"Sirius!" he gasped out, his heart pounding in his parched throat. He paced, staggering, down the streets of Godric's Hollow. Sirius lived there; Regulus knew that. He needed to find Sirius.

Sirius – only Sirius – could help him. Regulus wasn't delusional. He knew that Sirius hated him, but now, he could only hope that Sirius would help anyway. Regulus was wrong. Hell, he was still wrong.

But he had made up for it. Regulus had stolen something. Something important. The constant pain in my stomach flared even more as I thought about it. When he distracted his thoughts, it became slighter, easier to handle. Thinking of Sirius was impossible. The mere name brought waves of pain rolling down his body.

The Horcrux had caused that. Regulus wasn't an idiot; he knew these pains were caused by the potion he had forced himself to swallow.

The locket was more important than anything. The Dark Lord was immortal. Regulus needed to tell Dumbledore. It was necessary, but he also couldn't just walk up and ask to talk to him.

He was a death eater. Maybe not anymore, Regulus was pretty sure that stealing the Horcrux had cemented his betrayal. If he returned, he would be killed.

No, he was not a death eater anymore.

That made him feel better than he had felt in a very long time. Regulus still needed to speak to Sirius. He groaned loudly as a thick pain burst forth from deep inside him. The potion was spreading through his blood, hitting each and every nerve in his body and filling them with pain and poison.

"Sirius!" he cried desperately. There wasn't an answer. Regulus whipped around, searching desperately. His hair flew into his face, into his open mouth. He staggered backwards, off balance, and hit the wall.

Regulus slid down it, his body thumping against the ground, and his head banging painfully off of the wall. It was brick, and the unevenness was painful on his inflamed skin. With a groan, he lifted his head and tried to keep going on – keep crawling – to find Sirius.

"Sir… ius," he whispered with a hoarse and broken voice. He could hardly get the word out through lips that weren't working properly. His head fell back, smacking the bricks again, and his eyes closed. Regulus couldn't raise it again. He needed Sirius, but he wasn't going to make it.

Regulus had failed, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. He blinked heavily, opening his eyes to find that everything was blurry.

Looking into the sky, he saw that the stars had become bright spots of light, no longer clear, and the moon was only a smear of light within the black.

His eyes fell closed again. Unable to stop them, memories assaulted him, pulling at him. Regulus saw the lake and the inferi. Then he saw Kreacher.

Kreacher. Suddenly, an idea came to him.

"Kr –eacher," he murmured, moving his jaw as little as possible, feeling spears of pain run through him. "Find Sirius. Br – ing hi – him here. Don't tell hi –m why."

Regulus's lips formed a tight smile. That was all he could do. Kreacher would find Sirius. He had to.

Regulus heaved himself off the wall. He couldn't stay there. After all, the death eaters would no doubt be looking for him. He had betrayed them; they would want to kill him.

Ignoring – or at least, trying to ignore – the nausea in his stomach, he slithered into a dark alley. Regulus's limbs trembled harshly, forcing him to, once again, lean against the wall.

They wouldn't find him there. His eyes drifted shut. There was nothing else he could do. Kreacher would bring Sirius, and Regulus could tell him how much of an idiot he was and hopefully fix everything.

His eyes were closed, but he hadn't dropped into the comforting arms of unconsciousness. He couldn't. If he fell asleep, then he wouldn't wake up again. Regulus couldn't die without talking to his brother.

And he was dying. The clock was ticking, and it would soon stop. The small tick would become the continuous noise of silence. Regulus was okay with that. He could fall asleep, after his long day, and he didn't wish that it had been longer. If he could only tell the one person he loved more than anything else that he was on his side, then he could die happy.

No, not happy. Regulus hadn't been happy since taking the mark but content. He would see his brother again; hopefully, though, there would be a lot of time in between.

Regulus's shaking fingers found the chain in his pocket. He dragged it out, moving it spasmodically towards his face. Halfway there, it slipped from his fingers, clattering against the cold ground. Regulus knew that there would be no scratch on the locket. It was strong, but Dumbledore was stronger.

Sirius could give it to Dumbledore. If Regulus couldn't get it there, then everything he'd done was for nothing. The death eaters would get it again. Even if it went through the Ministry, Malfoy or another spy would get it back.

Damn Sirius! Why wasn't he here? Why couldn't Kreacher find him? Regulus knew and understood, as clear as he knew that his throat was burning with fiery pain, that he didn't have much time left. His stomach bubbled, and a thick liquid shot up his throat. He turned to the side, throwing up a thick, yellow liquid. It smelled vile, but he didn't have the energy to slither more than a few feet away. Gasping, he pulled himself a bit further, lagging fingers reaching for a handhold in the wall. They found nothing, scrambling over smooth bricks with only the tiniest of cracks.

He coughed gently. More of the liquid trailed onto his chin, running in a thin line onto his neck. The cough was weak. It wasn't a strong body forcibly trying to expel a foreign substance. No, it was the last echo of a dying man's breath.

His throat burned, and suddenly, he wondered that, even if Sirius showed up, would he be able to talk?

Perhaps he still could fail, and that definitely wouldn't be Sirius's fault.

He had to do this. Everything had lead to this night, this final night. Regulus had to do this. He forced his eyes open again (when had they closed?) and stared out into the darkness, trying to ignore the needy pain flashing through him.

A loud crack echoed through the night, and Regulus flinched violently, nearly careening away from the wall to fall onto his face. After he straightened himself, he painstakingly raised his head.

His eyes met his brother's.

Sirius had come.

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Hey, guys! So, I know this is a bit weird for me to be finally going back to my first fanfic, but I recently got a review that inspired me to try again and redo it.

So, here I go.

Please review! I need feedback, people!

Thank you to anyone that has stuck with this fic in the hopes that I would return to it one day! The wait has paid off!

So, has anyone seen the video of Darren Criss at the Fillmore? He had a young girl join him on stage when he sang "Picture Perfect Girl." It was so cute! Wish I could have been there…

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter!