A Hero; a person who is admired for having done something very brave or having achieved something great.
Regulus Black, had hoped to become a hero, when he was young. To achieve something beyond imagination, to be adored for such. Looking back, such desire may relate to his own upbringing, and the desire of being loved. He has also found that he would in fact, not make a great one.
There is a beginning and an ending to every story, regardless of heroism.
Growing up, Regulus was never anything special. In the constant competition between two brothers seeking for their parents' attention, one becomes extraordinary while the other, is simply ordinary. Metaphorically, while Regulus is the moon, Sirius is the sun. Regulus reflects his brother's light. This used to be one of the simple facts of life, like the flick of mother's wand or the blood in each of their veins. While Regulus is gifted, Sirius is a prodigy. While Regulus appreciates, Sirius loves. Regulus soon learnt as a boy, that he was merely a shadow of his brother.
The day his own star began to shine, was the day his brother's had flickered. When news came that Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor, it seemed as if the entire world shattered. When the Dog turned out to be a lion, the Little King shone brighter than ever before.
It's only became brighter, when he, a little lion's heart, had turned out to be a snake. Only recently escaped its mother, still under her clutches. She directed him, made him her ears and eyes in Hogwarts.
Alone he felt, because it was not that he shared his mother's views, but that he did not have any of his own.
(A detail Regulus wasn't sure his brother resented him more or less for, regardless Sirius still cared to remind him of the fact nastily every time they talked.)
People connect with the familiar, whether a friend, a wand, or an animal. And so he himself was left isolated and alone.
Regardless, let it be cowardice or deceitfulness, Regulus was also painfully aware of the dangers of having opinions of your own.
He had become somewhat of a distant figure in Hogwarts. Mentally meaning, physically he still ate meals and went to classes and shared the same loo as his dormmates. Yet he walked through the halls of the castle more similarly to the ghosts flying carelessly through the walls than the students rushing between each of their classes.
He still heard and listened, followed whatever was fit. Watched as Sirius experienced freedom and love, and the wonders of being alive. And yet, even as time had turned Sirius disowned and Regulus the centre of the House, Sirius has remained the centre of Regulus' life. At home, he was always compared to Sirius, for better and worse. At school, Sirius shone even brighter. He was finally ridding of them, of him. And Regulus loathed him for it.
Then came the second stage of his life; while in most stories there is a beginning, a middle then an end, in his; after the beginning, follows only the dooming end.
When he'd turned sixteen, still a fifth year, he was given a gift he at the time he thought one could never repay for. He assumed a different role. A more extreme example, a more proficient spy, and more and more of a person his brother despises.
He had become the youngest Death Eater within the Dark Lord's ranks, which made him no longer "the Blacks' heir", or "a replacement", "a leftover", and rather someone of his own. Someone younger and older students alike turned away and lowered their gaze if crossed paths. His dormmates, now instead of laughs and teen teases, fully avoided him. The prefects let him off claiming he was not worth the trouble, and the professors had stopped calling on him in class. They fear him, he's realized.
He'd spit at mudbloods and hex blood-traitors. He would scoff at his brother and his friends, and openly agree with their mother's views. It was only when he had returned home that summer, that he was reminded of where pride should be placed. Not in yourself, but in your standing.
It has gotten into his head, having the upper hand, and his mother was quick to fix that.
She had reminded him why, with even all a wizard could ever want, he had never before become intoxicated by it.
In sixth year, he had returned somewhat reformed and newly scarred.
The quietest year was his seventh, with his brother having left, he could finally lie to himself of the existence of either his brother or the "Marauders", as they call themselves.
That year, he had also finally made a friend. A soul friend, she would call it. Pandora. Similarly to her namesake, he knew she would release troubles upon him. Yet once in forever, he did not seem to care, and had decided he would welcome them with open arms.
The girl, like Sirius, was opinionated and loud, she was extremely independent and an exquisite talker. Unlike Sirius though, she was understanding, wise, and more importantly, stubbornly there for him.
They disagreed on so many fronts' and agreed on many others, that from her he has learnt of pluralism and acceptance.
She was in his year, a Ravenclaw who fit there like a wand to its holder. In contrast to his black hair and darker eyes, Pandora had platinum blonde hair and bright amber eyes. Her skin tone darker than his, soft caramel to his creamy porcelain. She spoke with magic in every word, yet still adored his dull tongue.
As they graduated, they both knew a very different path awaited them. Regulus cherished that year dearly. At that point, eighteen and thriving within the resistance, he has learnt of his purpose in life. He knew he was meant to leave a mark and be remembered. This was his destiny and if time comes, he would die fulfilling it. Thus he opened the last chapter of his life; as one of many faceless fighters battling and sacrificing their lives for the future of the wizarding world. He carried himself like one, and hoped to climb beyond imaginary.
So when Lord Voldemirt had requested a house-elf, Regulus hesitated only a mere second before proposing old withered Kreacher. This was the decision which led to his downfall, he will soon discover. When he was praised, he was filled with the overwhelming pride and hunger for more from all those years ago. He'd remembered his mother's lessons, and one of many of Pandora's advices, and he knew then he has made a the wrong choice.
Trusting his instincts, he ordered Kreacher one last thing before handing him to the Dark Lord. "Do as you're told" He ordered. "But return to me after he is done with you." And Kreacher simply nodded in obedience.
When Kreacher returned, Regulus knew he had been correct. Poor Kreacher came back soaking wet, shaking and deep in hallucinations. Like a fire eating away the oxygen until there is no more, Regulus had decided to burn the Dark Lord down in the far dephs of hell.
It wasn't even about Kreacher, it was about respect. The Dark Lord, no, Voldemort, had insulted Regulus' name and house. His lineage and respect. As such, he had also spit in the back of cultured society. Just as he has fought for Voldemort's cause, Regulus would fight against him.
First, he looked for clues about what it was that Voldemort was hiding. To understand what it was did not prove especially difficult. "A locket." Kreacher had told, "with a green s- ssnake." Slytherin's locket, Regulus concluded, his family owns an exact replica. Whether the Lord's was the real thing, Regulus wasn't sure he wanted to find out.
But the question still remained, what did it contain? After weeks of research, Regulus had come to an answer. Reading through some of the darkest books in Grimmauld's library, a "Hocrux" followed by a short explanation, caught his eye. It all made sense perfectly. The strange aura Kreacher described to be surround both Voldemort and the locket, the secrecy and deadly poison all fit into place. Voldemort had created a Hocrux.
Such dark magic... this was not something even he can stand behind of.
This cannot be a decision he can back down from. This was it.
He gave Kreacher instructions. He quickly scribbled a letter to Pandora explaining everything, and a note which he put inside the locket's replica.
Despite his attempts to be remembered, the letter was never sent, and the not was never seen by Voldemort.
In the end, he was not remembered, and his story remained untold. He never achieved greatness. He wasn't a hero, just a boy with mistakes, oh so many mistakes, which he tried to fix and only complicated it all further. He was the one, who, seventeen years after his own doom, managed to complicate another boy's attempts against Voldemort.
Regulus Arcturus Black was not a hero, and he will never be remembered as such.
"To the Dark Lord,
I know I will be dead long before you
read this, but I want you to know that it
was I who discovered your secret.
I have taken the real Hocrux, and
I intend to destroy it as soon as I can.
I face death in the hope that when
you meet your match, you will be
mortal once more.
R.A.B."