QLFC: Season 10, Round 1

Team: Kenmare Kestrels

Position: Captain

Prompt: A black cat – Write about seeing through someone else's eyes

Word Count: 1336

Warnings: Mentions of death and vaguely suicide, self-deprecating thoughts

Notes: I've included my newest headcanon about when Regulus died. It's never specified in canon so I took some creative liberties. Thank you to my lovely betas, y'all are the best!

There had been many unwritten rules in the house of Orion and Walburga Black. Rules about how to behave, what to wear, when to speak, who to be seen with, where you could or could not go, and when. For his whole life Sirius' goal had been to break as many of the rules as possible. He would act out, mess up his clothes, speak his mind, make friends with the wrong people, sneak into Orion's study, or into the kitchen at two in the morning. It was how he survived, and how he kept Regulus safe.

Regulus always hated it. Regulus had done exactly as he was told, he had always obeyed the rules. Regulus had been Perfect.

Sirius didn't know why he was in Regulus' room. It wasn't that he hated Regulus. He was his little brother; Sirius could never hate him. But he could never understand how Regulus had never seen how wrong their parents had been, or how wrong he was for following them blindly. Regulus had always been naive, and it had gotten him killed before he even graduated Hogwarts. Sirius hoped hell existed, even if it meant that was where he'd end up, just so Orion and Walburga could burn there for the rest of eternity. He hoped they let Regulus into heaven though. Then he'd finally be safe.

Maybe that was part of what brought Sirius into Regulus' room tonight. He would have been thirty-five today. His room was almost the same as it had been the night Sirius left. The collection of newspaper clippings was a little larger than it had been, the newest one dated the summer before Regulus' death. As they got older the perfect tidiness of Regulus' room made Sirius more and more uneasy. Regulus had always been perfect. Well… almost always. Sirius could recall a handful of times he had purposefully made Orion and Walburga upset. Once was when he hung the sign on his door the summer after Sirius' second year. Another time was when he painted the family crest on his wall during Easter break of Sirius' fifth year. Then there was the time when Sirius was nine…

A piece of parchment peeking out from underneath the wardrobe caught Sirius' attention. That didn't seem right. Regulus' room was always neat. Sirius used to tease him for his insistence that every piece of parchment on his desk had to be put away before he slept. He wouldn't have left parchment on the floor, even if it was well hidden. He walked to the wardrobe and carefully pulled the parchment out from underneath it.

It was neatly folded in perfect thirds–just like Regulus to be able to fold parchment in perfect thirds. Sirius opened it, ignoring how much Regulus would have hated him looking at his stuff, and began to read.

Sirius,

I don't know why I'm writing this, I'm not going to send it anyway. — Sirius scoffed and for a moment pretended he was going to stop reading like he would have when they were young. He wasn't young anymore. — I guess I'm just supposed to, aren't I? — Regulus always did what he was supposed to do. — That's what they say, right? You're supposed to write a letter to the people you love before you die. — Sirius' heart clenched in his chest, and he forgot to breathe for a second. Regulus' death had been sudden, unexpected, hadn't it? He couldn't have known. — I suppose that's just if you're going to kill yourself. I'm not going to kill myself, but I am about to die none the less. I guess part of me wants to explain myself. Maybe now that I'm about to be dead you'll finally listen to me. Please Sirius, listen, just this once.

I know what you think of me. You think I'm a coward, too afraid to stand up to Mother and Father. You think I'm their perfect heir who follows them blindly without question. You think I hate 're almost right. I am a coward. If I were brave, like you, I'd tell you what I've learned and what I'm doing in person, and not through a letter that you'll never see. But you're also wrong though. I don't hate you, I never have, I've just always been too afraid to do anything about it.

I suppose I should get to the point; I don't have forever. I'm returning to Hogwarts tomorrow, that's why it has to be tonight.

I did what Mother and Father wanted. I became a Death Eater. That was over a year ago now, but I still hate it. Every time I see the Dark Mark on my arm I still want to throw up, or run away, or die. I don't deserve to be writing to you, not after everything I've done. I suppose that some part of me hopes you won't hate me, that you'll find some way to forgive me.

Mother and Father are wrong, I can see that now. The Dark Lord is wrong too. I don't know how much of what they say is wrong, I guess I'll never know, but nothing that feels like this could be right. You showed me that. I watched you at Hogwarts, looking happy and carefree, nothing like this. This is how you were during my third year, after your falling out with Lupin. I still don't know what happened, but it hurt to see you like that. It hurts more now that I understand how you felt.

I'm getting distracted again. I don't have time for that, and I know you don't have the patience for it either. I have discovered why the Dark Lord is so confident that he cannot be defeated. It's because he can't be killed. Before you accuse me of hubris, hear me out. He used dark magic to store part of his soul in an object. It's called a Horcrux, I won't go into how it's made, you really don't want to know, but he made one. I've discovered where he's hidden it, and I'm going to retrieve it, but I won't make it out alive. I've ordered Kreacher to destroy it. I know he'll obey me, even after I'm dead. I'm finally doing something that would make you proud, and I won't be around to see the way your eyes will light up when you find out. Even if you can't forgive me for what I've done, and it's alright if you can't, please, just for a moment, be proud of me again. Please, like you were that one time when I was eight.

I have to go now, I've delayed enough. I'm sorry for everything.

RAB

P.S. I always wanted to be like you. I guess this is my chance.

Sirius wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. Regulus, his proud, naive little brother that always tried to be the perfect heir… Sirius had always thought he had gotten scared at the lengths Voldemort would go to and had tried to run away. All these years he'd thought his brother was too afraid to do the right thing but… he sacrificed himself to betray Voldemort and because of it had died alone somewhere where no one's ever going to know. All these years he'd thought Regulus hated him but… he had been wrong. He had been wrong about everything.

He stood up sharply, shoving the letter in his pocket, then wiping his eyes again. He had to tell Dumbledore, and ask Kreacher if Regulus had succeeded. Most of all, he had to make it up to Regulus. He would be proud of him every second for the rest of his life, and when this war is finally over he would make sure everyone knew what Regulus did.

Remus appeared at the door to Regulus' bedroom, panting, with a panicked look in his eyes. "Harry's in danger."

Sirius stiffened. Harry needed him. Regulus would have to wait a little longer.