This is the last chapter. There is a very long AN at the end. Hope you enjoy.

"Don't send me flowers when I'm dead. If you like me, send them while I'm alive." ~Brian Clough

Silence. That was the first thing Regulus knew. Not a loud or uncomfortable silence, but rather an empty, dull sort of silence. Yes, he thought, empty was the right word. Emptiness, and silence. Those were the only two things that existed in…wherever this was. Is it really a where? Or a what? Perhaps a when? Maybe it doesn't matter.

Soon enough, Regulus realized that he was lying on a hard, unforgiving surface. This must be life after death…but I wanted to die…for it to just be over… Opening his eyes, he saw…the Great Hall? Getting to his feet, he pulled a set of emerald and black robes over his head—had those been there before? Regulus decided that he didn't care.

The former Death Eater stood up and looked around. It definitely resembled the Great Hall—there were four house tables, and a higher table at the end of the hall. But everything was empty and dull, there was no color, only an awful gray absence thereof. He sensed that it should not be this way, that there should be something more…there should be something.

Suddenly there was a faint whispering noise, and Regulus blinked in shock as a young woman appeared out of nowhere. She had wavy brown hair and a short build, and she was naked. Before he could avert his eyes, however, she rolled to her feet and pulled on…some sort of Muggle dress?

Oh… Suddenly Regulus realized. The woman was a Muggle, and she had just died, and come to…this odd pseudo-Great Hall. But watching the woman, an odd feeling swept over him. There was something about the way she was surveying the space…her eyes just passed over it as if seeing something else, and then her gaze slid past Regulus and she didn't appear to notice him—in fact she never looked at him at all…she was seeing something different, she was in a different place. The thought gave Regulus chills.

But if she can't see me, then why can I see her?

Abruptly the woman turned around. Regulus turned too, following her surprised gaze—and started in surprise as he saw a wiry, sprightly-looking old man that looked like he was related to the woman, walking towards her.

Regulus watched from a distance as the two Muggles embraced in an unmistakably loving way. Then they began speaking, but their voices were muffled and distant to Regulus, as if they were separated from him by a glass wall rather than a few yards of empty space. He caught a few fragments, however.

"Good…dead?…"

"Seems…"

"…here?…of all…"

"…important place…come…"

"Where?…"

"On…"

Then the man took the woman's hand in his own, and the two Muggles faded into nothingness.

For a while, Regulus stood there, pondering. An important place… Regulus glanced around, at the blank replica of the Great Hall.

"Black, Regulus!" Professor McGonagall's crisp voice rang sharply through the air.

Said boy, a dark-haired eleven-year-old whose practiced cool, blank expression sat on an aristocratic face, stepped forward to the wooden stool.

To a stranger, Regulus appeared perfectly confident and even slightly smug. Only someone who knew him well would have recognized his apprehension.

For inside, Regulus was terrified. He remembered all too well the year before, when his cousin Narcissa had sent a letter informing them that his older brother, Sirius, had been Sorted into Gryffindor…Regulus would never forget the rage his parents had gone into. Mother had downright screeched like a banshee when she first read the letter, unable to put her fury into words. Father's anger, on the other hand, was even more terrifying to the ten-year-old Regulus. Orion Black never shouted, ever. He had been completely silent, and Regulus had felt the cold anger and disappointment radiating off of him in waves.

After his initial fury had worn off, Father had firmly grabbed Regulus by the arm, led him into his study, and told him in a flat voice that as Sirius had betrayed them all, that he, Regulus, would now have to 'try extra hard.'

He hadn't said it directly, but the message was clear—if he dared to follow Sirius into Gryffindor when he went to Hogwarts the following year…Regulus quickly cut off that thought.

And it was for that reason, that the eleven-year-old was now more terrified then he'd ever been. Logically, he knew that there was no other place he could go than Slytherin—he had always been the perfect Black, and there was no way he was brave enough for Gryffindor. Sirius was the brave one.

But all the logic in the world couldn't quiet the niggling voice in the back of his head that whispered Sirius is a Black, too.

So as Regulus neared the old wooden stool, towards the hat that would decide his fate, he found himself repeating Slytherin over and over in his head like a mantra and feeling as if he was walking to his death. He knew, without even looking, that the entire Slytherin table was watching him carefully, waiting to see if the youngest Black would follow his blood-traitor brother, or join the snakes like a true Black.

And he felt, more than saw, a pair of very familiar gray eyes boring into him from the direction of the Gryffindor table. Pushing down the strange feeling in his chest, he forced himself not to glance over at Sirius.

As Regulus reached the stool and sat, he felt sure that the Gryffindor boy watching him silently was the only one who noticed that he was shaking slightly. And just before the brim of the Sorting Hat fell down over his eyes, his resolve to not look crumbled and his eyes flickered over to the Gryffindor table, meeting Sirius' gaze for a single fraction of a second before the brim of the Hat obscured his vision. Slytherin, he thought hurriedly, Slytherin, it has to be Slytherin…

Slytherin, eh? murmured the Hat in Regulus' ear. Well, you are a Black…but let me see…

I have to go to Slytherin! Regulus panicked. They'll kill me!

