The wind howled as it swept through the open windows of the Astronomy Tower, the moon casting pale light over the grounds of Hogwarts. Regulus Black stood by the edge, staring out into the vastness of the night, his breath coming in shallow gasps as his fingers clutched the fabric of his robe. His heart thudded in his chest, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was closing in on him—something he couldn’t escape.
The Dark Mark burned painfully on his arm, an ever-present reminder of the choice he had made. The Dark Lord’s mark, black and cold, had seared itself into his skin, and now it was a part of him. Forever.
Regulus hated it.
His fingers trembled as they traced the lines of the mark through his sleeve. He hated it more than anything, but there was nothing he could do. The fear of his family, the pressure, the promises—he couldn’t escape it. He couldn’t turn back.
The sound of footsteps echoed up the tower behind him, and Regulus stiffened. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.
"Reg?"
James’s voice was gentle, filled with concern, but it sent a shiver down Regulus’s spine. Regulus had spent months, maybe even years, dancing around the truth, but now—now the weight of it felt unbearable.
"James…" Regulus whispered, but his voice faltered as his throat tightened. He turned slightly, not fully facing James. His heart clenched at the sight of him—the one person in the world who had always been a light in Regulus’s dark existence. The one person he could never afford to lose.
James stepped closer, his brow furrowed. “What are you doing up here? You’ve been acting strange lately. Is everything okay?”
Regulus didn’t answer immediately. How could he? How could he tell James the truth? The truth that would destroy everything?
James took another step toward him, his eyes softening with the kind of concern that made Regulus want to crumble. He was just too kind, too understanding, too good. Regulus felt a pang of guilt in his chest.
“Reg,” James said quietly, “Talk to me. I’m worried about you.”
Regulus turned away, his back to James now. The moonlight reflected off the stone floor, and Regulus could feel the heat of the Dark Mark burning through the fabric of his sleeve, the weight of it too much to bear. He swallowed thickly, shaking his head.
“I can’t… I can’t do this, James. I can’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?” James’s voice was firm now, insistent, as he reached out and gently touched Regulus’s shoulder. “I’ve never asked you to tell me anything you didn’t want to. But if something’s wrong, you can’t keep pushing me away. Please.”
Regulus felt his throat close, the words caught in his chest like a stone. If he told James the truth now, if he revealed the Dark Mark, everything would change. James would look at him differently. He would never see him the same again. And Regulus couldn’t bear that.
“I don’t… I don’t want to lose you,” Regulus finally choked out, his voice shaking. “You don’t understand, James. I—I can’t lose you. I can’t.”
James’s hand stilled on Regulus’s shoulder. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind swirling around them, and Regulus thought, maybe, just maybe, he’d get away with keeping this part of himself hidden. But he was wrong.
With a sudden, sharp motion, James spun him around to face him, his eyes searching Regulus’s face. The hurt in his eyes was palpable.
“Lose me? Reg, why would you—what are you—” James trailed off, the confusion in his expression deepening as he glanced down at Regulus’s sleeve. Without thinking, his hand reached for Regulus’s arm and yanked the sleeve up.
The Dark Mark was revealed, its sinister symbol burning darkly against the pale skin of Regulus’s forearm.
James froze.
Regulus’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, everything stopped. He felt like he was suffocating. The world around him spun, his chest tightening as the pain of rejection loomed. James’s gaze was locked on the mark, his face pale, eyes wide with disbelief.
“No,” James whispered, taking a step back as if the sight had burned him. “No. No, Regulus… What have you done?”
Regulus flinched as though James had struck him. He opened his mouth to speak, to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. What could he say? How could he make James understand?
“I… I had to, James. You don’t know what it’s like. I didn’t have a choice.” Regulus’s voice was trembling, and his heart was pounding so loudly that it drowned out all other sounds.
But James wasn’t listening. His eyes were filled with something that Regulus couldn’t bear to face—betrayal.
“You didn’t have a choice?” James’s voice cracked as he took another step back, the anger in his tone rising. “You didn’t have a choice? Are you serious? Reg, you—You’ve joined them. You’ve sworn yourself to him. The same people who’ve done everything to ruin everything we’ve worked for!”
“James, please—” Regulus began, but James wasn’t listening anymore. He took another step back, the distance between them growing.
“No,” James said sharply, shaking his head as if he were trying to shake away the truth. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ve become one of them, Reg. How could you—how could you do this? I trusted you.”
Regulus felt his stomach drop, the words cutting through him like a knife. He had always feared this moment. He had feared James’s rejection. But hearing it, seeing the disgust and hurt on James’s face, made him feel as though he was falling into an abyss.
“I didn’t want this,” Regulus whispered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just—I couldn’t be weak anymore. I thought… I thought if I did this, I could prove I wasn’t a coward. I thought I could make you proud.”
James’s face twisted in disbelief and then hardened with a coldness Regulus had never seen before. “You think this makes me proud? You think this makes me want to be anywhere near you?”
The words hit Regulus like a physical blow. He gasped for air, trying to keep himself from breaking down, but the sting of James’s rejection was too much. He had always feared this moment—the moment when James would see him for what he was, when James would realize that there was no way he could ever forgive him.
“I—I’m sorry, James,” Regulus stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I never wanted to hurt you.”
James looked at him one last time, his eyes full of sorrow and anger. “It’s too late for apologies, Reg. You’ve already done enough.”
With that, James turned and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the tower, each step a painful reminder of the distance that now lay between them.
Regulus stood there, his heart shattering with every passing second as the weight of his decisions bore down on him. He had wanted to protect James, to keep him in the light, but now he had only succeeded in pushing him further into the darkness.
...
The common room was eerily quiet, the crackle of the fire in the hearth the only sound disturbing the stillness. The warmth of the room seemed distant, as if Regulus were on the edge of the world, and everything he had known felt far away. He stared out at the dark ocean outside the large window, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his head. His conversation with James still echoed in his mind, sharp and bitter, like an unhealed wound.
The footsteps approaching him pulled him from his thoughts, but Regulus didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. He’d been expecting this.
“Regulus.” Severus’s voice was low, controlled, but there was a thread of concern beneath it that Regulus couldn’t ignore. “What’s this I hear about you leaving?”
Regulus stiffened, but didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the darkened grounds outside. The decision had been made. There was no going back now.
“Regulus, answer me,” Severus pressed, stepping closer, his presence looming but oddly calm. “Why are you leaving?”
“I’m leaving Hogwarts,” Regulus muttered, his voice quiet and cold. “I’m going to the Dark Lord. I’ve made my decision.”
There was a long pause. Severus didn’t speak immediately, but Regulus could feel his gaze intensifying, the sharpness of his words building. “You know what that means, don’t you? You’re not just walking away from school. You’re stepping into something that there’s no return from. You’ll be tied to him, to his cause. No matter what.”
“I know.” Regulus’s voice was strained, his fists clenched at his sides. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Severus, afraid that if he did, the resolve he had built up would crack. “But if James sees me as a villain, then that’s who I’ll be. I have no place in his world anymore. I’ve already made my choice.”
