Disclaimer: I do not own the HP universe—that belongs to J.K. Rowling.

I do own this devious brain of mine though. And all the angst is straight from me!!

I apologize in advance for spelling and grammar mistakes--I think I've screened the major ones but, I'm not perfect and it's 2:18 in the morning.

I might go through and revise it later…maybe. If enough of you complain.

You know I intended this to be a mainly Snape and Reggie flick, but Siri just loves to crop up and steal the spotlight whenever he can.

This is to my friend Lily, who adores Snape and insists that she was the Snape of our school.

Warning: If it seems a bit chaotic, good. Grief scrambles all your thoughts up (so the memories won't be exactly chronological)

Have fun!!

They say time flows in one direction, and it's always against you. Severus Snape could attest to that. Time taunted him from the beginning.

In the case of Lily Evans, he was simply too soon. He met her too early—falling into a chasm of friendship that he could only escape through nefariousness and contempt.

And in the case of one Regulus Black, he was always too late. More than a friend, but not quite a brother. He always missed those essential moments where sage advice was needed. He gained a lot of trust but never had enough to know the entire situation. He was never allowed in for those moments of despair—where a helpful hand or solid shoulder could've saved a lost and panicked teenager.

Now the first, as much as it pained him, could be attributed to fate. He'd had his fortune read enough to know that she wasn't in it. But the second…no…the second could be blamed on him. He had the feeling it'd haunt him until the day he died. And now whenever the clock strikes midnight, he can't help but remember.

He hated him you know. The first time he saw him, a wave of loathing swept through him. There was no mistaking that hair, those eyes, that arrogant grin—that kid was Sirius' little brother.

So irritatingly chipper that you wanted to give him something to frown about. The kid bounced from foot to foot, clearly wanting to run amuck. But he obviously knew enough about house prejudices to go wandering around. He kept a careful orbit around his older brother; who was currently sporting the long-suffering expression only elder siblings can master.

It was only by chance that he noticed them exit the train. Sirius was straightening his younger brother's tie, ignoring his friends' snickers. And the sight completely contradicted everything he knew about the elder Black.

Hagrid called for the first-years. The younger Black looked nervously to his brother, who smiled and ruffled his hair.

Snape had glowered at that, thinking 'what a baby'—to need such comfort. God, all he had to do was wear a hat.

He remembered a smidgeon of respect building when he watched the younger Black approach the Sorting Hat. His eyes clearly said he was terrified, but he kept his posture perfect—walking with grace that Snape could envy. Severus tended to slouch when he felt intimidated.

Snape wasn't sure what to expect. Would the kid be another Gryffindor, like his shameful brother or worse?

Almost two minutes passed, and people were beginning to murmur when the hat softly remarked "Slytherin."

Naturally, the Slytherin table erupted in applause. The Black sisters attacked their young cousin with fierce hugs and loud praise.

Personally, Snape found it odd. He couldn't recall an occasion where the hat didn't shout the house name. He wondered for a long time what that meant.

After the feast while everyone was filing out, he happened to spy the Black brothers.

The younger offered a tentative smile to his older brother. Obviously looking for some acceptance, but Sirius pointedly ignored him and kept gabbing with his friends as they ascended the stairs.

It was funny. You know just hours ago, he'd wanted that carefree smile wiped off the kid's face. And now that he got his wish, he felt awful. The kid looked like he was going to cry.

He remembered awkwardly sidling up to the boy, "You're brother's an arse" Perhaps not the best choice of words because the boy whipped around and told him off.

He didn't expect them to cross paths—Slytherins were rather like scorpions, you could all live in harmony in the desert as long as you kept out of one another's way.

It was irony that paired them up. You see, the Slytherin House always pairs its first years with a third or fourth year as a kind of buddy system. The elder teaches the youngster where their classes are, any short-cuts the elder feels like sharing, words of wisdom, etc. (Not to mention, if you agreed to be a buddy you earned major House points and some slack in your classes.)

Still, when Slughorn had called out their names, the twos' eyes met and the feeling was mutual: Aww hell.

They got through their tour without a snag. Snape spoke no more than absolutely needed and Regulus only responded with what etiquette deemed proper. (Which reminded him a lot of Narcissa.)

