Harry Potter had never imagined he would return to the Black Family residence at Grimmald place. But here he was, grudgingly standing with his wand swishing and flicking to keep away the dust that was being raised. Ginny Weasley paused in her rummaging through a closet to push her hair back and look at Harry's bored expression.

"I thought you would be more interested in this," she said.

Harry looked at the pretty red head before him, her eyes looking disappointed that he wasn't having as much fun as she was.

"It's just sort of hard to be here, Ginny," Harry muttered, "It's nothing to do with you."

Ginny jumped up, dusting herself off as she moved towards him. Kissing him softly she said, "I didn't think it was me."

He smiled, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"At least put a sock on the door mate."

Ginny and Harry turned to see Ron and Hermione at the open door. Ron, who had spoken, was shaking his head as he carried a box into the room. Hermione had another box, this one full of books.

"That looks heavy," Harry commented, stepping forward to help Hermione.

Hermione removed her arms to reveal the box was floating. Harry looked sheepishly at her as she and Ginny giggled.

"They got you there, mate," Ron smiled, giving his girlfriend an approving look, "their charms hide the devil inside them both."

Ginny nudged Ron lightly, looking through the box Ron had just brought.

"Where did you get all of this," Harry asked, sitting next to the box Hermione had just set down. He had been attracted to a comic book called "Marvin the Muggle Slayer." He raised his eyebrow in disgust as he flipped through the pages.

"From Regulus' room," Hermione answered, looking at the pictures of monstrous and terrifying muggles over Harry's shoulder.

Harry threw down the comic book in disgust.

"Harry," Ginny said gently, touching Harry's shoulder, "you inherited this house. You've got to look through all of it."

"I know, I just hate seeing all of this dark magic and propaganda rubbish," Harry sighed, rubbing his scar and remembering the past few years at school.

"At least there are a few interesting things," Ron said cheerfully. As he spoke he pulled a cloak from the box, dragging a few books up with it. On the cloak was the emblem of Slytherin. Ron stood, throwing it over his clothes.

"Who am I," Ron quizzed them. He put a scowl on his face, sticking his nose in the air and drawled, "But mother, Potter is the seeker for Gryffindor, why can't I be on the Slytherin Team? Buy them all brooms won't you?"

The teens fell back in laughter. Even Hermione let out a grudging chuckle though she tried to ward it off with a scolding of, "He turned out not to be too bad."

"Oh what's this," Ginny asked. As she had laughed she had sat back and her hand had landed on an open box. The box appeared to be empty at first, red velvet interior looking up at her. But as her hand had touched the inside, something had moved. Now she peered in more closely.

"It's a false bottom," Ginny said excitedly. Ginny removed it carefully as the other teens gathered around.

"It's a book," Hermione cooed. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry as Hermione pulled it from the box.

The book was black leather and looked as if it had been hidden for ages. Still, it seemed as if it had never been opened before. As if to prove this, the binding made a soft cracking sound as Hermione opened it.

Ron looked nervously at her. "Hermione, there may be jinxes on it," he hissed.

She gave him an exasperated look.

"It seems more likely they would have jinxed the box it was hidden in, don't you think," she replied.

She paused, reading in silence. Her eyes darted across the pages like lightning until her eyes widened.

"What is it," Harry asked curiously. Hermione began to read from the beginning,

"I've heard that any number of occurrences happens when you die. You see a light, you see your life, or you hear a voice of God. It always fascinated me. I wondered as Muggles and blood traitors alike stood before the Dark Lord, what would they be seeing. Will it be green and then darkness? Will they embrace it? Will this final scene be imprinted in their memory forever- perhaps a grimy stone floor, the blood?

If the final scene were the memory for the dead to keep, mine would be through a mirror of water. I was simply sinking away from the last of the light I had shot to light the cave. The light seemed to ripple, as if I were seeing the reflection of it in a puddle. But I was sinking in the puddle. Being pulled into the puddle was more like it. Before it all went black, I heard a voice- my brother's voice- repeating the words he had once said to me: "one day your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure it's worth watching." Then, I could feel a warmth in my chest, because in all the images that may have flashed before my minds eye, many of which I am about to retell, none would shine more brightly than the deed I had just finished. I had allowed someone, one day, to defeat one of the greatest Evils of our time. I did not know when it would be, or how long I would have to wait in whichever place I were heading, but I knew that now it was more possible.

