believe you scaled it," Snape muttered. "You're nutters."

"What's not to believe? I told you that sort of thing is nothing new. I mean, that was a lot more straightforward than sneaking out of Grimmauld Place."

"And just how do you do that?" Rostings inquired. "That place has tons of wards…or so I've been told."

"Trust me, you don't want to know," Snape replied. "I get the shudders every time I see him do it. And the thought that he's done it alone, makes me ready to admit him."

"Well, you know half my family ends up there anyways, so I'd be in good company. But I know what I'm doing. Yeah, there is a bunch of wards. But all that stuff's meant to keep people out not in. I mean, sure all the doors go into alert by sunset. But my window—that's fair game. See, I practiced charms for ages and I learned how to open mine. I can probably unlock just about anything now," the younger Black boasted.

"And just what did you need to sneak out for?" Rostings inquired rather flatly.

"Well…"

"Well…"

Snape and Regulus both started to explain.

"He sorta dared me to-"

"-I sort of dared him to. I told Regulus that he didn't have the guts to leave his home without permission-"

"-so I did. Snape said that if I managed it, he'd take me to the Synonym."

"What?"

"You know, we went to the Cinnamon…the Cienna?" Regulus repeated.

Snape smirked. "The Cinema?"

"Right! Right. That's where we went."

"Yes."

"I was close."

"Very."

"Anyways, I succeeded."

"And just…how does that work? Is there a drain pipe to slide down?" Salem knew there wasn't. Grimmauld Place didn't have any sneaking-out-friendly windows.

And Reggie's window…there wasn't anything, but a gutter that ran over it. And even then…he'd have to fully step out onto his sill to reach it…and Reg was awfully short…

"No," Snape answered flatly. "He opens his window, climbs out, and grabs hold of the gutter under the roof. He then swings his way toward the front of the house. Uses the front window as a foothold before aiming himself for the archway of the front door. When he's lucky, he lands right smack atop of it, and then slides down and voila!"

"And when he's not lucky?"

Snape didn't answer.

The sudden image of Reggie plummeting to unforgiving concrete turned Salem's stomach.

"You look a bit green, Rostings? Are you alright?"

"He's been feeling sick today," Regulus announced.

"I'm fine," Rostings grit out.

"I'll let you share my bucket, Salem."

"I'll pass."

Snape sighed, "Here, let's get you both some fresh air."

Two subdued "Alright's" answered him and soon three pairs of shoes exited.

The door closed with a sharp click, but James and Sirius still waited a good ten minutes before leaving their hiding spot.

James watched, bewildered as his friend paced back and forth muttering to himself.

"I can't believe that little—So stupid. Could've killed himself, and for what? A movie!? I could take him to a movie and with a lot less hassle. And why his window? Why not save himself some peril and use mine?"

"Pads?"

"And what's he so nervous about? He's a good seeker. One of the best next to ours. He shouldn't be freaking out. And why doesn't anyone care about it? That much fear and anxiety over a stupid little match? That's not healthy! And what's this about Snape taking him on outings to the muggle world? He's corrupting my little brother, Prongs. Spending so much time with him. That's probably why he's such a prat to me. Snape's filling his head with lies!"

"Pads!"

But his friend was already marching out of the room and down to the Sixth Year Boys' dormitory. James wearily followed him.

If they were caught down here, there'd be hell to pay.

Sirius all but wrenched the door open, all caution thrown to the winds.

They'd pranked Snape enough to immediately recognize his corner. He'd clearly bribed the house-elves to build him some more shelves since the last time they'd visited. Various shaped potion bottles, murky jars, pouches, and beakers lined each one.

The bed was haphazardly made with spell books and talismans littering the covers.

A thick black curtain hung from his window, blocking most of the lake's light. What did shine through was ghostly green—making his possessions look all the more wicked.

It was the perfect ambience for a dark wizard in training.

Two cauldrons were simmering in the corner over blue-flamed burners.

Oddly enough, there was no standard rug beside Snape's bed. Just the clear outline of what must've been one. Some sort of…potions mishap had occurred scorching the stone.

Either it had caught on fire…or exploded…or something.

Sirius's lip curled—he'd probably been experimenting with the Dark Arts.

Obviously, the house-elves hadn't gotten to replacing the rug yet. Probably still trying to scrub out the stain.

Candle stubs and discarded trousers littered the area, and Sirius could swear that the sock in the corner was…clicking oddly.

The clock on the bedside table was moving backwards and the beaker perched beside it seemed to move, every time he glanced at it.

In one word, Snape's quarters were CREEPY.

But that was hardly a surprise—considering what a strange, bat-like creature he was.

Without preamble, Sirius muttered a countercurse and flipped open the boy's ratty trunk.

