Saturday morning Sirius Black slept late. It was almost noon before he finally threw back the covers and started rubbing at his eyes. There was a noticeable absence of weight on his left shoulder and he curiously looked over to see with a slight shock that his brother was not draped over him as he usually was.

Regulus, still clingy from all that he had been through lately, had developed the habit of staying curled up against Sirius until Sirius finally pulled him from the bed and forced him to eat breakfast of some kind. Puzzled, Sirius threw on some clothes and glanced in the bathroom. When he saw Regulus was not there, he ventured down the hall and into the kitchen, where he found his brother sitting at the dining room table with a glass of water and the newspaper. He looked terribly adult-like, and it took Sirius aback.

"There you are, Reg. What's wrong? You look kind of down."

Sirius was still in a perpetually cautionary mindset, where he tended to over-interpret Regulus's every facial expression, as if reading Reggie's face was like sticking a dipstick into his brain and gauging just how much he wanted to stay with Sirius. If Regulus so much as sighed, it was usually enough to send a jolt of terror down Sirius's spine as he imagined Regulus telling him to fuck off as he walked out the door.

But Regulus put down the newspaper and smiled up at Sirius. "No, nothing's wrong. I'm fine. Good morning by the way, you slept for quite a while."

Sirius sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yeah…sorry. Did you eat anything?"

Regulus pointed back into the kitchen and Sirius noticed the dishes in the sink and a full plate of food sitting on the stove.

"I ate," Regulus explained. "That's for you."

"Oh, thanks," said Sirius in surprise. He scooped up the plate of eggs and toast and slid a chair right up next to his brother. He gently leaned on Regulus's shoulder and attempted to follow his line of eyesight, curious about what part of the paper he was reading.

"You and your friends seem to be doing well," said Regulus conversationally. "There were three arrests made yesterday. One of them was that teacher from Durmstrang. That doesn't surprise me. I met him once, he was strange. Anyway, I'm happy for you guys."

"When did you meet Karkaroff?" asked Sirius with mild concern.

"Mum and Dad considered sending me to his school for a while there. He was visiting London during the summer of your second year, when you were at James's, and we met up with him for lunch. I remember being too scared of him to speak much. Mum and Dad had to do all the talking."

"They almost sent you to the other side of the planet?" Sirius's eyes snapped open wide and he sat up straight.

Regulus shrugged. "They were worried I'd turn out like you. Mum especially always liked to forget that you were a problem child from early on; she liked to blame Hogwarts for all of your flaws."

"I'm so glad they didn't send you."

Regulus laughed a little. "It was the distance that finally did it. Takes a long time to get over there, and their classes go longer than ours did. They start in the end of July and go until nearly the end of June. Almost wouldn't have been worth the trip home each summer. I think it was when Dad realized that they'd be ostensibly stuck with only you for a very long time that they caved and let me go to school in Britain."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this was going on?" Sirius asked, looking a little hurt. "Oh, wait never mind. That was a stupid question, wasn't it? You probably thought I wouldn't care."

Regulus nodded thoughtfully. "I remember thinking you'd be happy that I was gone, but sad that you'd end up being the focus of Mum and Dad's attention again."

Sirius's face fell.

Regulus folded the paper back up. "But that was all a long time ago, hardly matters now. You should finish that," he added, pointing to Sirius's plate.

Sirius had matters to take care of that afternoon, so he warily left Regulus alone. When he returned from James's around seven o'clock, he set about making hamburger gravy and red potatoes, one of Regulus's favorite meals, as an apology for leaving him alone for so long.

Regulus was lured downstairs from the bedroom by the promising smell of food.

"Oh, my favorite," he smiled when he'd gotten close enough to see. The smile didn't reach his eyes though, and looked oddly forced. Sirius kissed his brother's head and threaded his fingers through his soaked hair. Regulus had taken a shower and now was damp and smelled pleasantly of soap, conditioner, and body wash. His shirt still clung a little too tightly to his wet skin and he was tantalizingly warm. Sirius had to suppress a groan as Regulus reached up to wrap a thin hand around his wrist. Even in his distracted state, though, Sirius could tell his brother's movements were depressed.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked again. He didn't want to annoy Regulus with his prodding, but if he needed to change some aspect of his behavior to make Regulus happy again (to keep him from leaving), he wanted to know right away.

