Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter...Oh, and I AM still alive. : D in case the reviewer PWTT was wondering.

AN: Thank you for your reviews! I'm out of school for the summer, so I finally had a chance to update! Hope you're still interested! And I NEVER abandon a fic. I just have to battle school and work for time. Ta Da!

Chapter 12: Too Clever By Half

James sighed, neck tilted back, eyes on the ceiling. With Remus and Sirius questing in the dungeons, and Peter oddly absent, he felt strangely dispossessed. He found himself in the common room among a slew of stressed students racking their brains for the Final Exams.

The atmosphere was tense with scribbling quills and drills along with various 'no no, Fulrich was in the second Goblin war—his father Guvrich was in the first one' or 'levi-osa' and the occasional 'don't bother, the quill's are spelled for the test.'

Usually, he enjoyed watching Evans's annual Night of Mercy—where she coached first years to be ready for McGonagall's Examination. But tonight he couldn't appreciate it.

He was too agitated and restless to be helpful to anyone. His mind buzzed too loudly to admire Evans, or bother studying, or trying to scheme. Usually, about now he and Sirius would be going over last-minute details for their end of the year prank. He and Sirius always looked forward to it…only Sirius had gone mental. It was the only explanation.

He'd understand if Regulus and Sirius were close. Hell, he'd understand if Regulus were a halfway decent human being. But as it stood, the Slytherin well-represented all that was foul in his house.

Both houses truly, James thought maliciously. He was ruthless, self-serving and ambitious—staples that Salazar prized. And he was as prideful, antagonistic, and prejudiced as the House of Black could want.

That's why the Marauders had never wanted him to tag along from the moment he set foot in Hogwarts. He was a nasty little package of outdated customs and overzealous snobbery; he even came with a label: Slytherin.

That's why Sirius left. He was trying to escape all that. And even if James was willing to overlook their history…for Sirius's sake if nothing else…the continued way Regulus dismissed his elder brother…he was rude, disrespectful, and biting when he bothered to react at all.

The rest of the time he was indifferent, which perhaps injured Sirius even more.

His best mate needed attention like others needed air; he took pride in teachers' praise and girls' admiration—and why not with a family that was content to disown him? Ignoring him was the worst sort of punishment. He'd learned that after the whole Snape fiasco in their 5th Year. He'd been so angry—he couldn't talk to Sirius for three days. When he did, he found Sirius a bit choked up—thought he'd "ruined their friendship the way he ruined his…"

James scowled and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Ignoring Sirius and ridiculing him were two things that Regulus seemed a master of. The fact that Sirius kept letting him get away with it was staggering. There were plenty of blokes that got hexed for less. And whenever he suggested they leave the little berk to his own devices—Sirius would roll his eyes and mutter that he just didn't understand brothers.

James abruptly stood up and made his way to the Boys' Dormitory; for once oblivious to a pair of startlingly green eyes watching him in concern.

It still stung. He'd always considered them as close as brothers. Rather bitterly, James mused that perhaps blood was more important to Sirius than the latter knew.

Remus folded the invisibility cloak carefully and hid it within his robes.

The mission was a success. They'd had a close call and nearly tripped over a Slytherin second year who was reading and walking—and who'd stop abruptly whenever she found a passage worth marking. Still, a silver box now rested in Sirius's arms.

As they walked up the grand staircase (pausing as they waited for their flight up to the hospital floor), Sirius would flip open the lid and riffle through the contents—frowning.

It should have been easy.

They'd made it through the dungeons undetected, opened Regulus's trunk with nary a snag, made it to the Fourth Floor, were less than thirty feet from the entrance of the Hospital Wing...and Snape stood between them and the door.

Bugger.

"The Hell are you doing here?" Sirius demanded—teeth bared, hackles raised.

Remus bit the inside of his cheek and looked at Sirius in annoyance. Really, did that have to be the overture? Was that really necessary?

"Not that it's any of your concern." Snape raised an eyebrow in distaste. "But I have a fresh antidote—I presume the one Pomfrey had on hand has expired."

"You're going to expire if you don't get the Hell out of here. Haven't you done enough damage?"