Politeness, as rumor had it, was beaten into the Blacks as children. Now he didn't mind thinking that when he looked at Sirius, but Regulus…no he didn't like the vision that created. Maybe it was because the kid was so small; he gave off an 'I'm fragile' sort of feeling.

The kid tried to act tough. He took all sorts of dares to prove himself. Snape fondly remembers one day he'd opted not to go to Hogsmeade. The kid strode into the Great Hall, climbed atop of the Slytherin table and began singing his praise to Salazaar Slytherin to the tune of "That's Amore."

He wasn't exactly sure when the kid started to grow on him. He thinks it was that Christmas.

He was coming back from Slughorn's office having just completed yet another extra credit assignment. Ahhh potions, he was made for that class. A true genius if he did say so himself.

He'd just entered the common room when several things registered in his mind. Who was swearing? Why was there wrapping paper on the floor? And what was that ominous creaking sound?

He then noticed one of the most reckless displays of courage in his life. Little Regulus (a first year) was balanced atop of the back of a chair, which was balanced precariously on top of some encyclopedias on hexes. The chair leaned ominously on its back legs as the child continued to stretch further out—determined to get that star on top of that tree.

The boy overshot his mark and began to flail.

He'd scrambled for his wand, but the solid thud against the floor alerted him that he was too late.

The boy coughed for a moment, wind knocked from his lungs—but he swiftly smiled as he caught sight of Snape—a roguish grin that made him look so much like his brother that for a moment Severus had wanted to hex his face off.

When asked what the hell he was thinking, the boy just ran a hand through his hair, saying he wasn't used to doing this without help.

Snape, unimpressed, asked why he didn't just magick it up there. Surely he knew wingardium leviosa. The boy pouted and said that'd be cheating, that he and Siri always placed it on top without magic.

To the boy's surprise (and his own) he offered to help. He remembered Lucius Malfoy walking to find him with Regulus' feet on his shoulders. He also remembered sending a death-glare just daring the blond to say something.

He was trudging through the snow one afternoon from the greenhouses, when he noticed the runt.

Regulus was hiding behind a tree, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He waited several more seconds and then pounced. The startled yelp of one Sirius Black was known as his younger brother tackled him in the snow.

The brothers tussled playfully—scooping snow into each other's robes.

Just having fun, at least until someone cleared his throat. Potter raised an eyebrow at the sight, and the elder Black colored. He shoved his younger brother off and quickly joined his best mate.

The younger Black just sat there, looking dejected and betrayed as he watched his brother leave.

Snape knelt and gathered some snow in his cupped hand.

Regulus started as a snowball exploded in the side of his face. He turned and found Snape smiling at him, already armed with another snowball.

The younger Black grinned and began scooping up the snow around him. It was an epic snow ball fight. One that ended only because Snape noticed how blue the kid was getting; and even then, the kid only agreed to retire after they made snow angels.

He'd felt a little silly lying there partaking in such childish antics, and yet…Regulus looked so happy. Snape decided that he was willing to forfeit some dignity for that kid's smile.

Apparently, that snow war had meant more to Regulus than he could know.

The kid found him at breakfast and sat across from him, happily munching his toast. He found him at lunch as well. Over the next few weeks, it became a ritual and soon the kid was sitting with him for all his meals. Strangely enough, the company didn't bother him.

The kid would sometimes tag along with him before heading off to his class. Chirping about his hopes for the day and asking a never ending list of questions. Oddly enough, it didn't irritate him because whenever he supplied an answer, the boy would look stunned and then enlightened and awed.

Snape, who had no siblings, had never been idolized before.

He wasn't handsome, he wasn't cheerful, he wasn't polite, and as Malfoy told him on more than one occasion he wasn't all that agreeable. Narcissa once informed him that she knew bedside tables with more compassion. He'd replied that she was welcome to seek them out.

Not at all like Regulus, who seemed so damn likeable, that Snape couldn't understand how the kid had any enemies.

So it surprised him one afternoon, while running an errand for Professor Slughorn, when he noticed that Regulus stood all alone in the courtyard. Madam Hooch was busy scolding some errant Gryffindor.

The other Slytherins were huddled together in their cliques: the rich, the popular, the smart, the ruthless.

And Regulus was just standing apart…alone...like him.