Barty stepped forward then, his eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and something akin to fear. “Reg, this isn’t the way,” he said quickly, glancing between Severus and Regulus. “You can’t just leave. You don’t have to—”
“Of course he does,” Severus cut him off sharply, his tone cold and unyielding. “What other choice does he have, Barty? You heard him. James rejected him. Why should he keep pretending to be something he’s not, just to please someone who’ll never accept him?”
Barty looked pained, his eyes darting between Severus and Regulus. “I’m not saying Reg doesn’t have a choice, but—”
“No,” Severus said sharply, narrowing his eyes. “What Regulus is saying is that there’s no place for him in the world James is offering. James’s world doesn’t want him. So he’s choosing a world where he does belong. The Dark Lord’s world. A world of power. A world of loyalty.”
Regulus’s heart tightened in his chest as Severus’s words rang in his ears. It wasn’t the support he’d wanted, but it was the validation he had come to expect from Severus. Unlike Barty, who was always trying to protect Regulus, Severus was not one to sugarcoat the truth.
Barty shook his head in frustration. “Severus, he’s not some—some puppet of the Dark Lord. Regulus, you don’t have to throw everything away. There’s still a chance to make things right with him. You don’t have to—”
“I don’t have a choice, Barty,” Regulus snapped, his voice sharper now, breaking with the weight of his own helplessness. “James made his decision. And if he sees me as the enemy, then that’s who I’ll become. I’ve already taken the mark. I’ve already committed. If James can’t see me for who I truly am, then I’ll be whatever he thinks I am. A Death Eater. A villain. A monster.”
Barty’s face twisted in anguish, his usual bravado faltering as he stepped closer to Regulus. “That’s not you, Reg! You don’t have to be this way. You’ve got a chance to come back. You don’t have to let one rejection define your entire life. You—”
“Enough!” Regulus shouted, finally turning to face both of them, his face contorted with a mixture of anger, frustration, and pain. “Stop! You don’t understand. No one does. I’m done pretending. James has already made his choice about me. I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need your sympathy. The world is as it is. I’ll live with that. But I’m not going to keep living in a place where I’m nothing but a failure. So I’ll leave. I’ll be who I’m supposed to be.”
Barty looked as though he wanted to argue, but Severus’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Regulus is right,” Severus said, his voice soft but firm. “James doesn’t deserve your loyalty. If he cannot accept you for who you are, then you have no place in his world. Embrace what is rightfully yours, Reg. The Dark Lord will give you purpose. The Dark Lord will give you power. Power that James will never understand.”
Regulus turned away, his chest heavy with emotions he couldn’t place. It wasn’t the answer he’d wanted, but it was the answer he needed. Severus was right, in his own way. There was no place for him in the light, not anymore. He had already seen the darkness, and it had marked him.
“I’m leaving Hogwarts,” Regulus repeated, his voice quieter now, but full of resolve. “I’m leaving because there’s nothing left for me here. I’ll commit to him fully. To the Dark Lord. And if that means becoming the villain in James’s eyes, so be it.”
Barty’s expression faltered. “I—” He started, his voice quiet and strained. “Reg, please. I understand your pain. But this… this isn’t the answer.”
Severus stepped forward then, his dark eyes unwavering. “It’s the only answer, Barty. Regulus is making the right choice. He’s making the choice to own who he is, to step into the power that he’s always had but never truly embraced. We’re his people now. Not James. Not Slytherins. He has us.”
Regulus didn’t respond. Instead, he looked at Barty one last time—his childhood friend, the one who still believed in something better for him. But Regulus knew, deep down, that his path had already been chosen. James had rejected him, and with that rejection, his fate was sealed.
Without another word, Regulus turned and walked towards the door, his steps deliberate. He didn’t look back.
...
The Dark Mark burned on his arm, a painful reminder of the decision he’d already made. Regulus stood in the shadows, feeling the cold stone of the abandoned mansion press against his back as he waited for Voldemort to speak. The meeting was tense, the air thick with anticipation and fear. Around him, the other Death Eaters stood in silence, the only sound the occasional crackling of the fire that danced along the edges of the room. Regulus didn’t dare look around. He already knew who was here. The familiar presence of Barty Crouch Jr., the steady coldness of Severus Snape, and the darker figures that were loyal to the Dark Lord. But none of them mattered. Not now.
Voldemort’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “The time has come for another step forward, my followers,” he said, his voice smooth and controlled. “The Order is growing bolder. The Wizarding World believes they are safe behind their walls, but we will show them just how fragile their security truly is. It is time to remind them of the power they have rejected. We will attack Diagon Alley.”
Regulus’s stomach twisted. The room seemed to grow colder, despite the warmth from the fire. Diagon Alley. He hadn’t been there in years. The last time he’d set foot there, his life had been different. He had been different. His brother was still a Gryffindor, the perfect model of a rebel, and James was still the boy he loved, even if it was from afar. But that was before.
Before the Dark Lord. Before the Mark. Before his betrayal.
“Regulus,” Voldemort’s voice broke through his thoughts, cold and commanding. “You will lead the group to the Leaky Cauldron. It will be your task to begin the chaos. Leave nothing standing.”
Regulus felt the weight of his words like a crushing blow. His mind raced, but he forced himself to remain still. He couldn’t afford to look weak. The Dark Lord’s eyes were always watching, calculating. He could not show hesitation. Not now. Not ever again.
Voldemort’s lips curled in a faint, cruel smile. “In the past two years, Regulus, you have proven yourself to be one of my most loyal and effective servants. Your dedication, your precision in following orders—no one has risen faster among my ranks. You’ve earned this task. Lead your fellow Death Eaters. Show them how it’s done.”
Regulus’s heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his face blank. The praise stung more than he expected. He had done everything the Dark Lord asked. He had stepped into his role as a Death Eater without hesitation. He had killed. He had betrayed. He had become someone he hardly recognized. And yet, hearing Voldemort’s words twisted something inside him.
The Dark Lord was right. Regulus had become one of his best, and it sickened him.
“Of course, my Lord,” Regulus replied, his voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil that churned within him.
Voldemort’s eyes gleamed with approval. “Good. Your loyalty is unquestionable. But remember, Regulus, the mission you are about to undertake is important. It will strike fear into the heart of the Order. Do not disappoint me.”
“I won’t, my Lord,” Regulus said, his words automatic, though every fiber of his being screamed for him to run, to leave before the past caught up to him.
The Dark Lord turned his attention to the rest of the Death Eaters, who were watching intently, waiting for their orders. But Regulus’s mind was already elsewhere.
Diagon Alley. He had no place there. He’d made sure of that. It was a place where his brother, Sirius, still lived, a place where James Potter—James—walked with a carefree smile, completely unaware of the darkness Regulus had plunged himself into. A place that once held the possibility of something brighter, something better. But not anymore. Not for him.
The last time he had set foot in Diagon Alley, everything had been different. He had been different. And now, that world was a distant memory, one that Regulus could no longer afford to look back on.
As Voldemort moved on to other details of the attack, Regulus barely heard the words. His thoughts were consumed by the knowledge that this mission would force him back into a world he had fought so hard to leave behind. His brother. James. Two people who would never understand what he had become. And yet, the fear of facing them again, the fear of being exposed for who he truly was, seemed impossible to escape.