Severus shook his head. "I don't have time for this nonsense." He reached for the door. A sharp blast sent him dodging.

"Sirius!" Remus yelped. "Have you lost your min-"

"Hold this," he growled, shoving the box into Remus's arms. Remus glowered as he thought 'Why yes, Moony. Yes. Those marbles are rolling quite freely now.'

More chaos erupted as Snape returned fire.

"How do I know you're not just here to finish the job, huh? For all I know you've given him enough wormwood to-"

"Think, Black, I know it's difficult for you. If I was going to kill Regulus don't you think I'd be a bit more discreet? I'm not the braggarts you and Potter are—I wouldn't kill him in front of the whole bleeding school."

Meanwhile, Remus noted that the box felt strangely cool. Icy. Biting. In fact, the longer he held it, the stronger the feeling became. So cold it burned. Sharp. Sharper. He needed to-to set it down. Now. Pain blazed across his senses and with a sharp gasp the box slid from his grasp. Small slivers of the silver plating broke off as it hit the ground.

"Remus!"

His hands. God, his hands. Red and blistered. The damned thing was hexed. But why hadn't it affected Sirius? Unless...blood...only a blood relative could touch it, and he didn't expect Sirius to go down there and mess with it. Damn it, this was why no one liked Purebloods.

The crash alerted Snape, who glanced at the box—recognition seeping into his eyes, which widened and then narrowed angrily.

"I thought we had a pest problem in the dungeons. So the Gryffindors think they own the whole school, and can prance about wherever they please—taking whatever they wish? Perhaps you've something of mine as well?"

"You! Oi Moony, you alright?" Sirius called without looking, one couldn't afford to take his eyes off his opponent in the middle of a duel...especially when that opponent was Snape; the greasy git didn't have an honor code, and delighted in cheap shots.

"Really, Black, I'd say that robbing a family member was low even for you, but we both know your moral compass is shoddy."

"I'm not stealing from him," Sirius hissed back.

"Really now, we must be functioning under different definitions because I'm familiar with the one that states if you take something which doesn't belong to you—you're stealing."

"I'm borrowing it with every intention of returning it, and I'm only doing so for his own good. Because…because I'm-" Sirius struggled with the words that were in his opinion far too personal for the likes of Snape to be privy to. "I'm worried about him. And…and if you were half the friend you claim to be, you'd do what was best for-"

"A regular martyr. Bravo, Black." Snape clapped for effect. "Showing concern for a younger brother. How benevolent. How generous. How out of character. What a monumental sacrifice of your precious time—we all know there are so many things a golden boy like you could be doing."

"You-" Sirius's vision went red and he spluttered—mind blanking to a point where he couldn't think of a single curse.

Remus watched in morbid fascination. He didn't think he'd ever seen Sirius at a complete loss of words or spells. That sometimes happened to James when one of Evans's comments struck too near the bone, but Sirius? No, Sirius was always at the ready with a well-phrased retort or well-timed jinx.

"You see this, world?" Severus called out, the caustic bite of his nasty voice echoing down the hall. "It's Sirius Orion Black and he thinks he's oh-so noble for caring about his family. You know, the way the rest of us plebeians do on a daily basis?" He brought his voice back down, almost gently. Like they were co-conspirators instead of deadly enemies. His mouth turned up smugly. "Trust me, Black, if you really are 'worried for him' you needn't be. You already did the best thing a bloodtraitor could do for Regulus. You left. Why spoil things now?"

Remus could only watch, stunned, as magic was forgotten and Sirius tackled Snape to the ground.

Alphard Black sighed from his spot, leaning against the door frame of the hospital wing. He wasn't terribly surprised to find his nephew in the center of the commotion in the hall.

From the looks of it, Sirius had a split lip and bruised knuckles. The boy he had in a headlock looked considerably worse—his obviously broken nose was bleeding profusely—making his usually sallow complexion a now vivid blend of red, violet, and blue from blood, bruising, and asphyxiation.

Alphard adjusted his glasses. "Enough, Sirius, let him up."

Sirius glowered at him—reminding him (oddly enough) of a dog and his chew toy.