Oh, all the other kids in his level knew him, respected his name, but they weren't his friends. Snape knew what that was like.

He's not sure when he started doting on the kid. Maybe it started with his indulgences with the midnight sky. Regulus was fascinated by the heavens. He loved staying up on the nights of the full moon.

It really interested him and so Severus stayed up those nights too and let the kid prattle away. (In fact these late night rituals would eventually make him notice the Marauders' odd behavior.) Apparently magic works best on the day of a full moon. Reg would know, he was a real master of charms.

That became especially apparent when Snape caught him one afternoon snooping through his books.

He remembered demanding a presentation. A display was the least the kid could offer for the breach of privacy.

He was then amazed by a shower of bluebell bubble chimes; a charm that had taken him quite a few attempts to master—impressive.

The boy's jaw dropped when Snape complimented him and he eagerly performed a few more charms he knew.

Intrigued by what he'd seen, he asked Slughorn about the kid's grades. The professor confided his concerns about the boy's scores in potions.

Immediately, Snape agreed to tutor him. Potions were a real challenge for Regulus, which was a surprise. He was acing all of his other classes.

Slughorn insisted that he was a saint to take on such a hopeless case, that the kid wasn't probably going to achieve all that much anyway—that Snape should focus on his own career first (though he'd be singing a different tune when Regulus was declared a charms prodigy).

Snape argued that he didn't mind. And he didn't.

Late night study sessions were a good excuse to sneak into the kitchens for midnight snacks (even though they really didn't have to, since Reg had such a good rapport with the house-elves). But Regulus insisted that pilfered pastries had the most satisfying flavor.

The first time he invited the kid over, he'd been so self-conscious of his modest abode. He'd mopped all the floors and barked all sorts of orders to his mother.

He needn't have been so flustered. The first thing the kid had done after stumbling through the fireplace was ask what sort of sweets they had. Regulus had his priorities after all.

That had made Eileen smile. Severus had been pestering her all week about what Regulus would think about their home. That Purebloods had certain expectations and their lifestyle was going to be viewed as pathetic.

You know, Severus was the only person Regulus asked about muggle things. When asked why he wanted to know, the boy would shrug that he could count on Snape to keep things straight. His parents would go into a rant, Bella would paint them as despicable hell-spawn, Sirius would cheer for them, and Andy would declare them saints. (Cissa…well Cissa would suddenly pretend he wasn't there if asked about muggles…Regulus had tried it…twice.)

Teaching Regulus about the muggle world was hilarious. Mundane exploits like using a telephone or escalator were turned into epic adventures with Regulus the Ignorant Pureblood.

Though the kid really scared him when he didn't pay attention to crosswalk etiquette.

He had a lot of good memories, like the time he took Regulus to a muggle carnival. Or when he bought the kid a crystal ball for Christmas (because he had a growing obsession for divination) and watched his face light up. (It was the first time he'd ever bought something for someone other than Lily.) Or when he took Regulus to the roller skating rink.

He blames Regulus for making him a rabid Quidditch fan. He remembered the shy second year approach, eyes darting—a great contrast from the normally overzealous Regulus. When asked what he wanted, the kid began stammering. Asking if Snape wasn't too busy, or bored, or tired would he care to see him try out for the House team?

There was no doubt in his mind that he'd make the team, the moment he saw the kid in the air. Naturally, by the end of the day Regulus Black made his way to the dungeons with a set of Quidditch robes. Before he even asked, Severus assured him that he'd be there for the starting match. Snape's never missed a game.

It wasn't often that he got to be a hero, but he did have his moments—like the time he had to fish Regulus out of the Lake because the kid's an awful swimmer (and James being the prat he was magicked him out to the middle).

He really expanded the kid's literature tastes, got him into reading Shakespeare as well as a few comic books.

Or the time he got Regulus out of school claiming a family emergency and took him to see Star Wars. Snape almost regrets it because ever since, there was no telling when Reg would start making irritating buzzing sounds and jumping around or mimicking Darth Vader whenever he was wearing a black cloak. (He's almost sure that Dumbledore knows where they went, but the headmaster never asked.)

But all good things end. The sands of time were swallowing their childhood.

He's probably the only one who noticed when Regulus began withdrawing into his shell, during the end of third year. Or how upset he was when Sirius left home to live with the Potters.

Only Snape knew Regulus well enough to tell when he was acting and when he was genuine. Because Regulus could be very charismatic when he wanted to be—though he normally only did it to show off to his older brother. The message read: 'Screw you, I fit in here and I'm happy.'

Severus thought Sirius was an idiot not to notice the flagrant lie. Regulus' eyes always denounce him for the liar he is. A clue that Bella learned long ago, and why she grasps her younger cousin by the chin when she asks him an important question.

No one commented as Regulus became paler and thinner in his fourth year. Or when he began getting letters that he let no one else see.

It was obvious the kid wanted it all to be kept private and Slytherin House obliged; so even Snape tried to ignore the sense of impending doom that lurked in the shadows of the boy's eyes.

Snape thought it might be the stress from the Orion Black's incarceration (the Ministry which had been hunting for him for a while had finally caught the man embezzling from several of his business partners).

But whenever he tried to broach the subject, he was met with vague answers or the kid would just slip away.

Regulus began spending more and more of his time corresponding to the mysterious letters or pouring over his crystal ball.

Truth be told, he wasn't all that surprised when the kid started keeling over. Or when his Potions grade plummeted.

Regulus began spending more time in the hospital wing then out, which just meant that Snape had to get used to spending his free moments there too…and to ignoring Remus, who was normally there as well. (Yes, for the first few weeks it was very awkward.)

To this day, he's not exactly sure what prompted Regulus to join the Death Eaters. He's even more surprised that Lord Voldemort took the scrawny sixteen-year-old in. He's not sure how Bella managed it all. Heaven knows she was the only one who wanted Regulus there. His parents were outraged, his brother was spitting with fury, Narcissa was frightened, and Snape…he just didn't understand.

Sure the kid was proud of his Pureblood heritage, but the fact was—it was a default conversation starter or source for insult. If you angered him, he might slander your family four generations back.

But once Regulus was friends with you, he really didn't talk about actual blood all that much. Though he did talk a lot about family, and honor, and pride so much so that Snape worried about him. It was clear that the Black family name was very important to him. Too important. Kid would sacrifice himself to protect it. Snape never knew why. He'd met the lot of them. And quite frankly, they didn't deserve someone like Reg to be in their ranks.

Did you know that Reg really kept his family in the dark? Didn't tell them anything about his missions? Or the threats. Or his beatings. Didn't tell them about the awful things he'd seen or done. Or about the way his health kept degenerating. But he made it to all of their auspicious events, sent all his gifts on time, posted all the right inquiries and that was enough. God High Society was shallow.

Snape can't tell you the countless amounts of potions he made to help Regulus. But nothing seemed to work. And it didn't help that the kid was being irresponsible with how he took them.

Sometimes he'd look at the kid and know he wasn't there. When he asked about it, Regulus admitted that it was a lovely feeling. The best he'd ever had.

He's the only person Reg told about things like that. Like when he joined a band because money was tight. The Ministry had him pegged as a Death Eater and no one felt like hiring a supposed fanatical.

Snape was also the only person invited to see the band's first performance. Kid had a golden set of vocal cords, who knew? But really Reg, vampires? Not the safest people to work with. And really "Hemorrhage?" Sure the name suits the company, but couldn't you come up with something a little more pleasant?

He has four albums full of pictures. Regulus being a photogenic Black was always quick to pose. And so he's got eight years of memories on file. And so he's seen the best…and the worst of Regulus A. Black.

You know he tried to call him Reggie once, but he was politely corrected. Though the boy insisted that he was free to call him Reg. And you know Snape never really questioned it.

The same way that he never really denied that he wasn't a hero. And you know for the longest time it never bothered him.

Not until one of the Gryffindor Chasers slammed an elbow into the young Slytherin seeker, and the boy fell.

And there in the audience, Severus had been stunned. All of his hard-earned magic phrases, slipped out of his ears. He should've whipped his wand out and performed some great feat of magic. He didn't.

Sirius dropped his bat and made a death-defying dive to catch the falling Slytherin. He barely managed to catch Regulus before both Blacks slammed into the ground.

Snape thinks it was then that he realized that he'd never be a hero.

He thinks it was that moment that he realized the foundation of their friendship; what really brought them together. They weren't heroes. Neither of them. Snape, he'd always be the villain. And Regulus…Regulus would always be a victim.