His brother would hate him. And James—James would never look at him the same way again.
I have no choice, Regulus thought bitterly. I have no place in their world anymore.
As the meeting continued and the details of the mission were discussed—how they would infiltrate the shops, how they would create enough chaos to bring the Ministry to its knees—Regulus’s thoughts were a blur. He could feel the Mark burning on his arm, a constant reminder of the path he had taken. The Dark Lord had made sure of that. He had given Regulus no other choice.
Once the meeting was over, the Death Eaters began to disperse. Regulus stood there for a moment, his hand gripping his wand tighter, trying to steady himself. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—think about the past now. He had already made that mistake once before. The past was nothing more than a series of shattered pieces he could never put back together.
But as he turned to leave the room, Severus’s voice stopped him.
“Regulus,” Severus called, his voice low, but with an edge that Regulus recognized. “Are you alright?”
Regulus gave a tight, empty smile, the kind that had become second nature over the years. “Of course, Severus. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Severus didn’t say anything for a long time. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, something almost like concern, but Regulus turned his gaze away before Severus could say more. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t need to hear it.
Severus knew. Of course, he knew. They had both made the same choices. But where Severus had embraced the darkness with a kind of calculated coldness, Regulus... Regulus was still trying to pretend that there was a way out.
There wasn’t.
As Regulus stepped into the cold night air, his breath visible in the frigid air, the weight of the mission settled on his shoulders. He could feel his pulse quicken. Diagon Alley.
He had no choice but to go. His brother would never understand. He had already lost Sirius, and now, he would lose the only person who had ever made him feel anything close to alive: James.
And yet, as much as the thought crushed him, Regulus knew it was true. He had no place in that world anymore.
It would be easier to destroy it all than to face the reality of his place in it.
The Leaky Cauldron was just the beginning. The chaos they would unleash there would only be the start. Regulus felt the familiar pang of guilt twist in his chest, but he silenced it.
You made your choice, Regulus. You’ve made your bed.
He looked down at his arm, the Dark Mark dark against his skin, a permanent reminder of his allegiance.
There was no turning back now.
...
The night was shattered by the sound of shouts, spells, and explosions. The air crackled with tension, the weight of the war pressing down on every breath. Regulus Black moved swiftly through the shadows, his black robes blending into the darkness, his face concealed by a mask. The streets were alive with chaos. Death Eaters clashed against the members of the Order of the Phoenix in a brutal, unforgiving battle. And Regulus was right in the middle of it, fighting against the very people he once called allies.
His heart pounded in his chest, the guilt and the anger gnawing at him. He had sworn his allegiance to the Dark Lord, and every spell he cast was a reminder of the path he had chosen. But with each explosion and each scream, a piece of him cracked. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this. But he was bound by a loyalty that had been drilled into him since birth.
A flash of light from a nearby spell lit up the night. Regulus ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding a blast that would have sent him flying. His eyes scanned the area, looking for his next target, but his heart stilled when he saw him.
James Potter.
His brothers best friend. His old lover. His… everything. Standing at the far end of the alley, his wand raised, looking every bit the fierce warrior he had always been. His fiery hair stood out in the dark, and even with his face obscured by the mask, Regulus knew James recognised him.
The way James moved, his posture, his intensity, his expression—Regulus could remember it all. It had been years since they’d truly spoken, but there was no mistaking it. James was here, fighting against him, and the weight of it nearly crushed Regulus’s chest.
He knew this was the moment he feared most.
The Order, the Death Eaters. Both fighting for something they believed in, but Regulus… He hadn’t believed in this war from the start. Not like this. Not like what it had become. But he couldn’t stop now. Not after everything.
But James…
Regulus’s breath caught in his throat. There was a part of him, deep inside, that wanted to run to him, to beg him to stop, to throw down their wands and make this whole war go away. But that was impossible. They were on opposite sides. James would never forgive him.
“Regulus!” James’s voice rang out, cutting through the noise of the battle. Regulus froze. He couldn’t bring himself to respond. His name had never sounded so foreign, so hollow, as it did coming from James’s lips now.
He didn’t want to fight him. Not like this. But the war had already taken that choice away.
James’s eyes, even hidden behind the mask, were locked on him with a piercing intensity. It was the same way he’d always looked at Regulus—like he could see right through him. James had always seen him, in ways no one else could, and now Regulus hated that connection. Because it meant that James would know.
The moment they made eye contact, Regulus saw the shift in James’s stance. His wand tightened in his grip, the determination in his eyes replaced by something darker—something broken. And then James’s voice cut through again, quieter this time, filled with disbelief.
“Reg… No.”
Regulus’s heart wrenched in his chest. He had hoped, foolishly, that he could hide himself in the mask, that the war would swallow him whole, but it hadn’t. James had always known him. He could see through the lies. And now, with the war between them, he would never be able to escape it.
“I didn’t want this,” Regulus whispered to no one but himself, his voice barely audible over the clamor of the battle. “I didn’t want any of this.”
But he couldn’t say the words aloud. Not now. He could barely look at James, because he knew what it meant.
“Why, Regulus?” James’s voice, raw with emotion, reached him through the chaos. “Why this? Why are you doing this?”
Regulus didn’t answer. He couldn’t. What was there to say? The words would only shatter them both.
James’s face twisted with frustration. His wand flicked through the air, and Regulus barely managed to deflect the spell in time, the force of it sending him stumbling backward. Regulus’s breath hitched as his heart ached, each clash of their wands sending him further into despair.
He had never wanted this—never wanted to be enemies. But now, as James’s spells flew toward him, Regulus couldn’t help but wonder if there was any way back.
Could there be?
James’s next spell hit its mark, throwing Regulus to the ground. His body slammed into the cobblestones, pain shooting through him, but the physical hurt was nothing compared to the wound in his chest. He pushed himself up, barely managing to stay on his feet.
James’s face appeared in his vision, his mask pushed slightly aside, his eyes filled with so much sorrow and anger that it made Regulus’s heart break all over again.
“Why didn’t you leave?” James demanded, stepping forward, lowering his wand just slightly, as though he were trying to hold on to some semblance of control. “You didn’t have to do this, Reg. You never did.”
Regulus’s chest constricted painfully, the words clogging in his throat. “I had no choice,” he said hoarsely, his voice trembling, raw. “I—I can’t leave, James. You don’t understand.”
“I do understand,” James snapped, his voice full of pain and disbelief. “You’re not some puppet. You could’ve said no. You could’ve walked away. But you didn’t. You chose this. You chose them over everything we had. Over me.”
Regulus’s eyes filled with frustration and grief. “I didn’t choose this,” he whispered fiercely. “I didn’t choose any of this. But I have no way out. I’m trapped, James.”
James’s gaze softened, just for a moment, as though he were trying to see the boy he once knew behind the mask. But then it hardened again, and with a sharp breath, he raised his wand, his eyes narrowing.
“I’m sorry, Reg,” James said, his voice breaking despite the anger in his stance. “I can’t forgive you for this.”
