True Grey

Sirius trekked through the park that bordered his brother's street, careful to stay quiet and in the shadows. The last thing he wanted was to alert the locals to his presence. Fortunately, every house was dark, and nobody seemed to be stirring; evidently, insomnia was rare in heaven.

He crept across the lane and up the stairs that led to the front door. He tapped the door with his wand and muttered the old incantation that his father had designed long ago, to allow only Black family members to enter. Several locks clicked. Gently he prised open the door and stepped inside.

Sirius shuddered instinctively at the familiar sight and smell of his boyhood home. The house was neither in its renovated state as the Order of the Phoenix had known it, nor in the utter disrepair that had marked the years after his mother's death. Rather, it showed every sign of an active family life: a couple of racing brooms propped in a corner, books left open on coffee tables and desks, the last of the dying embers smouldering in the fireplace. The décor, he noticed, was as gruesome as ever.

He pressed his ear to the door to the basement kitchen. Hearing no signs of life from below, he tiptoed upstairs. He passed the first floor--on which, he realised with a jolt of panic, his parents might be sleeping--and proceeded to the second. He passed his old room, wondered briefly what would happen to Buckbeak in his absence, and then stopped outside of his younger brother's bedroom.

Peaceful, even breathing was barely audible through the thick door. Sirius opened it and entered as quietly as he could, but there was no dust to muffle the sound of his footsteps. Regulus stirred and called out, "Who's there?" He lit his wand and pointed it around the room until it illuminated his brother's face.

Squinting into the light, Sirius lit his own wand. Regulus was gaping at him.

"Rather jumpy for being in heaven, aren't you?" Sirius spat at once.

"What are you doing here?" Regulus replied, in an equally harsh tone.

"What, weren't you watching the big battle in the Department of Mysteries a few days ago? Or couldn't you stand to see Dumbledore putting your old mates to shame?"

Sirius hadn't seen his brother for over a decade, but the resentment he felt towards him had not abated. Nevertheless, he couldn't help noticing that Regulus seemed a bit different than he remembered--it was his voice, he decided. He no longer spoke in a petulant whine, but with a bit of dignity, a shade of pride...

"It can't have gone that well for you lot, or you wouldn't be here," Regulus was saying.

"Well, I won't be here for long."

Regulus laughed openly. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it is so," said Sirius through gritted teeth. "Perhaps you didn't know, but I have a history of impressive escapes."

"I heard a rumour," Regulus said, sounding bored. "But this isn't Azkaban. Magic itself keeps us here. There's no need for guards and walls, and not even a Black could leave..."

"How do you even know that?"

He shrugged.

Firing up, Sirius said, "Look. I'm not dead. I don't belong here. I have plenty of business to take care of back home. There's a way for me to get back, and you are standing in my way."

"Me, in your way?" scoffed Regulus. "Don't accuse me of that rubbish, you're the one who came over here to bother me--"

"The Key," Sirius said shortly. "I need Rosier's Key."

Regulus stared. After a few moments' stunned silence he laughed weakly. "No. No, absolutely not."

"Why not?" Sirius demanded. "What use is it to you?"

"Use?" his brother said distantly. "It's not about use. It's the principle of it--"

"There are more important things than principles, you idiot."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Like reality."

"Well, my principles were strong enough to get me killed, so don't expect me to throw them out so easily for a Gryffindor arsehole like you."

"So by 'principles,' you mean pureblood supremacy and cowardice, do you?" Sirius growled.

At this, Regulus jumped to his feet and pointed his wand at Sirius's chest.

"Don't," he said with a voice that shook almost as hard as his hand, "call me a coward."

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?" Sirius said roughly.

Regulus laughed. "No, your half-baked assumptions don't hurt me. The real truth did, though..."

"What are you talking about?"

Regulus stepped forward until his face was inches from his brother's; his features were glowing with defiant pride.

"Never bothered to find out just how I died, did you? Never cared enough to learn what your little brother made of his life?"

"Why should I have done? If you ask Mum or Dad, they'll tell you I'm neither their son nor your brother, anyway."

"Don't blame me for the way they treated you," Regulus warned him. "And keep in mind that I'm in heaven, and you are only standing here talking to me because I allow it. Now belt up, and let me finish.

"I'm well aware that you hate almost everything about me and my life. You can put me down all you want--I don't give a flying fuck, because I know that I never did anything I thought was wrong.

"As a Death Eater, I suffered for a cause I believed in. Later I turned against that way of life--not because I was frightened or weak or tired of the pain and effort, but because the experience had educated me and it was no longer justified in my eyes. I knew, even as I made that decision, that I would pay dearly for it--and so I did. Nearly sixteen years I've been here, watching life continue on without me; and I've yet to see a single death more terrible than mine was."

Sirius listened, expecting each new word to introduce the twist of bitterness that always accompanied his own recollections of the wrongs done to him, of his miserable childhood and his years in Azkaban. But it never came; his brother's voice was unflinchingly calm.

"I don't regret it, though," Regulus continued. "Plenty of Death Eaters, dead and alive, chose the wrong path out of fear or greed. I've seen the state of them. Better to die like me than to have to live with that guilt. It eats at the soul; it is an endless, mental Cruciatus Curse. But I redeemed myself, and now my conscience is clear. Peace of mind is worth more than anything the Dark Lord could ever offer."

He looked up at Sirius, who was at a loss for words.

"I have nothing left to say tonight," said Regulus quietly. "Maybe one day you'll return with something more than arrogant demands and trifling insults. But I'm tired, and right now I'd rather you weren't here. Goodnight."

Instantly, Sirius found himself standing on the pavement outside Number Twelve. Looking up, he saw that the front door had vanished. He cursed under his breath, but he was finding it difficult to be angry with Regulus at the moment.

He sat down on the steps, chin in his hands. He remained there until the sun began to rise. Not keen to be harrassed by his brother's neighbours, he turned his back on Rosier's Key and began the walk back to Dearborn's house.