He knew Reg was in trouble. God, anyone with half-a-brain could tell the kid was off. The boy looked horrible. He knew the kid wasn't sleeping well and it showed—great black circles around his bloodshot eyes.

He knew the kid's time was running out. Knew he wouldn't be the one to bail him out. Knew that the person standing before him could very well be the kids' saving grace.

He remembered the man's curious expression—clearly not expecting his school-day nemesis to show up at his office.

Snape remembers glancing down at the man's cluttered dusk. There were all sorts of gizmos, gadgets, and photos. But none of those frames suggested that the man before him even had a younger brother.

You know, Regulus had photos of everyone in his shabby apartment. Even Bella and he hated her. Why? Because they were family.

And this man couldn't spare two inches for his only little brother. His teeth clenched.

The man had cocked his head to the side, dog-like, and smirked smugly.

"Hey Snivellus, what are you nosing about for?"

The one person who might've been able to save Regulus…and he walked right by him because God he hated Sirius Black.

He'd only gone because…Reg had asked him to. He exited the building, breath leaving him in a fog as he turned the corner into a dark alley.

He remembered the pale wide-eyes looking up hopefully. Being a known Death Eater, Regulus knew better than to enter the Ministry.

"I-is he coming?"

"Sorry Reg"

The boy's head drooped, crestfallen before he nods. He swallows and looks so grim, that Severus almost admits to his lie, but the boy interrupts.

"Alright then. I-I wanted to show you both, but I guess…I suppose…I can trust you, Severus?" his voice warbles slightly with uncertainty.

He says "of course" even as his conscience confesses 'probably not.'

The boy led into his ramshackle apartment and slammed the door shut behind Severus, closing an almost comical amount of locks. Or at least it would have been comical, if Regulus hadn't been so solemn and if they weren't living in such dark times.

Safely tucked in his closet, like some twisted alter the boy had three cork boards plastered with news articles and book pages. Words have been highlighted and circled and there are grotesque illustrations of people splitting into pieces.

The old crystal ball he gave him years ago, with three tattered packs of tarots, lie at the bottom of the boards like some bizarre sacrifice.

He notices out of the corner of his eyes that the room is littered in paper plates, there's spoiled food on the floor, and a disconcerting stench of death. Draped across a broken chair, there's a discarded robe with what looks like blood splattered across its front. In fact, there are great black splotches all over the carpet and couch.

"You know when you get hurt, you can always contact me" Severus remarked softly.

"Horcruxes" the boy whispered hoarsely. "The Dark Lord, he uses horcruxes. And I…I think I know a-a couple"

Severus is silent for a few moments, shocked by the brilliance of his friend's deduction. As well as its abrupt presentation. Normally, the kid liked to weave his stories—you'd have to wheedle information from him. If Regulus was willing to just blurt answers, then his time really was slipping. And he knew it.

Still, horcruxes. No wonder Voldemort was so arrogant, if he had successfully made them—he was practically immortal.

"I-I'm going to go to Dumbledore and-and tell him about my th-theory"

He's not sure if Regulus oncoming stuttering is a reaction from fear or the amount of medication he's on—or perhaps it's a mixture of both.

"I-If something ha-happens, let the Order know"

Now Severus starts, "What? What are you talking about?"

Regulus smiles, an eerie sight: his visage is so thin and pale that the ferocity of the grin almost looks like it'll tear his face apart.

"Don't think you can hide, I know what you are. Now…will you give your dying friend your word?"

You know, he really didn't expect things to turn out this way. Didn't think they could.

Hmm…they had a word for this…right…hubris.

Numbly he sat at the bar, musing about how that saying was right. The good did die young. Even though he was probably the only person who thought Reg warranted the title of Good. Damn. Eighteen. Just a kid barely out of Hogwarts. Reg deserved better.

He made his order and on a whim turned to study his companions. Nearly starting as he recognized one loathsomely familiar face.

The man was practically draped over the counter, voice slurred as he informed the bartender how he'd taught his younger brother how to fly a broomstick. And what a damn good flyer the kid was.

How he wouldn't be surprised if the Cannons took him. Reggie made seeker in his second year, he and James didn't get on a team until third year. Made the kid real cocky you know. He snuck out to watch a few practices. Kid was a natural. He remembered Reggie catching his first snitch, and how proud he'd been. And how he didn't tell him that, and he wished he did.