Alphard pulled out his wand—demonstrating that he was more than capable of separating them with magic if it came to that.

With great reluctance, Sirius released Snape and stood. The other boy fell to the floor gasping.

Sirius stoically walked over to pick up the silver box from its graceless position on the floor—gathering the letters that had spilled out.

He then brushed past his uncle, pushing the box roughly into the man's arms before disappearing back into the hospital wing.

Alphard shook his head "Oi Snape, you alright?"

Snape sent him a look of 'do I bloody well look alright?'

"I can fix the nose," Alphard offered with a twirl of his wand.

Snape swore violently as it realigned itself.

"There, now for the eyes—just go talk to your House's Quidditch Captain, they'll have jars of Bruise-Be-Gone on hand. I'd say you could wait for Poppy to return, but for your own safety I'd advise against it."

"I had an antidote," he gritted tersely.

"Oh?"

"Smashed to pieces." Snape touched a pocket gingerly.

"Hmm." Alphard nodded and then eyed the brown haired boy standing off to the side. "What's ailing you, Lupin?"

"That box."

"Let me have a look." Remus came over with his hands up for inspection. Alphard released an impressed whistle.

"Top notch, Reggie," he murmured absently, "when you hex an object, you take out all the stops."

"This is really painful," Remus told him flatly, "worse than a Stinging Jinx."

"I imagine so, and it will remain that way. I can't cure a hex of that magnitude. You'll have to wait for Poppy. She's with the Headmaster right now."

Remus nodded and looked back to see if Snape was similarly vexed by the man's dismissive air, but the Slytherin was gone.

Salem's stomach growled as he gave the dungeon wall its password: Privilege. He'd missed dinner and was hoping that any residual chatter over Snape and Regulus's exhibition would be finished. He was planning to drop off his satchel, persuade his brother to come with him to the kitchen (because another meal wouldn't hurt Reggie in the least), and begin planning a study guide for the dreaded Potion's Exam. Regulus would need as much help as possible if he was going to scrape an Acceptable.

Salem blinked at the unexpected din roaring through the common room which while expected in other houses—was a shock here. Slytherins were too dignified, too well-mannered, too above it all to gossip like commoners.

He glanced around for Regulus to enlighten him, but he wasn't there. He brushed by a throng of housemates as he moved towards the Fourth Year dormitory.

"Hauled out by a suit of armor, did you see?"

"Destroyed it too, bet that's worth detention for a week, maybe even a few Galleons—destruction of school property."

"I hear he's still unconscious."

"Deliberate?"

"Well, you DO remember their row last year over that mudblood, the house elves-"

Salem returned to the common room when a check of both the Fourth and Fifth dorms were equally fruitless. Perhaps the library?

"Oi Rostings." A sixth year hailed him. Salem recognized him as a chaser from the Quidditch Team. "Black's in the infirmary, it seems Snape botched his potion after all—I'd steer clear though if I were you. It's a no Slytherin zone courtesy of one Sirius Black. You'll get your face hexed off if you dare go. Snape made the mistake of going by there."

Salem mulled that over. He had NO memory of this at all. Which meant that the Timeline was being altered. That was interesting. It was rather ominous, but interesting. On the one hand, going to the hospital wing and dabbling with the two would probably distort things even more. On the other, there was no telling how explosive an argument between the brothers could be; his presence might be necessary to mediate. (Not his best ability of course, but he'd do what he could.)

In fact...if he took this opportunity and somehow smoothed things out. If his younger self could somehow get Regulus underwing, they could rewrite Regulus's fate altogether.

Fate, he scoffed. These Divination classes were rubbing off on him. Still, wasn't that what he wanted? To change how it all turned out. Maybe Regulus was the first piece he needed to maneuver correctly.

Meanwhile, his pride couldn't quite suppress his curiosity: if it was true his younger self was guarding the room, he may as well figure out who was the better duelist. It'd be an interesting battle: youth versus experience.

He prided himself on knowing a greater deal of spells than his younger self and having experienced more combat situations, but his reflexes had undoubtedly deteriorated in Azkaban for twelve years. It would make them pretty even.

"Rostings?! Where are you going? Did you hear what I said?"