"I'm sure, I'm sure," Regulus said softly, but Sirius was unconvinced. He placed a lid on the pan on the stove and turned to look Regulus squarely in the eye.

"Regulus," he began, but Regulus fell against his chest, loosely hugging him.

"This is Dad's fault," Sirius griped while he stroked his brother's hair and Regulus made contented humming noises into his chest. "He used to slap us all the time when he thought we were getting too talkative or emotional, and now you never open your goddamn mouth whenever something's bothering you. I didn't used to either, but then I spent seven years in a dorm room with James…"

Regulus wriggled from his grasp and pulled the lid off his dinner. "Can we eat it now, Sirius?"

"No we cannot, now put that back down and wait patiently."

Regulus pouted, but obediently backed away and set himself up on the counter, from where he started messing about with the contents of the silverware drawer.

"If there's anything you need, or if there's anything going on, you know you can tell me, right?" Sirius asked after moment of agonizing over whether or not he should let Regulus drop the subject as he so clearly wanted to do.

"Yes, I know that," Regulus hopped to the floor. "Are we eating in the living room? I can set the table if you'd rather…"

Sirius spun around and grabbed Regulus by his wrists before he could walk off.

"Regulus," he growled, pulling him close. "Stop. Changing. The subject. Now for the last time, will you let me know what's going on that's got you acting so weird? I'm worrying. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Sirius. Th—there's nothing," Regulus stuttered a little, either because he was lying or because he was frightened of the way Sirius was holding him. In case it was the latter, Sirius slid his hands up to Regulus's shoulders where they rested much more loosely.

"It sounds like you don't trust me," he said sadly, but he finally let Regulus slink away to the living room and finished cooking in silence.

When dinner was ready he brought it to the coffee table in front of the couch and sat down next to Regulus, who had evidently spent the last twenty minutes sitting rigidly on the very edge staring dejectedly into his hands.

"Eat," Sirius ordered gently. "All of it. You're still too skinny."

Regulus obeyed and they dined in silence for the most part, excluding a few short-lived conversations about negligible things.

It wasn't until Sirius had cleared the dishes into the sink and was just racking his brains for a good excuse to put off doing them until tomorrow when he heard Regulus's faint voice.

"I…did a bad thing."

Sirius quickly returned to the living room.

"What?" he asked Regulus urgently.

But Regulus was silent again. All his courage, it seemed, had faded away and he was starting to regret saying anything at all.

"Regulus, tell me what happened!" Sirius urged but to no avail.

"You'll be so cross, you'll be so angry," was the only reply he got.

Sirius threw his head in his hands. He really hadn't wanted to play this particular card, but it looked like he was running out of options.

"Regulus, listen to me carefully. Remember that you were a Death Eater. You worked for Voldemort,the man I've dedicated my life to fighting…and I forgave you that. Whatever has happened, it cannot possibly be worse than that."

Regulus shook a little at the mention of his former master's name, and unconsciously reached to wrap his fingers around his tattoo. Sirius was forcefully reminded of his inability to remove the thing and felt a sudden surge of anger.

(He'd tried every spell and method he could think of thus far, and nothing seemed able to sever the Dark Lord's magical connection without the risk of alerting him).

Regulus did seem a little emboldened by Sirius's speech, though, and finally after much deliberating, he looked away from his brother and quietly intoned:

"I went home, to Grimmauld Place."

Sirius blinked a few times. "W—what?" he asked. Of all the possible causes of Regulus's distress, this had been the last thing on his list.

"I went back to Mum and Dad's house," Regulus said in a resigned voice. "I'm sorry. You never said not to, but it was heavily suggested and I knew I wasn't supposed to…"

Sirius stood tall over his brother. Despite how he'd been telling himself he would act when Regulus finally came clean, he had his hands clenched in fists and his voice was rising.