Regulus’s heart shattered, but he lifted his own wand in response, his hand trembling, fighting the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to drown him. The air crackled between them.
They were on opposite sides now.
With a final, strained glance, they raised their wands at the same time. A spell shot from James’s wand, and Regulus barely managed to deflect it before sending his own in return. It flew through the air with a screech, narrowly missing James.
Both stood there, hands trembling, breathing harshly through the anger and betrayal.
And as the battle raged around them, the world seemed to slow, the weight of what had just passed between them sinking deep into Regulus’s bones. In this moment, they were no longer the friends they once were. They were enemies.
But that didn’t make the pain any less.
Before James could send a spell his way, Regulus apparated away.
...
Regulus’s footsteps echoed in the empty halls of the Black Manor as he hurried through the dimly lit corridors. His mind was still reeling from the brutal raid on Diagon Alley—Voldemort’s orders had left destruction in their wake, and the image of the terrified, dying faces of innocent people still haunted him. But his thoughts weren’t solely occupied with the carnage. There was something else that gnawed at him.
Kreacher.
Regulus had sent the house-elf on an errand two days ago, a task Voldemort had demanded, believing it to be just another simple order. But now, with each step he took, Regulus’s gut twisted with a growing unease. He hadn’t known what the mission would truly entail. He had given Kreacher to Voldemort without fully understanding the gravity of the task ahead.
As he entered the drawing room, Regulus’s breath hitched. There, crumpled on the floor, lay Kreacher, his small form twisted and bruised, his frail body trembling with the shock of what had happened. Regulus froze, his heart hammering in his chest. He had never seen the elf in such a state.
“Kreacher?” His voice trembled with panic as he rushed to his side, kneeling on the cold stone floor. His hands shook as he gently lifted the elf’s fragile form. “What happened? What did they do to you?”
Kreacher’s eyes fluttered open, dazed and clouded with pain. His breath was shallow, the old elf clearly struggling to stay conscious. His greenish skin was cold to the touch, and his arms and legs were limp.
"Master Regulus…" Kreacher rasped, his voice faint. "Kreacher did as asked…"
Regulus’s chest tightened at the sound of his name, but his focus was entirely on Kreacher. “What happened, Kreacher? You’re hurt… badly.”
Kreacher’s feeble fingers twitched as they reached out, and Regulus’s heart ached as he placed his hand gently in the elf’s. “The Dark Lord… he… sent Kreacher to the cave…” Kreacher's breath hitched painfully, and Regulus could see the elf’s eyes dimming with exhaustion.
“The cave?” Regulus repeated, his voice strained. “What cave, Kreacher? What did the Dark Lord want?”
Kreacher’s face twisted in pain, but he pushed himself to speak. “Kreacher helped… helped the Dark Lord reach… the potion… in the cave…the locket” Kreacher gasped again, struggling for breath. “Didn’t know… didn’t know it would be like this… didn’t know…”
Regulus’s blood ran cold. His thoughts raced. Potion? What locket? He had no idea what Kreacher was talking about. He had only given Kreacher up for the task, under the assumption that it would be simple. But now, hearing about the cave and a potion, Regulus’s mind began to churn with the realization.He remembered hearing rumours about Voldemort's plan to become immortal The horcrux? Regulus did he research after hearing the word but he didn't think it would happen.
“The locket…” Regulus whispered, the horrible truth beginning to dawn on him. He had heard of Voldemort’s dark magic, of the twisted experiments that kept him alive. But Regulus had never thought it would touch Kreacher like this. “It was a part of the Dark Lord’s soul, wasn’t it? The horcrux. You were helping him… you were helping him reach it.”
Kreacher's eyes, dull with exhaustion, nodded weakly. “Yes… yes, Master Regulus… The Dark Lord’s soul, hidden in the cave… Kreacher helped him reach it… helped him hide it… Kreacher did as told…”
Regulus’s stomach turned. The horror of it was sinking in fully now. Kreacher had helped retrieve one of Voldemort’s horcruxes—a dark object tied to Voldemort’s immortality. Regulus had sent him on that task, thinking it would be no more than a simple errand, never imagining the true danger of it.
Regulus clenched his fists in frustration, his mind swirling with guilt. He had sent Kreacher to help Voldemort, and now Kreacher was nearly broken because of it. It was his fault. All of it.
“I didn’t know…” Regulus murmured, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t know what you were really doing… I never should’ve—”
Kreacher, despite his exhaustion, managed a weak smile, though it barely touched his face. “Kreacher obeyed… Master Regulus… Did not fail…”
Regulus bit down hard on his lip, holding back the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. “You didn’t fail. You never failed anyone. It was me… I failed you. I failed you by sending you on that mission without understanding what it truly meant.”
Kreacher’s frail body trembled as he coughed violently, and Regulus held him tightly, refusing to let him slip further away. “The Dark Lord… is cruel,” Kreacher said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Kreacher did not want to do it… but Kreacher had no choice… No choice, Master…”
Regulus’s heart squeezed in his chest. The house-elf had always been loyal, but now, in the aftermath of everything, Kreacher was broken—physically and emotionally—because of the promises Regulus had made to the Dark Lord. And that realization hit Regulus like a ton of bricks.
He had thought he was protecting Kreacher by offering him to Voldemort for a simple task. But the task had been far more dangerous, far darker than he had ever imagined. Regulus closed his eyes, the crushing guilt smothering him.
He hadn’t even known about the potion, the horcrux. He hadn’t known it would be this dangerous, this… soul-sucking. Regulus had thought he was still in control, still walking in the shadows of Voldemort’s plans, but this was something entirely different. This wasn’t just some errand. This was a deepening of his own darkness, a path that he had led Kreacher down.
Regulus was no better than the people he had once thought he was fighting against.
Kreacher’s labored breath continued, each one seeming weaker than the last. The elf’s fragile fingers tightened around Regulus’s hand, holding on just enough to speak one last time.
“Master… Regulus… Kreacher failed… but Kreacher tried… to help…” The elf’s voice faded as his hand went limp in Regulus’s grip.
“No, Kreacher… no, you didn’t fail,” Regulus whispered fiercely, his voice breaking as he stroked the elf’s furrowed brow. He had failed Kreacher, failed him with his blind loyalty. But now, there was no turning back. Regulus had already crossed too many lines.
As Kreacher lay unconscious in his arms, Regulus’s mind raced with the weight of everything that had happened. He had pledged his soul to Voldemort, and now there were consequences. Kreacher had paid the price for his loyalty. And Regulus, too, would have to pay.
The Black Manor felt colder than ever. Regulus sat there, holding Kreacher’s broken form, his thoughts haunted by the choices he had made. There was no redemption. No going back.
And, somewhere deep inside, Regulus knew it wasn’t just Kreacher who had been broken.
...
Kreacher’s labored breathing had softened over the past few days, and his wounds had healed, but his once-bright eyes still appeared dim, haunted by the memories of his ordeal. Regulus had been by his side for every painful moment, nursing him back to health, though the guilt that consumed him would not allow him any peace.