Without bothering to turn back around, he dryly remarked that he was in need of a good hexing.

Sirius drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair, before getting up and pilfering Pomfrey's office for a quill and parchment.

He paused by the bed Remus has settled on, but his mate pointedly ignored him. Which was just perfect—another friend was furious at him. He settled in his chair and went to work.

When Remus let out a long hiss of breath, Alphard remarked, "Poppy should be back anytime with the Mungo's staff—any one of them will be able to lift that hex."

Sirius immediately looked up from his current project. He'd been making a sign: Slytherins NOT welcome with a crude doodle of himself hexing the head off a member of the aforementioned unwelcome house.

"Wha-when were you going to tell me this?!"

Alphard eyed him quizzically. "I'm telling you now."

"I need to pack my trunk—he'll need his trunk, I've got to-"

"The house-elves are already attending to it, and you'll be staying to finish your exams and Apparition Test. It'll already be a hassle having exams adjusted for Regulus. You-"

"I'm going."

"Sirius, you'll just be underfoot."

"I'm going."

"Be reasonable, boy. He's hardly on his deathbed. No one's died from the Draught of Living Death in centuries. It's just a-"

"I. Am. Going."

"Sir-"

"Fine," Sirius replied eerily calm. So calm that Remus immediately sat up—a shiver running down his spine. "Then know that tonight, I will break into Dumbledore's office. I will steal his emergency Floo powder, and I will slip into Mongo's. To hell with their rules and yours."

Alphard mulled that over. He opened his mouth twice, frowned, and then shrugged, "Well if you're going to make a nuisance of yourself…"

Sirius shifted uncomfortably for the umpteenth time. He was now convinced that the visitor chair stationed by his brother's bed was a furniture piece manufactured from the bowels of hell. The stiff backed, unyielding thing had left him aching all over. Hell, his elbows were sore.

His brother turned over again. He'd been moving restlessly since they administered Wiggenweld. Which wouldn't be so bad except he kept crackling—cartilage and sinews popping as they readjusted to 'being alive' again.

They'd also given him something to keep him under while they ran some tests. The cord of the IV kept clacking against the bed as he moved. Not only did the sound keep Sirius awake, but the worry that it'd come loose. They'd drawn some blood, plucked three strands of hairs, and completely ignored a concerned older brother.

He also kept asking his uncle, as well as the personnel, when his mother was arriving.

"Soon" was their constant response. Yeah well, "soon" came and went four hours ago and now they'd gone off to somewhere he couldn't pester them. He rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. The dimly lit hallways were more for patient comfort than visitor comfort.

He was in a foul mood. Everything kept making it worse. He didn't have answers. Didn't have his trunk. Didn't have any decent reading material. He'd already read the three magazines in the room for what felt like the thousandth time and they were all about three years too old to be at all relevant. When he'd left Hogwarts with Alphard and the St. Mungo's staff, Remus hadn't looked at him. He hadn't received a letter from James or Peter either. The only farewell he'd gotten was from Pomfrey who said she'd explain his whereabouts to McGonagall who'd be able to send his trunk.

Even the room infuriated him. The tiled floor sloped down awkwardly in the far left corner. The overpowering smell of antiseptic cleaners permeated the air. His nose had also picked up other nauseating scents: like plastic, rubber, and death. Hell, even the sheets were getting on his nerves. They were too white, which made Reg look grey. He also hated the bed, which had a thin, hard mattress which made his brother toss and turn and caused that IV to clack loudly in the silence.

His brother's trunk was sitting in the corner. His resolve not to open it since Alphard brought it in was chipping away. Snape's comment about thievery had chafed him. But damn it all, he'd been here four hours—on top of the time he'd spent in Hogwarts' Hospital Wing. He popped the trunk open, prayed he wouldn't accidentally break anything, and ruffled through.

It was as he remembered it from his adventure with James—frightfully dull. Books, bronze alarm clock, parchment, and quills were all sorted neatly. His hurricane lamp was wrapped with cloth to keep it from breaking. There were some folded clothes and robes, toiletries, one ivory comb, and a small green velvet box held a pocket watch and silver cufflinks.