"Why on earth would you go back there? Were they home? Regulus if they had gotten ahold of you…"

Regulus nodded and looked down even further. "I know, I know," he whimpered. "I'm sorry. Mom wasn't home, I had Kreacher make sure. I just needed to get something was all."

"What?" Sirius screamed. "What could have possibly been so important?" There was an inexplicable feeling of terror coiling in his stomach, in spite of knowing Regulus was safe and unharmed in front of him. Discounting that one incident near Christmas when Regulus had first pondered leaving Sirius's apartment and several escorted meetings with Professor Dumbledore, the boy had not stepped foot outside since—to Sirius's knowledge at least—per an unspoken agreement the two now had. Sirius walked on eggshells and bent over backwards to give Regulus whatever he wanted, and in exchange, Regulus would allow Sirius to coddle him like was still a small child, disallowing things like wandering outside alone or touching the stove.

But Regulus had used the kitchen that morning, and Sirius had dismissed his behavior because he himself had woken up too late and Regulus must have been hungry. He had not suspected it was a sign that Regulus was slipping out of his control.

"They could have come home and seen you Regulus! Or noticed that you'd been there. They could have tracked you back here. They could have given you back to him!"

Regulus closed his eyes and nodded, trembling a little. "I just needed…a couple things. They won't notice, Sirius, I promise."

"Does Kreacher know where you are, Regulus?" asked Sirius as a horrible thought suddenly dawned on him. "Have you been talking to him regularly? Does he have any idea where you are?"

Regulus shook his head slowly, his mouth open. "No, I don't think so…he knows I'm with you. I told…I told him I was safe with you…"

Sirius let out a startled cry and struck Regulus across his face. Regulus was knocked sideways by the force of it and made no attempt to right himself.

"You idiot, Regulus," Sirius yelled. "Kreacher can't lie to our parents, and it's not exactly difficult to find my address!"

Regulus's horrified silence told Sirius that this thought hadn't occurred to him.

"What am I supposed to do if they come marching up here with a band of Ministry officials, Regulus? What if they show up when I'm not home? Am I just going to come back to find you gone one day?"

"Kreacher won't go out of his way to tell them. Maybe they won't ask…" Regulus's voice was small, and he held his hands to his head, as if Sirius might strike him again.

Sirius paced back and forth angrily, weighing his options. He felt conflicted. There was a chance there was no real danger at all, but he couldn't help but worry. Regulus had been gone for months now, but he was not dead, the enchanted tapestry in their parents' drawing room would show that clearly. Lord Voldemort might not yet see much value in chasing after Regulus, but Walburga and Orion Black certainly would. Regulus was their only true heir and their last hope for continuing their line and preserving their family name and all that nonsense. They were probably searching already, how long would it be before they might, even inadvertently, ask their house elf to help them in some way?

Sirius also felt betrayed.

"How many times have you left, Regulus?" he asked harshly. Regulus looked up at him through watery eyes.

"Just once," he promised. "Just yesterday night, while you were out with Lupin. I called for Kreacher and he came. He said Mum and Dad were out so I had him take me back just for a second. I was only there for a minute, I swear, then I had him take me right back!"

"Oh, god this is bad," Sirius moaned. He approached Regulus again. His brother eyed him warily. "Why do you do this to me, Regulus, do you enjoy watching me worry?"

Regulus shook his head vigorously. "No, Sirius," he insisted.

Sirius had calmed a little as he began to think of ways to counteract this negative turn of events. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am going to send an owl to Professor Dumbledore," he said calmly and deliberately. "Tell him I need some extra protection set up over here, maybe even a secret keeper."

"A secret keeper?" asked Regulus in amazement.

"Well it's not like I can move easily or quickly! We need to stay here, and we need to make sure we're un-findable."

But Regulus's amazement seemed to be more attached to the idea that Sirius thought he was still worth all this trouble.