He sat in the drawing room of the Black Manor, his eyes locked onto the fire in the hearth. The flames danced and flickered, casting shadows across his face as his thoughts churned. What had he done? What was he continuing to do?
He had given Kreacher to Voldemort, unknowingly setting him on a path that would break the elf. And Regulus—Regulus had allowed it.
But I can’t just let it go, he thought to himself, feeling a fire stir within him. He needed answers. He needed to know what had truly transpired at that cave, what the Dark Lord had done to Kreacher and what Kreacher had seen. Regulus could not, would not, leave it unanswered.
Kreacher, still weak, entered the room with slow, unsteady steps. He had been moving around more recently, though he never ventured far from Regulus’s side. He had come to trust Regulus again, or at least, he no longer recoiled when his master touched him.
Regulus’s voice broke through the silence, quiet but firm. “Kreacher,” he said, his throat tight, “we’re going to the cave.”
Kreacher froze at the sound of his name, his head jerking up to meet Regulus’s eyes. “Master Regulus…” The elf’s voice was soft, laden with reluctance, but there was an undeniable fear in his gaze. “Kreacher does not wish to return to that place. The cave… it is dark. It is where the Dark Lord… did terrible things.”
Regulus stood up from the armchair, his features set in determination. “I know,” he replied, his tone unyielding. “But I need to see it. I need to understand.”
Kreacher’s shoulders slumped, his eyes dimming with pain. “Master…” he began, his voice trembling, “it is not a place for the living. It is a place of secrets… of death.”
“I know,” Regulus repeated, but there was a hardness in his voice now. “You didn’t fail, Kreacher. I failed you. I failed us both. I have to see it for myself.”
The elf’s frail body shook with an emotion Regulus couldn’t name. Regulus could tell that the elf didn’t want to take him there—not because of fear for himself, but because of fear for Regulus. But Regulus would not back down. He had to do this. It was the only way to understand the true consequences of the choices he had made.
“I must know what I’ve become,” Regulus said softly, as though speaking more to himself than to Kreacher. His words hung in the air, thick with the weight of regret.
Kreacher hesitated, his eyes flicking to the door as though trying to find an escape. But there was no escaping the truth, not now. Regulus had already made up his mind. With a soft sigh, Kreacher nodded, his voice small but resolute. “Kreacher will show you, Master Regulus. But know this… Once you enter that cave, there is no coming back”
Regulus didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The truth was already clear to him.
Without another word, Regulus stepped toward Kreacher, who flinched slightly but obeyed. Regulus stood tall, his heart pounding in his chest, as Kreacher led the way.
Regulus didn’t care that the cave was miles away. He didn’t care that it would be dangerous, that it would be dark and terrible. His guilt was too deep, and his need for answers was too great.
They moved swiftly through the manor, out into the garden, and to the edge of the estate. Regulus paused for a moment, glancing back at the manor that had once been his home, but now felt like a distant memory. It was the house that had raised him, the house that had molded him. But that life was gone. The reality of what he had become—what he had allowed himself to become—settled over him like a heavy cloak.
“Are you ready, Master?” Kreacher asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Regulus nodded. “Take me there.”
With a soft pop of air, Kreacher took Regulus's hand, and they were gone in an instant, disappearing from the manor grounds as they traveled through the dizzying sensation of apparition.
The world spun around him, darkness swirling as Regulus’s stomach twisted in discomfort. The usual disorientation of apparition felt amplified in this moment, his mind still trying to grasp the weight of what he was about to do.
When the spinning ceased, Regulus opened his eyes, and a cold gust of air slapped him in the face. He stood in front of a large door,the vast and forbidding expanse of the cave surronding them. The air smelled of salt and decay, and the cave loomed around them, as dark and oppressive as Regulus thought.
Kreacher stood beside him, breathing heavily as he too adjusted to the shift. The elf’s eyes were downcast, but Regulus could feel his discomfort. He knew how much Kreacher feared this place. And yet, despite everything, Regulus had forced him to bring him here.
The truth was, he wasn’t sure if it was for himself or for Kreacher. Either way, he needed to face it.
“I know this place, Master,” Kreacher murmured, his voice trembling. “It is where it all happened. The Dark Lord’s secrets… and Kreacher’s failure.”
Regulus swallowed hard. He could feel the darkness of the cave creeping up behind him. It wasn’t just the physical cave he feared—it was what it represented. It was a reminder of what he had chosen, and of everything he had allowed to happen, without truly understanding the cost.
“Lead me inside,” Regulus said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Kreacher nodded, and led the way.
The oppressive darkness of the cave surrounded Regulus as he followed Kreacher deeper into the heart of the treacherous underground cavern. The air was thick and damp, with a scent of mildew and ancient earth. The stone walls of the cave were jagged and uneven, coated with a slimy layer of moss and lichen that clung stubbornly to every crevice. Low-hanging stalactites dripped water, their slow, constant drop echoing like the heartbeat of the cave itself. The cavern seemed to pulse with life, though the only life present was the dark magic that had pervaded the place.
Regulus could feel it in the air, heavy and oppressive, like a constant weight pressing against his chest. The darkness seemed alive here, as if it had been waiting for them. His heart thudded in his chest, echoing his unease, and Kreacher’s anxious breath only heightened the tension.
As they made their way deeper, the cave narrowed slightly, the shadows growing more intense with every step they took. The walls here were jagged, sharp, and uneven, creating a kind of maze that they had to navigate carefully. The very ground beneath their feet was uneven and slick with moisture, making every step a cautious one.
Ahead of them, the passageway opened up into a large, cavernous space. Regulus stopped in his tracks as he took in the sight. The cavern before them stretched out vast and wide, the ceiling hanging high above, lost in the pitch-black void. Faint light filtered in from unseen cracks in the rock, casting an eerie glow on the damp stone and the pool of water below.
The water was dark—murky and still, reflecting nothing but the faintest glint of the light overhead. But it wasn’t the water that caught Regulus’s attention. It was the stone pedestal standing in the middle of the cavern, rising just above the surface of the water. Upon it, gleaming in the half-light, sat a tarnished silver locket—dark and menacing. Regulus’s breath caught in his throat. This was it. The Dark Lord’s horcrux, the thing he had been sent to retrieve.
The sight of the bowl holding the locket and the potion, untouched by time, sent a shiver down Regulus’s spine. A strange sense of dread gripped him, and for a moment, he could almost feel the weight of the Dark Lord’s presence here, looming over them even in his absence.
Kreacher’s voice broke the silence, soft and fearful. “Yes, Master… This is the Dark Lord’s locket. It has been here for so long…”
Regulus’s gaze never left the locket as he nodded. “We need to get across. How do we do it?”
Kreacher hesitated, his eyes flicking nervously toward the water. “The water is cursed, Master. Inferi dwell beneath the surface. The way to reach the locket is treacherous. We must take the boat…”
Regulus glanced around, scanning the edges of the cavern. There, just by the water’s edge, a small, rickety boat was moored. Its wooden frame was weathered and aged, worn down by time, but it seemed sturdy enough. Regulus felt his stomach tighten. This was it—the point of no return. They had no choice but to press forward.