Calm down, calm down. The Hat sounded slightly startled. I didn't say I wouldn't put you in Slytherin, I just want to be sure. Now, hear me out. Hufflepuff is out right away. Gryffindor, though…I wonder.

No! I can't go to Gryffindor! I—

The Hat cut him off in an annoyed tone. Don't interrupt me. You're braver than you think, and you might do well there…But you're not like your brother. You have a different kind of bravery, a quieter kind, even if you haven't realized it yet…In the end, though, I don't think Gryffindor is the house for you.

Regulus was far too relieved to wonder what the Hat meant.

So that leaves Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

Slytherin, he was almost pleading now…almost. Blacks didn't plead.

Slytherin, Slytherin…

Be patient! snapped the Hat.

It hemmed and hawed for a moment before speaking again in a thoughtful voice. Now, don't interrupt me. You would do very well in either, and fear is a terrible reason to choose a House. So I'm offering you a choice, and don't just immediately choose Slytherin. If that really is your decision, I will respect that, but please, think about it very carefully.

Regulus forced himself to consider the Hat's words, but he knew that he was too much of a coward to choose anything but Slytherin.

Slytherin, he told the hat. I choose Slytherin.

The hat sighed, and there was a note of disappointment in its voice when it murmured Well, if you really wish…SLYTHERIN! It shouted the last word for the whole hall to hear.

Regulus blinked, bringing himself out of the memory. What would have happened, had he chosen differently that day?

No one would ever know…but one thing was for sure, he wouldn't have ended up here, wouldn't have ended up discovering the Dark Lord's secret and dying at the young age of eighteen…and then the Horcrux would still be out there, so perhaps it was a good thing in the end. He might have felt nauseous at the thought, had there been anything in his deceased stomach, but there wasn't, and so he could only hope a painful, wretched hope that Kreacher would manage to destroy the locket.

Suddenly the rustling whisper came again, and he turned around to watch a similar scene unfold, this time between a geriatric old woman and a ten-year-old boy that took her hand, and led her…On.

And it was then that Regulus understood.

When someone died, someone else, someone that the newly deceased had cared for, someone who was already dead, should come to fetch them. Then that person would greet the newly-dead, and lead them On, wherever, whatever, or whenever that was.

But there was no one for him. No one was coming to take him, for there was no one that was both dead and that Regulus had ever truly cared for. He knew this beyond a shadow of a doubt.

The revelation was disheartening, but not particularly surprising. He'd always been alone, after all…ever since he took the coward's way out in the Great Hall eight years ago.

There had only ever been one person who he might... He really had cared for Sirius in a way that he'd never cared for anyone else. And maybe, just maybe…Regulus thought that Sirius might have cared for him, too…once. Did he still? Of course not, the young man thought, and the thought brought with it a burning stab of pain and shame.

There was no point in trying to pretend that he hated his brother—he couldn't. He'd given it a good deal of effort during his lifetime, but there was really no point now…there was no one left to impress.

The brothers may never have been really close, even in their younger years, but life had been so simple back then. There had been no Houses…nothing that could have torn them apart irreparably. They were still innocent. What if I hadn't been such a coward? What if I had chosen differently? What if I had seen what Sirius saw…what he still sees?

Closing his eyes, Regulus sighed and tried not to dwell on the what-ifs and on the fact that his brother hated him. For Regulus would have been shocked if Sirius didn't, but Regulus still cared for Sirius, and the knowledge that it was not mutual was almost unbearable. Is this love?

But besides, Sirius was still alive, and hopefully would be for the foreseeable future, so he wouldn't come for Regulus whether he wanted to or not.

He sensed that he could simply walk through the doors at the end of the hall and go On, but it didn't feel quite right, to go alone.

No, Regulus thought. There was something in him that wanted to see his brother one last time. Even though Sirius wouldn't be able see him, or even want to; would be greeted by another, in a different place, and go On. But Regulus just wanted to see him again. He wanted…closure, he supposed.

He'd never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

I'll wait. I'll wait for him. I have nothing left to lose.

And so Regulus sat down at what would have been the Ravenclaw table, and waited. He waited for so long, he lost track of how long it was. He saw millions upon millions of Muggles and wizards alike as they died, were greeted, and went On.

But Regulus Black waited, alone, unsure of what exactly he was waiting for.

As he sat at the colorless replica of the Ravenclaw table, he couldn't help but wonder what his life would have been like had he chosen differently, had this been the table that he sat at, ate his meals at, conversed with housemates at for those seven years. It felt odd, to see the Hall from this angle, having only ever seen it looking out from the Slytherin table.

Time passed.

He would wait.

Sirius was falling, falling through the whispering mist…

And then, abruptly, he stopped. There was no impact—he just…stopped, and realized he was lying on a flat surface.

Leaping to his feet, Sirius spun around, wondering what this was, and realized that he was standing in…the Great Hall? It certainly resembled it, but this version was much cleaner…and empty. He'd rarely seen the Great Hall empty, and on the occasions when he had, it was always slightly disconcerting. And it was silent, too…it was a strange sort of silence; it felt…empty, blank, almost like dreamless sleep.