Sirius's anger was fast giving way to resignation. While he stared down at Regulus, he even started to feel a little guilty. Who did he think he was, going off on his brother like that? After all Regulus put up with? All the too-long hugs and excuses to bathe together…the lingering kisses and the terms of endearment. Regulus was not dense, he knew damn well what Sirius's intent was, and he had to know that the longer Sirius spent with his brother, the further and further he went—arms sliding more and more down during hugs, kisses venturing closer and closer to the lips. And on top of it all, Sirius couldn't shake the feeling Regulus put with it all out of a resigned sense of loyalty (or fear) no matter what the younger Black insinuated or told him.

Regulus shouldered all of that with no complaint and now Sirius thought he could fly off the handle because his brother had broken one rule that Sirius had never officially put in place to begin with?

"I'll be in my room writing that letter, okay?" Sirius said softly. "And I'm sorry I hit you," he added upon noticing that the left side of Regulus's face was now a deep red.

"S'okay, I deserved it."

"No, you didn't."

"I've had worse," Regulus pointed out with a smile.

"I don't like to think about that," Sirius said as a heavy splash of guilt joined the swirling vortex that was his current emotional state. Suddenly all he could remember was the feel of pushing the knife into Regulus's belly—the soft resistance of his clothes and skin, the snagging of the serrated blade…for a moment, Sirius swore he could feel the dagger's gentle weight in his hand again and he shuddered.

"I'll be back in a minute, okay? We can… talk more then," he said. Then he left the room without glancing back. He wanted to hug his brother, apologize, kiss him, but the urgency of contacting Dumbledore overrode those feelings.

After sending off a slightly desperate note to his old Professor, Sirius's guilt was starting to attack him. How hard he had worked to keep Regulus with him, and now he had jeopardized that by yelling and hitting him.

Ah shit, had he really slapped Regulus? Sirius could just imagine all the trust they'd built up slipping quickly away. His palm and fingers started to tingle as the memory got stronger.

Sirius sighed. Ten years ago, this wouldn't have been a problem, he used to roughhouse with Regulus all the time. Once, when they had been wresting one Christmas in Uncle Alphard's living room, Sirius had slammed Regulus's face into the hearth. Sirius could remember how simple the problem had been to fix. Uncle Alphard had patched Regulus up with a spell or two, then Sirius had apologized and Regulus had responded by tackling him to the ground again. The whole incident was forgotten ten minutes later.

Why couldn't it be so easy now? Why couldn't Regulus've just hit Sirius back in retaliation like he would've when they were younger? A few years ago, Regulus wouldn't have put up with any shit from his brother or anyone else, but now he was prone to just lie there and take it. What had changed? Sirius blamed his parents, Regulus's classmates, and Voldemort, but he blamed himself more than anything.

Sirius got up from his desk and trudged back down the hall, already practicing what he would say in his head.

Regulus was sitting at the kitchen table again, and he was whispering quietly. Sirius paused and cocked an ear.

"…so scary. I can't do anything right."

Sirius frowned. He was about to dash up to Regulus, wrap his arms around him and apologize frantically when, to his immense surprise, he heard a voice respond to his brother.

"Oh, hush, he'll come 'round. No one's going to find you and certainly no one's going to send you back to him."

Regulus laughed a little. "Not what I thought you'd say. I was waiting for you to berate me for risking so much to come and get you."

The voice made a couple gentle, reassuring noises. "Just look at you, as if you need berating right now after all you've been through the past few months, poor thing."

Sirius could stand his curiosity no longer. He strode into the dining room and finally saw whom Regulus had been talking to—him.

A regal oil painting of Sirius Black sat on the table in front of Regulus, propped up slightly right next to a bag that looked like it still had something in it. Sirius recognized the picture as the one that used to grace one of his families drawing rooms; it had been a sixteenth birthday gift from his father. It had been planned that they would commission a painting for Regulus when he turned sixteen as well. Sirius wondered if they had done it before Regulus had gone to Aberforth's.