They moved cautiously toward the boat, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls of the cavern like a warning. Regulus climbed into the boat first, with Kreacher following close behind. The air grew colder as they settled into the boat, and Regulus cast a sharp glance at the water. It seemed so still, so deceptive. The water’s surface was broken only by the occasional ripple caused by their movement, but Regulus could feel the sinister presence below, lurking just beneath the surface.
Kreacher’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Master, the Inferi are watching. They won’t attack unless we leave the boat, but they are always there. Always waiting.”
Regulus nodded, his grip tightening on the boat’s edge as he used his wand to push them into the dark water. The boat moved slowly, drifting across the surface, but the stillness of the water made Regulus uneasy. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, watching the pedestal with the locket drawing closer, but he could sense the dark figures in the water. He could feel the Inferi watching them.
The boat creaked under their weight as they moved deeper into the cavern. The only sounds now were the soft splashing of the water and the occasional drip of water from the stalactites overhead. The air was damp and cold, thick with the smell of decay.
Kreacher’s voice broke the silence again. “Master, we must be careful. The Inferi… we must move swiftly.”
Regulus didn’t respond. He just kept his eyes on the pedestal ahead, forcing himself not to think about the creatures that waited just below the surface. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to abandon this cursed mission, but he knew he couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything.
As they reached the middle of the lake, the pedestal rose up in front of them, gleaming in the dim light. The locket rested there, waiting for them to take it. But Regulus’s eyes weren’t on the locket anymore. They were on the water. The surface had become more turbulent, rippling and swirling with movement.
The Inferi were rising.
Regulus could see the pale, skeletal hands reaching toward them from the depths of the water, their eyes empty, but filled with hunger. Hundreds of them. They were rising slowly, but with terrifying precision, their hands stretching toward the boat. Their eyes were vacant, but Regulus could feel the malevolent force behind them, the magic that bound them to this cursed lake.
Kreacher’s voice trembled. “Master, they are here…”
Regulus’s eyes narrowed as he raised his wand, ready to defend them. But Kreacher was right. The Inferi wouldn’t attack unless they left the boat, but they were closing in, watching them with an eerie stillness that sent chills up Regulus’s spine. He knew that whatever happened next, they had to act fast.
He turned to Kreacher. “We reach the locket. We’ll take it, and we leave. Stay close.”
Kreacher nodded, his face pale with fear as he followed Regulus out of the boat. The water was icy against their skin as they waded toward the pedestal. Regulus’s pulse raced, and his eyes darted around, watching the Inferi, feeling their presence grow stronger with each step.
When they reached the pedestal, the Inferi had stopped their advance. They lingered at the edge of the water, their hollow eyes never leaving them. Regulus stared at the locket, knowing that to retrieve it, they would have to drink the potion that lay beside it. The potion that would allow them to access the locket’s power, and perhaps save them from the Inferi.
Regulus turned to Kreacher. “We have to drink the potion. It’s the only way.”
Kreacher’s eyes were wide with fear. “But, Master… it’s dangerous. It will…”
Regulus cut him off. “We don’t have a choice.”
The cold, eerie silence of the cave seemed to close in on Regulus as he crouched down to face Kreacher. The pale light from the pedestal reflected off the water, casting long, warped shadows on the walls of the cavern. The Inferi were still watching from the water’s edge, their skeletal figures unmoving, but Regulus knew he had to act fast.
He pulled a small object from his robe pocket and held it out in front of Kreacher. The glint of silver caught in the dim light, but it wasn’t the cursed locket that sat on the pedestal. This one was identical in appearance—tarnished, old, and worn. A faint smile touched Regulus’s lips as he held it out. It was the fake locket he had prepared before coming to the cave. He had done his research, studied everything he could, knowing that this moment would come.
Kreacher’s eyes widened when he saw the locket. “Master... what is this?” he whispered, his voice trembling.
Regulus met the elf’s gaze with a cold, determined stare. “It’s a decoy. I’ve spent the past few days preparing for this, Kreacher. I knew it wouldn’t be as simple as just taking the locket. The potion, the Inferi... this is all part of the Dark Lord’s plan, but it’s not mine.” He paused, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “I know what the potion is. It’s poison. It will make me weak, make me vulnerable, but if I drink it... I will retrieve the locket.”
Kreacher flinched at the words, his eyes filled with confusion and fear. “Master, no... you cannot. It is dangerous—if you drink that potion, you may not survive!”
Regulus straightened, his jaw clenched. “I know the risks. But it’s the only way. I won’t leave here empty-handed. If I do, Voldemort will have no reason to trust me again. The only way to protect myself is to take what he wants and fool him.”
He shifted on his knees, eyes narrowing as he focused on the fake locket. “You, Kreacher, will take the real one. You’ll switch them. When I drink the potion, you’ll put the real one in your possession, and you’ll hide it. Keep it safe. Do not let anyone find it.” His voice was firm, and he leaned closer to Kreacher, lowering his tone to a command. “Understand?”
Kreacher shook his head, his wrinkled face creased with worry. “Master, I cannot—this is not right. It is too dangerous for you... for both of us. What if the Dark Lord learns the truth? What if—”
Regulus cut him off sharply, his eyes hardening. “If the Dark Lord learns the truth, then we both die. Do you think I’m foolish enough to allow that? The potion will not kill me, but it will incapacitate me. I will need you, Kreacher. You are the only one who can keep the locket safe.”
Kreacher hesitated, his large, expressive eyes full of pain and conflict. “But I... I cannot do this, Master. I have served the family for so long—my loyalty is to you, you will die Master Regulus.”
Regulus’s voice grew colder, more insistent. “I am ordering you, Kreacher. You have no choice. I am your master, and I command you to obey.”
There was silence for a moment, the air thick with tension. Regulus’s words hung in the space between them, his authority unyielding. Kreacher’s gaze dropped to the ground, his hands wringing in worry. But Regulus’s eyes bore into him with the weight of finality.
The elf sighed deeply, the sound of resignation echoing through the cavern. “You are my master,” Kreacher muttered, his voice heavy with reluctance. “I will do as you command, Master Regulus. But I fear what will come of it.”
Regulus didn’t flinch. His eyes softened for a brief moment, but the resolve in his voice remained. “We have no other choice, Kreacher. I cannot undo what I’ve done. This is the only way forward.”
Kreacher hesitated for another heartbeat before his shoulders sagged, and he reluctantly nodded.
Regulus's lips pressed into a thin line as he placed the fake locket into the elf’s trembling hands. “When I drink the potion, you make the switch. Keep the real one hidden. Do not let anyone see it.”
Kreacher’s hands closed around the locket, his fingers trembling, but he nodded in silent agreement. There was nothing else he could do but obey.
Regulus stood slowly, glancing one last time at the pedestal where the real locket sat. The Inferi were still waiting, motionless but ever-present, their hollow eyes gleaming in the dim light.
He turned back to Kreacher. “You know what you have to do,” he said quietly, his voice hardened with determination.
Kreacher bowed his head in submission, the weight of Regulus’s command pressing down on him. “Yes, Master. I will do it. But I still fear what will come of this. The Dark Lord will not be pleased.”