This thought comforted me as I was dragged to the bottomless depths and into darkness.

My name is Regulus A. Black. I am the lastborn son of the pureblood Black Family. On July 28th, 1979 I was murdered. With the last ounce of magic I have, I have imprinted my final moment of life and that leading up to it in this book for someone, someday, to find and see."

The teens exchanged looks of wonder.

"Sirius' brother," whispered Ron.

Ginny gave him an odd look at his soft tone. "Lets read on," Ginny urged Hermione. Hermione looked at Harry who was looking solemnly at the floor.

"Harry," Hermione asked delicately.

"Let's read on," Harry agreed suddenly. He pushed his glasses up his nose determinately. "Maybe it will tell us more about Sirius and Sn- Severus growing up."

Hermione turned back to the book and turned the page, beginning to read.

"Since time is relative, I find that I have ample time now to imprint the whole story where I thought I would only have seconds. But before you can understand the actions in the year or so before my death, there must be some background provided.

From as early as I can remember, Sirius and I were inseparable. My first memory is of my mobile above a playpen. The mobile was of a giant snake chasing around muggles that he would never catch. I suppose I would stare at this as the wind moved about it making the snake move faster and faster. However, in my first memory this chase is interrupted by my brother's giant five-year-old head blocking my own three-year-old view.

"Weggie," he said, wiping the remaining nap sleep from his eyes, "let's play."

"Mr. Sirius must let Mr. Regulus sleep," Kreatur had said but that had only made Sirius point out that I was not sleeping at all but watching the mobile move one and one.

"Mrs. Black says that Kreatur must make sure Mr. Regulus learns from the mobile and nap time. Kreatur must obey. Mr. Regulus must see where filthy muggles places are," Kreatur replied. Sirius pouted then looked at me through the fence like material that separated us. Then, he got that look in his eyes. A look I would grow to know meant trouble with a capital T. It made his dark eyes dance with laughter and yet gleam with mischief. Of course at the moment I had no idea of any of that. I saw only my older brother's face against the netting of my pen.

Now that I recount it, it seems that even then my brother somehow managed to remain outside the cage of rules and expectations of the Black family heritage, while I as the final son was never really free of them.

As if to prove this, Sirius had stood on his tiptoes and pushed the head of the snake on my mobile lightly. It sent the snake wobbling backward, muggles following close behind.

"Now the muggles are chasing the snake," Sirius said proudly looking at Kreatur. Kreatur looked horrified at the development and rushed from the room to get our mother. My memory does not consist of the yelling and tirades that likely followed, as they always did, but it was not the last time that Sirius would return from such screaming fits with marks and bruises on his face or arms.

Many of these occurred when Sirius stood up for me. We were homeschooled by our aunt before Hogwarts because we obviously couldn't venture into the Muggle School. Mother would always say that mixing with such filth wouldn't do us any good. Still, many of their early fights came from Sirius' desire to venture into the nearby school and neighborhood. He was tired of the house and cramped areas. He was especially tired of our mother and aunt. Every night before we went to bed Sirius would sneak into my room and read me a story since mother often got migraines and could not bear to be around the children any longer.

Since our aunt read us the same stories, I could tell that he had changed the blood filled propaganda into better storied but I enjoyed Sirius' version so much better I pretended not to know. His favorite was to change my Marvin the Muggle Slayer books into a heroic tale of a muggle names Marvin who slayed dragons and evildoers alike.

Once when we were at my aunt's, I attempted to retell the story Sirius had told me the night before to my cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa. However, no sooner had I reached the point where Marvin the Muggle had backed the evildoer against the wall when I felt a fist hit my face. When I had recovered myself, Cousin Bella (as I called her then) stood above me trembling with the utmost fury.

"How dare you say such filth," she screeched. I find that this is something she has not grown out of. Though she was Sirius' age, Cousin Bella had hit an early growth spurt and so was a tad taller then Sirius and that made the punch all the more forceful. I sat nursing my wound when all of a sudden bubbles of soap began to appear from my mouth and I tasted the soap Mother often used to wash out our mouth when we said anything dissatisfactory.