"S—Sirius?" Regulus looked up, startled. "I didn't hear you come out…I—"

"So this is what you picked up, eh?" asked Sirius, putting his hands on Regulus's shoulders and standing over him. Regulus hunkered down a little.

"Why would you want an old painting of me, anyway?" asked Sirius.

Regulus murmured something in response.

"What was that?"

"I missed him," Regulus said a little more clearly.

Sirius frowned. "How exactly do you miss a picture?"

He looked down at his painted self. The littler Sirius had folded his arms and was glaring daggers up at him. Sirius got the feeling that he would have pulled Regulus away from him had be not been trapped within his frame.

Regulus struggled to stand up around Sirius's arms. "House got really lonely when you left, and scary," he whispered. "Sirius, can I go lie down? I—I sort of have a headache."

"Oh, I hope I didn't cause it," Sirius said worryingly. He brushed Regulus's bangs back and kissed his warm forehead. "There're some painkillers in the bathroom cabinet, okay? And you can holler for me if you need anything."

Regulus nodded. He snatched his bag off the table and took off with it. He left the painting where it was, and seemed too nervous to go back for it.

"So," said Sirius-the-Painting once the two of them were alone. "Been to any good stabbings, lately?"

Sirius jumped. "Regulus told you?" he gasped.

"After a lot of encouraging, yes, he told me everything. Don't look so surprised, he always tells me everything."

Sirius folded his arms to match, feeling oddly intimidated by his painted self.

"If you have something to say, say it and do keep in mind I could easily set you alight."

The painting smiled sardonically. "By all means, go ahead, burn me to ashes, hurt Regulus even more than you already have."

The words cowed Sirius's bravery.

"I—"

"Oh do tell me what your excuse is this time, please. Is he asking for it? Did James suggest you lock him up here? Or perhaps Azkaban is merely full so they offered you some extra cash to—"

"Stop it," Sirius cried, slapping the table and making the picture wobble.

"Or perhaps," began Painting-Sirius. "There's something else in it for you?"

Sirius faltered. "What are you talking about?" he asked warily.

"Oh nothing, just that Regulus seems to have landed himself in a position of complete subservience…again," said the painting in disgust. "It's give Sirius whatever he wants or be tossed out to the wolves. What options! Personal degradation or death."

"Shut up," Sirius hissed. "You don't know what you're talking about. I love Regulus—"

"Oh yes, every inch of him."

Sirius choked. "How do—what are you…? Did Regulus…say something?"

"He didn't have to," was the smug response.

"Then how could you possibly know that I—that…" Sirius stuttered, horrified.

"Because they're my feelings, too, aren't they?" the painting insisted. Upon seeing Sirius's stupefied face, he explained. "I may be permanently stuck at sixteen, but I do still carry all our memories up until then. I remember how much of a struggle it was, trying to shut away the emotions, lying to ourselves about how it was just a passing phase, or that we were misreading our own feelings. Avoiding Regulus like it was somehow his fault, and hiding away, waiting for the sheer absence to lessen the desires."

Sirius wanted to cover his ears.

"No," he insisted. "This is new, this is something that just started, a…a result of all the sick stuff that's happened lately. I wasn't like this before!"

"Yes you were," scoffed Sirius as he leaned on his picture frame. "You tried so hard to ignore it, make yourself forget. And for a while there…I imagine you did. But no, this isn't the result of whatever horrors you like to imagine you've seen during the war. You were always this fucked up."

"No, I…"

"When Regulus came to see me, it was shortly after you left. He was in tears, and didn't even understand why. The two of you hadn't been close for years, so the strength of his devastation was almost shocking. I threw myself into befriending him, thinking I could make up for it. After all, what harm could I pose now? I was a goddamn oil painting. It wasn't like I could scar him, so long as I kept my fucking mouth shut."

Sirius remembered Regulus's voice as he'd spoken about missing the painting. "You must have been a good friend to him," he admitted.

"Maybe, maybe not. I certainly have some regrets about encouraging him to talk with you. Anyway, for the last few months there, I don't think he spoke to anyone but me. After Father died he was so broken up, that—"

"What?" Sirius demanded. "Dead?"