Regulus’s expression hardened. “I know. But that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
He turned away from Kreacher and moved toward the pedestal, his heart thundering in his chest as he prepared to face what came next. The Inferi, still waiting, made no move to stop them.
Regulus’s body trembled as he stood over the pedestal, his eyes locked on the liquid in front of him. The bitter liquid inside seemed to glow in the dim light, and his heart raced with dread and resolve. The Inferi, still and lifeless in the water, waited. It was a nightmare, but there was no turning back now. He had made his choices.
Slowly, he turned his back to Kreacher, facing the vast, black emptiness of the cave. He didn’t want to see the fear in the elf’s eyes—didn’t want to see the silent judgment of the creature who had served his family, and him, for so long. The weight of the decision settled over him like a thousand-ton stone, pressing against his chest.
The potion wouldn't him, he knew that. But that wasn’t the point. The inferi around him will. The real choice was the one he’d already made—the choice to take the horcrux, to fool Voldemort, to leave his past behind.
Regulus closed his eyes, his hand shaking as it held the vial of poison to his lips. Before he drank, before his world slipped into oblivion, there was one thing left he had to do. He needed to say it. To someone. To anyone. Even if it never reached the ears it was meant for.
“Kreacher,” Regulus spoke quietly, his voice thick with emotion but unwavering in its command. “I need you to deliver one last message for me.”
The elf stood behind him, quiet and still, waiting. His breath was shallow, and Regulus could feel the weight of the elf’s uncertainty.
“I need you to find James Potter,” Regulus continued, his throat tightening, the words feeling like they would choke him before he could even finish them. “Tell him... tell him that I loved him. I’ve always loved him. And that I’m sorry for everything... for not saying it when I had the chance.”
His chest ached, his heart pounding as though it would burst. "Tell him I’ve always been thankful that he came into my life. That... even when I was lost, he made me feel like maybe I could find my way."
The words seemed to hang in the air between them, and Regulus’s fingers trembled as they gripped the bowl. Kreacher was silent, but Regulus could feel the heavy weight of his gaze. He didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. It wasn’t for Kreacher. It wasn’t for anyone. The only person who could have understood the weight of those words was James.
“I know I’m asking too much,” Regulus murmured, his voice barely audible now. “But I need him to know. Please, Kreacher.”
Kreacher said nothing for a long moment. His silence stretched out, heavy and oppressive. Regulus knew the elf was torn—torn between his loyalty to Regulus, his master, and his ingrained service to the Dark Lord. But Regulus couldn’t wait for him to make a decision, couldn’t let him hesitate any longer.
Without another word, he brought the liquid to his lips and drank the potion.
It burned.
The liquid seared through his mouth and down his throat, hot and thick, like fire consuming him from the inside out. His body tensed as he collapsed to the ground, his chest tight, his lungs screaming for air. His vision blurred, darkness edging into his sight as the poison worked its way through his veins.
Regulus fell to the ground with a hard thud, the taste of the potion still sharp on his tongue. He gasped, choking, his throat constricting painfully. The world spun around him, and the cold stone of the cave seemed to draw closer, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t escape.
His hands clutched at his throat, trying to hold himself together, to breathe. He coughed violently, his chest heaving with each ragged breath he tried to take. But it was useless. The potion was doing its work. His limbs felt heavy, his body weak, and his thoughts scattered.
“Kreacher...” he managed to rasp out, his voice barely a whisper. “The locket... take it... switch them... now...”
Kreacher moved toward him as Regulus pointed weakly to the pedestal. The elf’s movements were frantic, eyes wide with fear and hesitation, but Regulus’s hand was steady as he pointed at the real locket.
Kreacher, trembling, grabbed the real locket and swapped it with the fake one. His hands shook as he made the switch, but Regulus could see, through the haze of pain clouding his vision, that the task had been done.
But Regulus knew his time was running out. His body felt like it was shutting down, the darkness closing in faster than he could comprehend. The Inferi were still watching, their hollow eyes unblinking, but they made no move to attack. Not yet.
“Go... hide it...” Regulus coughed, his body trembling violently now. “Do it now, Kreacher... before it’s too late...”
Kreacher, once again, hesitated. He looked at Regulus, his face drawn with anguish and confusion, but Regulus shook his head weakly, his hand lifting just enough to push Kreacher away.
“No... leave... me... go...” Regulus gasped, the words barely escaping his lips as he pushed at Kreacher’s hand, his strength fading quickly. “You have to... hide it... don’t let him... find it.”
The elf’s hands hovered over him, but there was nothing more to be done. The Inferi were moving closer now, slow, methodical, their dead eyes glinting with hunger. Regulus’s body was too weak to fight back, his lungs barely able to draw in a breath.
With one final, regretful look, Kreacher turned and fled, leaving Regulus behind.
Regulus lay there on the cold stone, gasping, his body too weak to move, his vision spinning as the Inferi continued to approach. His breath came in shallow bursts, and in that moment, the world seemed so small. So final.
In his last moments, Regulus’s thoughts drifted—fuzzy, half-formed—toward James.
The warmth of his smile. The soft laugh that could brighten the darkest of days. The way James always made Regulus feel like maybe, just maybe, there could have been a future for them.
A future he would never get to see.
“I love you... James,” Regulus whispered to the empty cave, his voice fading as the darkness took him.
And then, there was nothing but silence.
...
It had been weeks since James Potter had felt a strange heaviness settle over him. A sense of something lost, something missing—something he couldn't quite grasp. At first, he’d written it off as stress from the war or maybe the weight of everything happening around him. But lately, it had been a gnawing feeling, one that kept him up at night and clouded his thoughts during the day. It was as though a part of him had been cut away, and he had no idea what it was.
As he walked down Diagon Alley on a quiet afternoon, James glanced at the busy street, his mind wandering. The shops were open, bustling with customers, and the atmosphere was still alive with its usual energy. He was on a short break—just some time to walk off the weight of the work at the Order headquarters.
His footsteps echoed lightly, the rhythmic tap of his boots blending with the sounds of the busy crowd. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be out in public, to just... exist without the constant fear of danger lurking around every corner. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to relax.
But the feeling of something missing was there again. It gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
James adjusted his grip on his wand and pushed through a group of witches who were chatting in the middle of the street. He rounded the corner toward an alley to take a shortcut when, suddenly, a cold hand grabbed his arm.
Before he could react, James was yanked into the alley, stumbling slightly as the world around him spun.
“Oi, what the—?”James began, but his words caught in his throat when he saw who had grabbed him.
Kreacher.
The house-elf stood in front of him, trembling slightly, his eyes wide with something James had never seen in the elf before—desperation, grief. It was as though Kreacher was on the verge of falling apart, and for a moment, James felt a flicker of concern. He had seen the elf around Hogwarts in the past, but never like this. There was no usual disdain in Kreacher’s eyes, no hint of contempt.
“Kreacher?” James asked, lowering his wand slightly but still on edge. “What is it? What do you want?”