So there is an afterlife.

He felt like punching something. Of all the ways to die—This was absolutely pathetic. Bellatrix hadn't even had the decency to hit him with a Killing Curse before he fell; he'd been defeated by a Stunner and an inconveniently placed magic curtain. He hadn't even been able to bring his deranged cousin down with him.

And Harry…Sirius remembered the horrified look on his godson's face as he had fallen through the Veil. He wasn't sure exactly what he was to the boy, but as for him, Harry had been his lifeline; his last link to his life before Azkaban…to James and everything else that had been good in his life.

Well, what now? he thought.

"Oi, Padfoot."

Sirius froze. That voice…he had thought he'd never hear it again. An image popped into his mind unbidden; James Potter sprawled on the stairwell of the ruined house in Godric's Hollow, lying unnaturally still, his glasses cracked, with a vaguely shocked expression on his still-warm face. It was the image that had haunted him for the past fourteen years.

You know, I'm dead now…so could it really be…?

But what if he's not really there? Or what if he hates me? He'd be right to, it was my fault, entirely my own damn fault…but I don't want to have a brother hate me. Not again. Sirius found himself unable to move, consumed by fear and shame. He'd failed miserably at protecting James, at the time when he so easily could have just taken on the job of Secret-Keeper rather than trying to be clever…He'd failed miserably at keeping Regulus alive and un-Dark Marked—no. He cut himself off roughly. Regulus is not my brother, not anymore. He chose his path, I chose mine, and that's that. Right?

"Padfoot. Hello, Padfoot. SIRIUS. Paging Mr. Padfoot. Do I need to use your middle name?" The painfully familiar voice cut through Sirius' gloomy thoughts. And suddenly a little voice in the back of his head retorted Are you a Gryffindor or not?

So Sirius closed his eyes for a brief moment, summoned all of his Gryffindor courage, and turned around.

And there he was: James Potter, in all his bespectacled messy-haired glory. He hadn't changed a bit since the day he died, and when Sirius looked at him his face immediately split into a wide grin.

Sirius looked down, refusing to meet James' hazel gaze. His voice cracked as he spoke. "James, I—" His voice cracked.

James gently but firmly placed a hand over Sirius' mouth, effectively cutting him off. "Look, I know what you're thinking. I don't blame you. I'd feel the same way if our roles were reversed. But none of us suspected Peter. He was good at going unnoticed, just like you said. No one knew…My point is, I don't blame you in the slightest." He sighed. "But if it makes you feel any better, then here you go: I officially forgive you for whatever the bloody hell you think you did wrong." It sounded like James had been planning this little speech.

Slowly, Sirius looked up into the hazel eyes that had haunted his dreams for the last fourteen years. And for the first time, he allowed himself to hope.

James grinned and gestured at the big oak doors. "After you, my dear Padfoot."

He didn't hesitate.

Unbeknownst to either, an eighteen-year-old boy with pale grey eyes watched them leave, his heart heavy. But he'd gotten his closure.

And so finally, he stood from the table and followed them through the doors.

In the dusty basement of an old, gloomy house on Grimmauld Place, a green locket hissed and twitched, and an old house-elf screamed, knowing he could never fulfill his old master's dying wish…

And we are done. I can't believe it...I've never actually seen through something this big before.

I AM SO SORRY! *dodges a pair of Uncle Vernon's socks* I meant to post this chapter months ago, I promise, but life has been hectic, what with starting high school and everything that comes with that. :/ But really, I owe you all a serious apology. When I started this story, my plan was to not publish it until it was mostly complete, and then publish it all at once so no one would have to wait, because I know the pain of waiting for a story to update... however, my idea grew, and then I got writer's block on this chapter. I am so, so sorry.

Think of this update as a Christmas present.

Now that that's out of the way...this is my first ever completed multi-chapter story. I feel proud of actually finishing something for once. And everyone has been so supportive, I can't even, I really didn't think that this story would ever be read, much less enjoyed by anyone, but all of the reviews I've gotten have been so positive and this sentence is becoming a run-on so I'm going to end it now.

But seriously, thank you all. Especially to Kikkiyoshi-Star, latinagirl-reader2010, MarauderBeMe, PhoenixLordess, Strangeduck23, Peb97, derpywriterlovessupernatural, AnonymousBooklover55, Thewriterisme93, margarawr, WriterGirl7673, Basileum, Phoenix172, and FairyRavefor reviewing, favoriting, and following on the last chapter!

This chapter is dedicated to John Williams, Patrick Doyle, Nicholas Hooper, and Alexandre Desplat for creating the music that got me through my writers block on this chapter.

And I have to say it again: THANK YOU, TO EVERYONE THAT READ, REVIEWED, FAVORITED, AND FOLLOWED THIS STORY! YES, YOU!

I'm actually getting emotional right now...it's over. It's really over. This story has been an incredible journey for me. I can't even put it into words. And it's over. Just in time for Christmas. If you celebrate Christmas. I'm rambling now, so I'm just going to stop. Au revoir.

Au revoir literally means 'until next time' or 'until we meet again.' Just something to think about.

Happy holidays.

Aithne out.