Sirius stared up at himself solemnly. "Yes," he said simply. "Interesting. Regulus said you weren't at the funeral. I assumed you were merely being an asshole. I didn't imagine you were unaware."

Sirius felt sick. "I didn't see anything in the paper."

"Of course not, as if Walburga would want to admit that her oldest son was A.W.O.L. and her husband dead as well! Imagine the pressure that would have fallen to Regulus. Things were to be kept relatively quiet until the family was more stable, but a letter was sent to notify you."

"As if I'd've been reading anything sent to me from home," Sirius said. "Fuck, I've been talking like they're both still at home there waiting. Regulus never corrected me…"

"Probably wanted to avoid a scene."

"God he must think I'm such an ass, talking about Dad like he's still around. Regulus was always bizarrely attached to our father, despite the regular abuse. He was terribly upset when it happened, then?"

"Upset yes. We talked about it once. Turns out he'd been beating himself up over the vague sense of relief that came with Father's death. He couldn't hurt him anymore, you see, and Regulus was feeling terrible about his own elation."

Sirius's stomach churned. He was filled with the sudden urge to hold his brother.

"I can't believe he didn't tell me…"

"Sounds like he doesn't trust you," said the painted Sirius idly, turning his hand about to examine his own nails.

Sirius bristled, but couldn't truthfully deny the statement. Did Regulus trust him? He had absolutely no reason to.

"Although, it's not as if it matters," continued the painting, gazing off at the ceiling. "You've still got him trapped here, and trust or not trust, the sex'll still be good."

Sirius took a sudden step back. "No!" he yelled. "I haven't—"

"Oh of course you haven't," scoffed the painting sarcastically. "In all these months you'd never. I must admit to myself that I harbor a slight bit of jealousy. How often I've wanted to be with him, even just to hold him, let alone…but here you are…"

"I haven't touched him," Sirius insisted venomously.

"I do not for an instant believe you."

"Listen to me—"

The painting cut him off. "The least you could do, Sirius, is make him feel loved in the slightest. If you're going to take advantage of him, you could at least not beat him as well."

"No, you don't understand, I was just—"

"Just what?" came the bitter reply. "I saw his face, are you going to tell me he did that to himself? No wait, maybe he fell…"

"I didn't mean to," said Sirius in a small voice. A vision of Regulus's face slid into his mind and he felt his mouth go dry as he remembered the bruise forming on Regulus's face. How had one slap caused so much damage? Regulus's body couldn't still be that weak, could it?

"We never had the best of temper control, did we? Too much like Mother…"

"Don't you ever say that!" Sirius said loudly. "Nothing like her…"

"As you wish," the painting murmured. "Just that…an explosive temper, paranoid hatred of anyone who doesn't share your ideals, fucking someone you don't love…sounds a lot like Mother to me."

"I love Regulus," Sirius growled. "And I would never betray his trust like that."

"If you're not lying, I'll be impressed," said the painted Sirius.

"Regulus loves me, too," said Sirius quietly.

"He loves the idea of you, maybe. He loves the big brother he remembers from his early childhood, but don't flatter yourself into thinking there's anything else there, and certainly not—"

"Sometimes," Sirius cut him off. "Sometimes he says things, or acts like maybe he wants—"

"He's lying."

"What?" asked Sirius.

"He's lying, acting, trying to please you so you won't turn him over to your friends."

"Maybe he's not…"

"Then why don't you ask him?" asked the painting smugly.

Sirius sighed. "Because I'm afraid, and you know it," Sirius admitted.

"It's hard to never get something you want so badly. Sirius…you're crying."

"Huh?" Sirius straightened up and wiped at his face. "I didn't realize…"

"Yeah, well, listen to me carefully. This is the safest place for Regulus to be right now, and I expect you to keep him here, safe. I don't want you touching him unless he starts it, I don't want you laying a hand on him ever again."

Sirius glared. "You're stating the obvious."

"Maybe so, but consider yourself warned."

