Summary: The day before Regulus goes to the cave to steal the horcrux, he visits his brother in the hospital one last time. There he finally decides on his plan.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Sirius, Remus, Tonks and Regulus would still be alive. Since they aren't, it can be concluded that I don't own Harry Potter.

Number twelve, Grimmauld place was quiet. There was no one there except for a weary man who sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, lost in thoughts. In front of him a cup of coffee was slowly growing colder. The man was young, barely eighteen, but his eyes were those of a person who has seen too many horrors in his lifetime. Right now they were troubled.

Regulus Arcturus Black sipped his coffee and considered his options, silently cursing his cousin to hell for suggesting this loyalty test. The assignment was simple: Kill Sirius Black, his brother. The brother he used to look up to, who used to look after him, and protect him from everything he was afraid of. Over the years they had grown apart, each brother had changed and gone in a different direction.

Sirius had run away from his family and joined the Aurors in their battle against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. Regulus had accepted all his family's ideas if not happily than at least silently, and had joined the Dark Lord.

For Regulus, the choice had never been whether he was going to kill Sirius or not. No matter what lies he managed to convince the Dark Lord of, he would not, could not, kill his brother. It left him with very few choices, all of which would lead to his own death. Nevertheless, a plan was forming in his head (he was a Black after all, they were all for clever plans), and it involved a certain piece of information he had gotten from the house-elf Kreacher some time ago-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone stepping out of the floo. He turned his attention to the man. Anyone who saw the two would immediately see that the two were related. They had the same black hair, high cheekbones and pale aristocratic face. The man was clearly older though, and his hair was beginning to show some grey.

The man nodded at Regulus, and seated himself at the table. His face was strangely controlled, as if he was trying to keep his emotions in check.

"Regulus."

"Father" replied Regulus. "What is wrong?"

Orion sighed. His son was able to read his expressions all too well.

"Sirius." he said, and he felt his son's grey eyes piercing him. "I just heard the news at the ministry, apparently he got hurt during his mission."

"How bad?" asked Regulus.

"He's in St. Mungo's and he won't be coming out of there before the end of this week."

Regulus nodded grimly. That was bad. Healers could heal most injuries quite fast, and if they couldn't... That's when you should start worrying.

"They say he will be fine though, just won't be on any missions for a while."

Orion stared at his hands. Regardless of what people might think of the Black patriarch, he did care for his sons, even if one happened to be disowned.

Regulus was meanwhile back to pondering the original problem, but the thought of Sirius being injured kept interupting his thoughts, and finally he stood up. Orion looked up.

"I'm going out for a while."

He would go see Sirius to set his mind at ease, and then he would make his decision. And heaven help him if he found out who sent his brother to the hospital, because war or not, he would not allow someone to kill Sirius.

Regulus face was a mask of cold fury by the time he arrived at the hospital. On the way there he had time to think the situation over, and he was sure one of the other Death Eaters was responsible. What he couldn't understand was why they were making his mission impossible by killing Sirius before his time limit, which was still two more days.

He stormed past the information desk, all the way up to the fourth floor. There he halted slightly, then grabbed one of he healers by the arm. The healer, an older man who was holding a notebook, looked irritated to be disturbed so rudely, but Regulus drew himself to his full height and acted every bit like the arrogant pureblood he was raised to be. Before the healer could protest, he spoke with a cold voice that implied bad things would happen to whoever crossed him right now.

"Sirius Black, Auror. Where is he?" It sounded more like a statement, and for a moment the healer looked like he wanted to make a remark, but then he took in Regulus' face and paled.

He pointed to the right.

"Second room on the left, but there are no vis-"

Regulus was already moving in the direction the man pointed. He opened the door, stormed in and closed it behind him. Silence hit him immediately after he had closed the door and he stopped cold.

The room was quiet, and he only heard the sound of Sirius calm breathing as his brother lay in the only bed, sleeping. Suddenly very calm, but still feeling the effects of adrenaline pumping through his veins, he walked to the bed and conjured a chair. Very quietly he sat down and stared at his brother's peaceful face. He had a bandage around his head, and more around his chest. Sirius right arm was clearly broken, although it was now laying to the side, with a cast around it.

Listening to the calm breathing of his sleeping brother, Regulus let some of his ever-present masks slip, and suddenly he appeared younger, less stressed. The answer to his problem seemed so simple now. He would die soon, that much was certain, there was nothing he could do about that. He could, however, decide to dictate the terms of his death. He had two more days, three at best, but he wouldn't need them. He already had his plan.

He sat quietly, watching his brother's chest rise and fall in the rhythm of his breathing. Sirius would never know what he had done. He would never realize his brother's courage at the end. No one would.

For a single moment, he allowed himself to feel sad. A small part of him had always wished to make up with Sirius, talk it all over and laugh at how foolish they both had been, but in the end there simply was not enough time. He hadn´t expected it yet, he had expected to have years before he would beg his brother to forgive him. And somehow he knew that Sirius felt the same.

But it had to be done. He could not allow the Dark Lord to continue. He would gladly sacrifice himself to stop him. He just hoped it would make a difference.

On the topmost floor of number twelve, Grimmauld place, there is a room decorated with geen colors. On the door still hangs a note from a long forgotten time, when two boys used to run around the house, laughing. Inside the room sits a man, with in front of him a piece of parchment and a quill positioned above the parchment.

Slowly, but with sure strikes the man began to write. This would be the only hint he left. The only clue about what happened to him. To anyone else it would be as if he disappeared from the world.

Finally he signed it, in his most elegant handwriting. Just three initials, but the Dark Lord would understand.

He very calmly put the quill away and put the ink back in the drawer. After it had dried, he folded the parchment tightly, and then he pulled a locket from the other drawer. There was no mark on it, no sign, not even the Black family's coat of arms. This was R.A.B. 's locket, this would be the only thing the Dark Lord would find in the place where he hid his precious Horcrux.

He put the parchment in the locket and left the room, locking it behind him. Slowly he walked down the stairs, painfully aware that he would never again see his childhood home. On the first floor, he stopped short, seeing the door to the drawing room was open. After only a moment of hesitation he entered the room, and his gaze immediately went to the tapestry that hung on the wall.

Without realizing it he searched for his name, and he quickly found it, with next to it something that appeared to be a cigarette burn. He knew better though, and he remembered how five years ago there used to be a name there. The Black family tree was filled with small black spots, where names had been burned away. Years ago his father had taken him here and told the stories that went with the names, but the names replaced with cigarette burns were never mentioned.

He raised his hand and held his finger close to the burn left of his name, almost as if he wanted to touch it. Then he pulled back and whispered. "Forgive me, Sirius."

Slowly and with pain in his heart, he turn his back on the tapestry of the Noble and most Ancient House of Black and made his way down to the kitchen. There he gathered his courage. This would be the most Gryffindor thing he would do, the hat would be proud. He had to fight the old sorting hat to be sorted into Slytherin. He had the right mindset for both, although he had always been the quiet, planning type.

Now he would need all he had, his courage, his intelligence and his cunning. He took one more breath, and clasped his fingers painfully tight around the locket. Then he called.

"Kreacher, come here."

In a cave filled with darkness was a small island. On the island was a basin filled with poison. There, laying beneath the surface was a locket. It had no marks on it, no finely decorated 'S'. Tucked safely away in the locket, in the place where a photograph was supposed to be, was a folded piece of parchment.

The cave was silent again, no sounds echoing of the walls. For nearly seventeen years, the water surounding the island had not been stirred. Beneath the dark waters, grey eyes stared up in the dark, never seeing, never blinking.

To the Dark Lord

I know I will be dead long before you read this

but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.

I have stolen the real Horcrux and intent to destroy it as soon as I can.

I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,

you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.