Narcissa let out a nervous laugh, as Cousin Bella looked delighted with herself. Apparently, Cousin Bella's magic was acting up. While most of the adults applauded her for the rest of the day, Sirius was the only one who made sure my bruise was okay and helped remove the suds. Then, when Cousin Bella had fallen asleep for a nap- apparently exhausted from the attention- Sirius snuck in and dropped soap into her mouth, leaving before the familiar screech filled the hall.

Despite all of Sirius' best effort, I was still the baby and evidently the family was hell bent on making sure I did not stray from the path of pureblood, as Sirius seemed destined to do. As we grew, Mother began taking special interest in me, babying me and spending more time with me and without Sirius. It seemed she had heard about the many "unclean" habits Sirius had, such as making muggles good guys in storybooks. Though my brother never held my moments of pureblood ignorance against me, whenever I would let slip a degrading word about muggleborns or muggles his eyes would dance much less. One day, in a rare moment of neglect from my mother, the then ten-year-old Sirius took me to a nearby park. It was absolutely forbidden we do such things but Sirius had apparently been taking my babying very well and found outside activities for himself. This was one of them.

When we arrived, I saw all sorts of muggle play things- swings, slides, teeter-totters- all of which Sirius explained the use of. Then he paused staring. Confused at the silence of my brother (for very few things silent my brother), I followed his eye line to see what it was that silenced him.

Sitting on a swing was a girl with skin the color of dark chocolate, and just as smooth. Short raven braids framed her radiating complexion. The girl looked about Sirius' age. For a moment I was confused when the girl spotted us and her face broke into a big smile. She waved at Sirius as if they were old friends. Then it occurred to me that this was what Sirius did in his free time- came to the park to play. Sirius introduced me to the girl, who was named Angel, and we played in the park all day until supper. Mother was furious but even now I recall the joy and thrills I felt that day with Sirius and Angel.

As was tradition in our family, when Sirius received a letter to Hogwarts he received a gift. For him it was a magical mirror for communication. A bit of a trifling since it was not an heirloom, but Sirius didn't seem to care. Mother declared she was happy she had not given him more when she found he had been sorted into Gryffindor. This seemed to be a catalyst for her because she doubled her efforts to educate me in the ways of proper pureblood society. I admit, I was rather brainwashed, but thus is the life of the prejudiced upper pureblood classes.

When I received my own letter a year later, Mother gave me a Black heirloom- a gorgeous silver dagger made by goblins. It was ancient with our family crest on it. That day was an especially poor one for Sirius and so in celebration of my acceptance, and to allow himself to get away from the tirades and slaps of our mother, he took me to the park.

There was Angel on the swing once more. As if she knew he would come. This time, we climbed trees and ran about. Angel taught us hide and seek. I hid behind the park wall for ages until finally, bored, I peeked around the edge. I could see Sirius and Angel peeking behind trees looking for me. Sirius made a suggestion, motioning to the wall, but Angel shook her head in thought. It made the beads at the end of her long braids clack so loudly I could hear it from my hiding spot. Then, Sirius leaned over and kissed her cheek- face bursting into flames. Angel looked startled, and then as Sirius began to try to explain himself, she kissed him quickly on the lips. I would have rushed home away from such a scandalous scene but I didn't have the chance. Sirius found me moments later, saying Angel had had to go home and that we should as well. But his cheeks were still pink and he could not stop smiling. He even whistled while I sulked behind him.

Even Mother's tirade didn't ruin his mood."

Hermione paused as she turned the page.

"Water," Ron offered. Hermione took the glass and smiled at the red head. She sipped as her eyes darted across the page, brow furrowing.

"What's the matter," Ginny asked lazily.

They had all rearranged themselves since beginning the diary. Now Harry sat with his back against the couch, one leg bent to balance himself. Ginny lay on the floor, head resting in Harry's lap as Harry absentmindedly ran his hand through her cascading hair. After Hermione finished the water and placed it on the floor, Ron retook his spot lounging on the couch.

"Well the diary changes," Hermione explained to the listening teens. "I think he may have gone unconscious because now the imprint seems to be a flashback, rather than reminiscing."

"Well, he was being pulled to his death," Harry said softly. Hermione nodded.

"Should I continue," Hermione asked unsure.

"Oh yes," Ginny said sitting up suddenly. "I want to hear."

Hermione cleared her throat and began again.