At the very bottom of the trunk, he found his brother's Quidditch Robes and gear. To his surprise, the arm guards didn't match. In fact, the left arm guard didn't match any of the gear. It might have seemed a strange thing to be struck by, but he was there for this purchase. During their winter holiday, after Regulus was selected as Slytherin Seeker, they'd gone with their father to pick out his equipment. Orion had purposely gotten them a bit overlarge so Regulus would grow into them and he wouldn't need a new set every season. If he was honest with himself, it had been a good outing. Quidditch was something men could bond over without any mention of Hogwarts Houses or familial prejudices.

In the end, Sirius's examination only found two odd objects: one snow globe (which seemed by this point almost strangely sentimental when compared with the sterile sense of order the rest of the trunk boasted) and some paint brushes rolled up in a bit of loose canvas (because his brother was terrible at the craft—possibly worse than Sirius himself. Their mother had been deeply disappointed by that—in her day wizards and witches blah blah blah).

He closed it, feeling disappointed. Really Regulus, you go to the trouble of pranking me, getting my hopes up that you're not an absolute rule-abiding sissy who lives under the family's thumb and now you're just…

He sighed and opened the trunk again. His brother's belongings lay there innocently. Yes. I AM a rule-abiding sissy...who can scale Gryffindor Tower by hand without magic. He pawed through the books. Damn, they were even in alphabetical order by subject: Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History, Potions, and Transfiguration. Beside his textbooks, there were a few historical novels. It was almost...absurdly neat.

He tapped the spine of each book lazily, and then blinked. Wait. Wasn't he in Divination? Where was his book for that? And his star charts and all that rubbish? Or his bag of rune stones? He'd had a crystal ball last time, didn't he?

Where? He'd already searched it from top to bottom. Top...a flash of intuition hit. He closed the lid and opened it experimentally, letting it bob on its hinges. It was...too heavy.

He traced the insides of the trunk lid—knocking here and there. He delivered two hard knocks to the top right corner and the false lid slipped loose. An avalanche of personal items came tumbling out.

There was a crystal ball, tarot cards, an astrolabe, an assortment of rather wicked looking black candles, a bag of runes stones, several thin stacks of paper tied with grey ribbon, and he blinked...his brother's journal that he bought for him back when they were little.

There was also a positively malevolent looking spell book with a ring of crystals hanging on its lock. And...newspaper clippings? He read through them and abruptly stood up: Dark Lord Strikes, Terror in the Streets, Number of Victims Rise: Muggleborns Being Targeted.

He made for the door, so utterly repulsed that he couldn't believe he'd wasted time and concern over a budding Death Eater. He had one foot on the door jamb when the oddness struck him.

If he was in Slytherin, where all of them were up to their eyeballs in the Dark Arts, why would he feel the need to hide this stuff?

His step faltered and he returned to the trunk, there was a slim collection of leaflets tied with a black cord. He pulled on one and discovered it to be connected to the next and so forth. Curiosity thoroughly piqued, he found himself unfolding it on the floor. It was a giant spider web of photos, maps, sites of attacks, newspaper articles, and notes. The notes would mention a wizard or witch's name, occupation, family members, character traits, and motivations. The corner of each would have DE, OP, or ?

Sirius mouth gaped. Death Eater. Order of the Phoenix. He...he knew about that? Sure he and James had heard whispers of it during their internships at the Aurors' Department. But Regulus knew? And then the question mark was for those he was still figuring out.

Damnation.

He and James had a bunch of conjecture that they occasionally ran by Mr. Potter, a senior Auror, and Reggie was off gathering hard evidence.

Alright universe, he thought, I concede my brother's almost as clever as me.

He folded the spider-web cipher up and pocketed it. He'd run a few questions by Mr. Potter.

He'd also try to gauge where Regulus himself landed in that scale of affiliation.

Another stack of papers had several designs of contraptions he's never seen before. Strange mechanical devices that looked like they required a boatload of charms knowledge to operate. By the third illustration and because he was getting better at recognizing his brother's hand-writing, it dawned on him that these were the results of Regulus's own whims.

Damn you, universe, fine—as clever as me...but I'm still handsomer and taller.

