Sirius Black appeared in the square across from Number 12 Grimmauld Place with a crack. It was dark, coming up to midnight, and he didn't really care if any muggles saw him. Hadn't even thought of it, really. He stood at the mouth of the square, staring across the road at the place where Number 11 met Number 13 smoothly without a Number 12 in between. He sat down on the bench where he'd once looked out and watched a muggle boy drawing on a sketchpad - the muggle boy who, unbeknownst to him, had changed everything about Sirius's life.

He was drunk. 

The square wasn't his first stop. The Grindyswallow pub had been. There, he'd drank three shots of Firewhiskey and a rather large mug of ale, all of which he'd put on the tab that he and Bilius Weasley ran up a couple nights a week after working on degnoming gardens all day. He'd spotted Jasper Odair and Meg Johnson there, tucked into a little booth in the back and leaning in, heads close and talking quietly. He'd left right after spotting them - he didn't have the energy to fake happiness and he didn't think Jasper Odair needed to be hearing about Sirius's potentially dead younger brother. Particularly not when Jasper Odair looked happier talking to Meg Johnson in the Grindyswallow than he'd looked in quite some time.

So here he was, sprawled upon a bench, staring at literally nothing and feeling sorry for himself - because his husband and his mates didn't believe him, because the more push back he got from them about it the less he, Sirius, even believed himself. 

Maybe he was mistaken.

Maybe the mortician was just a thief who sold jewelry on the side. Maybe it was a property of the Dark Mark to disappear, just as Remus had said. Remus was right smart, he was. Maybe he was right and Sirius was wrong. Maybe Regulus really was dead.

You shouldn't feel so sad, Sirius. He was barely in your life... A couple of weeks does not erase years of pain.

Sirius closed his eyes. "He changed."

Did he?

"Yes."

But did he really?

"Yes."

You know who's really changed? Remus. Remus has changed. Once, Remus would've been on your side. He would've been the one that came in and held you close until you stopped shaking, just like James did... He's falling out of love with you again.

Sirius shook his head and batted his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Shut up Achlys. You know nothing about it."

Nothing, huh? Achlys laughed.

Sirius felt dizzy from the firewhiskey coursing through his veins.

He wouldn't have questioned you. Or if he did, he wouldn't have done it openly like that. He could've given you the benefit of the doubt. Innocent until proven guilty, that's how it ought to be... So why is it that he always assumes the worst of you?

Sirius took out his cigarettes and shook one from the pack, taking out his lighter and flicking it so the fire glowed at his fingertips. He watched it burn for several long seconds.

Maybe because he knows that deep down inside of you there is me... and I'm not going to leave you, Sirius... No matter what, I'm always going to be here in you.

"Why?"

Because Sirius, it's dark and it's wonderful in here... deep in your soul, it's so, so dark a place...

He could feel it, feel her sinking deeper as she spoke, feel her slicing right through his muscles and bones and right into the very heart of him.  

It was always meant for you to be dark, Sirius, one way or another. Your brother, too. Yes, that's right, Regulus has a dementor, too, and she does love torturing him nearly as much as I love torturing you.

"Stop."

Oh Sirius. One day, you will be thankful for me. Because when everything else is gone... still, I will be here... one day, there will be nothing else left.

"I don't care. Just shut up." Sirius sat forward and stared at where the house would be if he could see it, where the door would be if the house was there, and he waited for the fog to clear on his mind or else a miracle to come... though neither seemed likely to occur for a long time to come.

Regulus couldn't concentrate on any of the books for longer than a few minutes - picking them up only to put them back down again. 

He got up and went upstairs again, stopping again before the mirror in the bathroom. The shorn head was good - it took away his most recognizable trait. But there was more that he could do. Starting with the removal of the Dark Mark.

He had looked it up once, not too terribly long ago, how to get rid of a magical tattoo - or a branding as some of the resources had called this sort of thing. 

He turned on the hot water tap as high as it went and let the water run while the temperature increased until it was about as hot as boiling, and then he plugged the drain on the sink. He took out his wand and aimed it at the water. "Salmare,"  he muttered and the water in the basin turned cloudy with salt.

Taking a deep breath, he removed his watch, laying it carefully on the counter where it would be safest, and then plunged his arm into the thick whitish-cloud looking water. The water burned and he could feel the temperature of his entire body rise up with the water scalding his arm. He grit his teeth as he kept the arm submerged.

It seemed ages, though he was counting in his head and it was less than five minutes.

He pulled his arm up from the water. It was raw and red and painful to the touch.

"Necroardeat." 

Regulus's wand tip burned as bright. 

Dead flesh burning, that's what the spell loosely translated to, he knew. 

His hand shook slightly.

"None of that shaking, Regulus," he whispered. "Now is not the time to be shaking."

He brought the wand tip, blazing bright as it was, down to the forearm.

He let out a scream so loud he was sure it shook the actual house.

There was a banging sound from downstairs and within seconds, Kreacher had apparated and was standing on the closed lid of the loo beside the counter, eyes wide. "Master! What hurts Master?!" 

Regulus could barely breathe. The bathroom smelled of burned skin and there was a round mark on his arm the exact size and shape of his wand tip - bright hot red, as red as blood or even redder because it seemed to glow the way embers glow in a hearth when they're at their hottest. He clutched his arm by the elbow, cursing every bad word he knew in every language he knew them in.

Kreacher's ears were flat with fear. 

"Master! Master! What has you done, Master Regulus? Let Kreacher see, let Kreacher see. Kreacher will fix it, Kreacher will heal --"

"No. Kreacher. No." Regulus's teeth were grit. He looked at the burned spot. It was so red he couldn't tell for sure, but maybe under the red... maybe it wasn't black anymore? He looked at the one spot and then at the wand, at how much his hand now trembled. There was no way he could bring himself to do it again.

Regulus looked at the elf.

"Kreacher?"

"Yes Master Regulus?"

Regulus held out the wand, handle first, to the elf. 

"Kreacher, I command you to --"

"No Master please!" the elf cried out before Regulus could finish the sentence, but Regulus finished it anyway.

"-- to use my wand to burn away the rest of my Mark."

Kreacher's eyes were wide - even wider than the bulbous shape of them made them look naturally. "Master, please; Kreacher does not wish to hurt his Master Regulus..."

"Kreacher, I need this done. I need it done and I can't do it myself and I - I don't trust anyone else to do it. It has to be you."

Kreacher's lips trembled. "But it hurts Master."

"It hurts for a minute, Kreacher... but in the end it's helping me."

Kreacher stared up at Regulus.

 "Please? I trust you, Kreacher, and I know you'll do it better than I can."

Kreacher stared into Regulus's eyes. "Kreacher will iron his hands for this, Master," he promised.

"No, Kreacher," Regulus said. "You cannot iron your hands - or do anything else to punish yourself for this." He took a deep breath. "Now burn it, Kreacher. And don't stop until it's gone, all of it, no matter what I say or do. Do you understand?"

Kreacher had tears in his eyes, but he nodded.

"Alright then."

Kreacher took the wand.

Regulus held it, too, "Necroardeat."

The wand tip ignited.