He ruthlessly tossed out old spellbooks and wrinkled robes.

He knew that greasy git had a photo album. They always shoved it aside whenever they were ruffling through his things—looking for clothing to jinx with itching charms or to make belts that made your pants fall down.

There! He pulled out the worn-leather bound album. Looping initials of E.P. were in the corner.

James sidled up behind him, curious about his friend's intensity.

His lip curled as he flipped through pages—many featuring a green-eyed girl.

Playing on a tire swing. Swimming at a public pool. A crown of flowers in her hair. Selling lemonade at a Garage sale.

He felt James shift uncomfortably, a slight whine escaping him.

Them at Hogwarts in their respective houses' robes. In class. By the lake. In the library.

It went on and on. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched James wince and look away.

Thankfully, it seemed by third year, Evans grew shy of being photographed. Throwing a hand up or hiding behind something.

Knowing it bothered her, Snape took less and less pictures of her and more of his potions.

He skipped forward another ten pages and his worst fears were confirmed.

Countless photos of his brother smiled cheerfully up at him.

And being a Black made him extremely photogenic. Not to mention the kid was probably used to it. At all of their family events, their relations demanded to take pictures of him. Reg probably came to expect that sort of treatment from everyone.

Regulus in his first set of Slytherin Quidditch robes. Holding up his first snitch. Working on a potion with a set of thick goggles on. Him taking a bow while holding a Charms Essay with an O scrawled across it. Several Pages titled with EXPERIMENTS—each featuring either Snape or Reggie with various devices and results.

Many photos even had captions.

His brother holding what was clearly a potions exam with a P proudly, a note saying: seventh time's the charm.

Regulus with a glazed expression, absorbed by a muggle television. He was sitting on an unfamiliar couch in green striped pajamas holding a bowl of popcorn, before Snape crept behind him and grabbed his shoulders. His brother jumped—sending kernels everywhere.

Another note: Creature Feature.

Regulus posing with Snape at some kind of muggle carnival. Note: Beware, the ferris wheel is missing bolts.

His brother's arm was in a sling—Sirius didn't remember that—Note: Ouch bludgers.

One of Reg singing in a choir—he didn't remember that either—Note: Hidden talent.

One of him playing the violin—last he remembered Reg was awful at it… but the audience surrounding him looked anything but displeased—Note: Brava.

Snape in full Slytherin Gear ready to cheer for the Quidditch Game.

Christmas, he flipped a page, Halloween, he flipped another page, New Year's Toast—where

Snape and Regulus would clink glasses, the champagne spilling over both of them and then they'd catch each other's eye and burst out laughing.

A hostile angry feeling was bubbling up inside himself. Burning a hole in him like acid eating away.

That someone like Snape could just creep up and take…he gritted his teeth.

At a muggle arcade. Beside a vending machine. At Diagon Alley.

Both of them dressed up at some formal event beside Sirius's parents. All of their expressions cheerful.

Regulus would turn to Snape, elbow him and whisper something conspiratorially. The latter would reach over and ruffle his hair. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Black would chuckle—their eyes soft on the two boys.

Orion would slip an arm around his wife's waist and pull her close and they'd share an intimate smile. Anyone who didn't know their surnames could think…could almost assume they were family.

The glass on Snape's clock cracked.

James blinked, completely caught off guard by the vicious expression on his friend's face.

James studied the photograph. The way Sirius's fingernails were digging into the album. The hard set of his jaw.

If he didn't know better, he'd say that Sirius was a tad jealous. Strange, because he'd always known his best mate to be so self-assured.

Hell, he didn't know if he'd ever seen Pads jealous. And during his first year, James had definitely tried to impress him. Nothing had worked.

James scruffled his hair nervously, casting his eyes about for some odd trinket of Snape's to mock and lessen the tension.

A flash of silver caught his eye and, on a whim, he opened the nearby cupboard. His spirits instantly soared.

It was an oval bowl filled with silvery liquid. Severus T. Snape was etched gracefully along the rim.

It was a sign: Fortune Favours the Bold indeed.

"Snape's pensieve, Pads," James whispered in awe—almost unable to believe it.

"What?" came the terse reply.

James shook his head. "Geez, Pads, think of something besides your brother. Lady Luck has graced us this day."

He held the item up above his head. As though it were some sacred artifact bestowed to him by the Gods.

O the blackmail they could have!

"How can I?" Sirius muttered, dropping the album back into the trunk like a poisonous snake. "Here I always thought he was a quiet, obedient little twerp. And now I find he has some mysterious disease, Snape as his best mate, a mischievous pranking side, and no sense of self-preservation. He just waltzes out of windows. You heard him yourself! Someone's got to be his voice of reason; he obviously doesn't have a Lupin handy!"

Read and Review Please! :D