He passed through several painstaking renditions of the night sky on a grid, along with listings of astrological merit that he'd never had the patience to memorize—House of Saturn and all that rubbish.

He was taken aback to find several old pictures of himself with Regulus stowed away here. The backs of the photos reflected Regulus's maturity the way the images showed his age: Siri + Me, Sirius and I, Sirius & Regulus, and 1973 S.B. R.B.

He also realized abruptly that he didn't have any pictures of him. He had photos of Prongs, Moony, and Wormtail...even Evans, but he didn't have any of Reggie. Not a single one.

He hadn't thought to pack any when he left the house or ask Alphard for some, or even for Slughorn to bring him a copy of their Quidditch Team photo.

He set the photos down and there was a tinkling sound. There was a squashed little box the size of his palm. It was wrapped in red Christmas wrapping paper that was wearing out at the corners. "To: Sirius" was written across it in cursive lettering that wasn't quite as confident or elegant as recent works from his brother could show. "From: Regulus," though the 'lus' in his brother's name had been smudged from rough handling.

Sirius's stomach flopped. He'd made a show of stepping on this in front of his housemates before returning it to its sender. He really was an arse sometimes...worse he was like an amnesiac arsehole...forgetting all the dumb shit he'd done that turned people against him.

He opened it carefully, feeling and hearing the broken bits grind. It was a small black box trimmed in silver, but the lid was bent and the casing had split down one side; several tiny crystals spilled out into his hand. They glittered even in the dimness of the hospital room.

He wanted to roll his eyes because the lid had their family crest stamped across it, but he couldn't. Because it was just slightly off center which meant Regulus magicked it there which was hard wand work...and he stepped on it. There was a great big crease right across the hounds' heads, like they'd been decapitated...and it should have been funny, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh.

The lid didn't want to slide open, but he managed to manhandle it across. When he did a multitude of crystals floated up. They shone brightly, shuddered once (as if the magic cast over them was deciding whether it wanted to hold), and then revolved slowly.

The several crystals that rested in hands flickered—shining brightly like their floating brethren then dimming out. They didn't bother rising up to join in the design. It was fine. He knew it even with the gaps...his constellation: Canis Major.

It was almost poetic that the crystal that should be the brightest, Sirius the Dog Star, had gone out. The darkened crystal floated almost stubbornly and it didn't move quite right as the other crystals revolved around it.

Something in him sank and for a long time he couldn't look at the person on the bed. He carefully put the trunk's false lid and all its hidden treasures back. He slid it back over against the wall and then returned to his chair. He kept the gift though. It had said Sirius on it. It was meant for him. Even if it was broken. Even if he'd broken it. It was his.

Regulus huffed in discomfort and tossed fretfully. The loud clack of the IV brought Sirius back into awareness because he needed to make sure the tube didn't come out.

The door to the room opened suddenly and he watched numbly as a med-witch, who was entirely too cheerful for two in the morning, entered the room. She switched out the pouch of his brother's IV from the clear liquid he'd been using for the last few hours to a purplish reddish fluid. He recognized it from an Auror Emergency Seminar he'd had last summer with James.

"Why does my brother need a bezoar?"

The woman continued on as if she didn't hear him.

"Because having a bezoar ground up and given intravenously rather than swallowed means a wizard has been grievously poisoned."

The woman didn't reply and continued on her way after checking a clipboard at the foot of Regulus's bed.

Sirius felt a shiver down his spine, the likes of which he'd never encountered before. The spider-web of notes in his pocket was heavy...dangerous. It wasn't a Marauder's Map. It was the sort of sensitive information that could get one...he glanced over at Regulus.

Numerous times he'd heard Regulus referred to as a king. Hadn't he heard Flint just a few weeks ago?

"Can't have you check-mating our little king there, he may be pretty useless most of the time but he's still an important piece on the board."

And while he stood there on the board, he'd made notes of all who stood around him.

Fourteen-year-old Regulus was too observant, too young, too damn clever for his own good. Someone had noticed. Someone had put the little king in check.

Read & Review Please :D Aaaand yes...Reggie's STILL snoozing. XD