"Sirius," said Sirius. "I'll let you stay here, because it obviously means a lot to Reg, but I'm going to ask you not to talk shit to him about me."

"Then don't give me any reason to. And I want you to put up some other paintings in the living room and kitchen, so I can go where I like."

"Fair enough," Sirius sighed. A moment later, he added, "Would you mind…telling me a little bit more about what went on after I left?"

It was near dark by the time Sirius looked away from the painting, breaking off their conversation, and realized he had not seen hide nor hair of Regulus for hours.

"Hold on a second," he said, standing up, "I need to check on—Regulus!"

Regulus had meandered into the entryway to the kitchen, holding a rolled canvas in his arms and looking sheepish.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"You don't need to ask," said Sirius softly and Regulus entered the room.

"What have you got there, Reg?"

Regulus bit his lip. "Been working on it for a while, but it got left at home, along with my wand and so I couldn't finish it…" shyly, he held out the canvas. Sirius took it and unrolled it.

There in front of him was a spot-on representation of his younger brother, right down to his sharp, grey eyes and crow-black hair. This Regulus stood with a bit more confidence, though, and wasn't so defeated or sickly as the real Regulus who stood by the table. This was a painting of Regulus as he should look.

The painting blinked up at Sirius dolefully from where he stood against the backdrop of one of Grimmauld Places living rooms, illuminated by the sun streaming in the ceiling-high windows behind him. Regulus had enchanted his painting.

"What's going on?" asked the painted Sirius from out his frame. The angle at which he sat prevented him from seeing.

Regulus approached him and picked him up. He nudged his head, indicating that Sirius should follow him. Sirius picked up the Regulus painting and followed his brother to their bedroom, where Regulus set about fixing Sirius to the wall to the left of the desk.

"Do you have any extra frames?" asked Regulus, but Sirius was already drawing his wand to make one. They left the bedroom and Sirius helped Regulus affix the portrait of himself to the wall in the living room.

"Sirius!" Regulus called towards the bedroom. "Come out here!"

There was a brief pause, as though the painted Sirius was a little wary of trying to leave his frame, not knowing if there were any other paintings nearby, but eventually he appeared alongside Regulus in the living room.

"I've made you a friend," said Regulus with a smile. "So you wouldn't be so lonely anymore. Took almost a year, what with the break where I couldn't get home to work on it at all, but…"

Sirius approached the painted Regulus cautiously, looking him carefully up and down, seeming afraid to touch him and shooting occasional glances at the real Regulus.

"It's a little outdated now," said Regulus. "Since I'll be seventeen in a few days, but this way the portraits'll match, like they were always supposed to."

"I think it's perfect, Regulus," said Sirius as he wrapped his arms around his brother and they stared into the painting. "Don't you think so, Sirius?"

The portrait nodded once, a grateful smile on his face before turning to his painted brother.

The oil-paint Regulus had not spoken yet, but he had a smug, almost aristocratic grin to his face. With confidence, he looped an arm over his brother's shoulder.

"Stop staring at me like we're in a museum, Siri," he scolded.

Both Siriuses laughed.

"Hey you two giants," said Sirius while Regulus nuzzled into him, almost knocking him against their frame. "Why don't you let us be for a while. Let us…catch up."

"All right," said Sirius. "You're the boss."

"Take Regulus out to dinner or something," suggested Sirius. "Someplace muggle where you won't be in danger."

"Good idea."

Sirius helped Regulus into his jacket and the two of them headed out the door. Sirius held an elated feeling in his heart. The apartment that sat behind them as they waited by the road for the bus suddenly felt a lot more like home. Sirius got the idea that that feeling would settle on any building that housed those two paintings.

"Thank you," he murmured against Regulus's cheek. "You know just how to make everything all right."

"Yes, well, happy birthday, Sirius."

Sirius wound their fingers together.

"I didn't think I deserved you remembering," he said with a warm smile.

The bus turned the corner, crunching small rocks that had rolled into the road and squeaking slightly as it ground to a halt in front of them.

"I'd never forget you," Regulus said, and they boarded.