They had a photo, he kept repeating. But he couldn't find it and he kept looking for it. But he thinks it's at his old house, and he hopes nothing happened to it.

You know he's never invited the kid over to his new apartment. And he really should've because he's got five years worth of birthday and Christmas presents that he never sent, because he always thought they'd have more time. Thought he could afford putting off the bridge-building because…because younger brothers were certainly not supposed to die before older brothers did. Because Reggie was the baby of their family and then he's silent as his breath hitches.

The bartender tells the grieving man how sorry he is for the loss.

Being slobbering drunk and drowning in denial, the man willfully misinterprets "loss" for lost. He nods emphatically and announces that his brother just needs to be found, and who better than him. Because he knew all of his favorite places—he always won in hide and seek—even when everyone else gave up, you could always count on him to find Reggie.

Snape tries to block it out, but his drink is turning to bile and sticking in his throat. By now he's downed three shots and he's trying desperately to swallow down his fourth.

The drunk's voice is beginning to waiver. He chokes that next year's New Year will be better because he'll fix everything.

The man's fingers twist the notification paper. And Severus can't swallow. And he wonders briefly if Sirius really wants to know his brother's last appearance.

He'd stumbled into Snape's apartment near midnight, covered in his own blood, choking on it, and laughing like a madman—like he was atop of the world instead of spiraling down.

He'd learn later it was because he'd attacked Bella and she retaliated. Though she didn't escape unharmed either—he apparently stunned her unconscious. The other Death Eaters had tough time accepting that their second-in-command, Voldemort's favorite, was taken down by the likes of Reg.

It's funny. A lot of people thought, Regulus had cowered away. Sirius certainly thought so—only showed how well he knew the kid. It was quite the opposite. Regulus took a stand.

You know not even he's completely sure how Regulus died, probably from bloodloss, but he can't say for certain. All he knows is that the kid gave him a hug goodbye that permanently stained his robes before disapparating from his arms.

He checked everywhere. He apparated to the kid's apartment, to the club he played at, to several of his bandmembers' homes, to Grimmauld. He even had half a mind to actually go to Sirius' apartment. But then he noticed it.

There were splashes of blood through the corridor. He followed them to foyer and skidded to a halt.

There, looming before him was a great grandfather clock, and like most wizarding family's the hands of its face were family members.

Sirius' had been broken off mid way though it seemed to say At Work, and the other two were pointed At Home, and then Regulus' was wavering at…Mortal Peril.

And then suddenly the hand went completely still. The small photo of Regulus closed its eyes and faded away. Likewise the script detailing the young Black's name disappeared.

Snape watched in morbid amazement as the hand fell the clock face and clattered on the floor.

The chiming sound so delicate, that the bloodcurdling scream that followed unhinged him.

And all he could do was stand there as Madam Black flew down the steps and snatched the fallen hand.

God it was awful.

Snape slammed his money down and fled the scene. It was a couple weeks later that he was brave enough to face the ugly irrefutable truth:

He was always too late for Reggie.

He set the bouquet down before the marble headstone.

Someone had already visited, there were some fresh gladiolas and a photograph of two smiling boys garbed in Quidditch robes. The twelve and fourteen year old stood together; one in red, the other slighter figure in green. The elder had his arm slung around the younger's shoulders. The younger beamed and raised his hand high—the snitch glinting in the sunlight. Every few moments the elder would bring the younger into a hug and then ruffle his hair.

Snape knelt to pick up the item for closer inspection. It wouldn't budge. A ghost of a smile traced Snape's lips. The gesture practically screamed 'my brother!'

What an idiot, you know if he'd acted like that sooner…

Still, two could play at that game. Snape placed his own photo beside the previous. A seventeen year old Regulus laughed at the camera, waving his green light saber triumphantly. A nineteen year old Snape smiled exasperatedly at the younger's antics and every once in awhile would reach over to ruffle the kid's hair.

He could feel the ticking of time echoing louder everyday—that even now days turned to minutes and seconds that slipped through your fingers. Soon it would be his turn. He smiled at the headstone of his almost little brother. They'd meet again, and when they did the time would finally be right.

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