Kreacher hesitated, his small frame shaking as though he was about to speak but didn’t know where to begin. For a long, painful moment, he just stood there, his eyes flickering between the ground and James, his mouth slightly open but silent.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kreacher’s voice broke through the quiet.
“Master Regulus... he said...” Kreacher swallowed hard, and for the first time, James saw the elf as something more than just a servant—something fragile, something that had been deeply wounded. “He said... he loved you. Master Regulus said... he always loved you.”
James’s heart stopped. The words hit him like a physical blow. His breath caught, and for a moment, he couldn’t think.
Regulus? Regulus had loved him?
James had known. He had always known, but hearing it out loud, hearing it from Kreacher—it felt like a wound was opening up that he hadn’t realized was there. His chest tightened, a knot of emotion pulling at his throat.
"Regulus..." James murmured, his mind spinning. "He... he said that?" He had always felt it, but hearing it now, so blunt, so final—it was too much to take in all at once.
Kreacher’s eyes darted to the side, and the elf gave a small nod, but his expression didn’t change.
“He said... he was grateful. For you. For what you did. He... regretted so much.” Kreacher’s voice cracked slightly, and his gaze turned toward the alleyway as if the words had exhausted him. “He didn’t get a chance to say it. Not before...”
James felt the world spinning around him. He had known, yes, but hearing it like this—he wasn’t prepared for it. It was like hearing someone speak the truth about a dream he had always pushed away. Regulus’s love had been something too complicated to admit, something too messy to allow, and yet... it was real. It was real, and it had been real for years. He hadn’t imagined it.
James’s voice was a hoarse whisper when he spoke again. “What happened to him, Kreacher? What did you mean, ‘before...’?”
But the elf didn’t respond, not right away. Kreacher looked down, his face clouded with some deep, sorrowful knowledge that he wasn’t willing to share. His fingers twitched nervously, and for a second, James thought Kreacher might just disappear without answering.
And then, with a final, almost imperceptible sigh, Kreacher’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
“I... I cannot say. Not now. Not yet.”
James stepped forward, frustration building in his chest. “Kreacher, please! What happened to Regulus?”
But before Kreacher could say anything else, the elf’s hands moved in a swift motion, and with a sharp crack, he Disapparated away.
James was left standing in the alley, alone, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind raced, but it felt like his thoughts couldn’t keep up with the flood of emotions surging through him. Regulus had loved him. Had always loved him. And yet, it was too late to do anything about it.
A heavy silence enveloped him as the wind whipped down the narrow street. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the sting of tears he refused to shed, not here, not now. He had questions—so many questions—but they wouldn’t be answered. Not by Kreacher, and not by Regulus, who was gone.
James stood there for a long while, staring at the spot where the elf had vanished. His chest felt tight, as though the weight of what he had just heard was too much for him to carry.
It wasn’t just Regulus’s love that he was grieving.
It was the fact that James would never get to tell him how he felt in return.
...
James barely registered the cold air as he walked back to his flat. His thoughts were still reeling from his encounter with Kreacher. Regulus’s words echoed in his mind like a constant, unrelenting hum. He loved you. The words felt like they had been branded onto his brain, and the more he thought about them, the heavier they grew.
He didn’t know how long he’d been walking or how long it had taken him to reach the flat he shared with Sirius. But when he pushed open the door, the familiar hum of his life resumed, and yet, everything felt... wrong. Out of place.
The silence in the flat was odd, too quiet. Sirius was usually loud, humming tunes to himself, making remarks about everything, never one to be still for long. But today, it was as if the place had been abandoned.
James shook off the weight of the thoughts clouding his mind, his fingers gripping the doorframe. He kicked his shoes off absently and wandered into the small kitchen. He was half in a daze, still reeling from Kreacher’s words, from everything he hadn’t been able to say to Regulus. He wasn’t sure if it was the war or the emotional turmoil, but he felt... hollow.
His eyes drifted to the small table by the window, where a newspaper lay discarded. Its crumpled state caught his attention. Normally, he’d just toss it aside, but something made him pause. Something nagged at him, like an instinct telling him that it wasn’t just any old newsprint.
He walked over and picked it up, his eyes scanning the bold headline:
"Youngest Black Vanishes, Rumoured to Have Been Killed in Dark Lord's Service"
James froze, his blood running cold. His heart skipped a beat. Regulus. His stomach twisted painfully as he stared at the words, his fingers trembling slightly as he held the paper up to the light.
The photo beneath the headline was a blurry shot of Regulus from his younger days, looking distant, almost like a ghost. His dark eyes stared out from the photo, and it sent a chill down James’s spine.
Vanished.
The word hit him like a punch to the gut, and James’s mind raced. How had this happened? Had Regulus... had he truly fallen so far, been consumed so completely by Voldemort’s grip? And what had happened to him? The rumour was... that he had been killed. James had to force himself to look back at the article.
It was brief—just a few lines mentioning Regulus’s disappearance in connection with a task for Voldemort. The report mentioned how no one had seen him in weeks, and whispers had started to spread. It was said that the Dark Lord had “taken care of his own,” but no one could confirm how or why. No one knew if he had defected or if he had met some darker end.
But it didn’t matter. What mattered now was the feeling that lodged itself deep in James’s chest. Regulus was gone.
He wanted to shout, to scream at the unfairness of it all. He wanted to deny it, to believe there had been some mistake. But the pain in his chest—this sense of loss that had crept up on him over the last few hours—felt too real.
Was he too late?
James sank down into one of the chairs, still holding the newspaper in his shaking hands. The weight of it all was too much. He didn’t know how to process it. He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t said the words to Regulus that needed to be said. He hadn’t been able to tell him that he cared. And now, it was too late.
He should have done something sooner.
He could have done something sooner.
The guilt gnawed at him, deeper than he could have imagined. It twisted in his gut, making him feel as though he were suffocating.
James closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair, and for the first time since Kreacher’s visit, the tears he’d been holding back came flooding forward. He had always known, in some small way, that Regulus had cared for him, that there had been something between them. But when Regulus had shown him the Dark Mark... when he had stood there, vulnerable and scared, asking for James’s understanding—James had turned him away.
He had pushed Regulus aside, too afraid, too unsure of what it would mean for him, for his future. He had rejected him out of fear of what loving someone like Regulus might cost him, out of fear of what Regulus might do.
And now, he would never get the chance to apologize.
Regulus had loved him.
James had seen it in his eyes, the way Regulus had watched him so carefully, as if trying to convey everything without saying a word. Regulus had trusted him, had offered him everything, even though he was tied to Voldemort, even though he had his mark, his fate sealed by a power James could never understand.
And yet, James had turned him away. Because of the war. Because of the pressure. Because of what it would mean to love someone who was on the wrong side.
His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes tight, wishing he could take it back. Wishing that when Regulus had opened up to him—when he had shown him the Dark Mark and looked at him with such vulnerability—James had had the strength to say the words he’d never said: I love you too, Regulus. I always have.
But he hadn’t. And now, it was too late.
The newspaper crumpled in his hand as his guilt pressed down on him, suffocating him with the weight of missed chances, broken words, and things that would never be.
...
Weeks had passed since the news about Regulus had shattered his world, but the emptiness never quite left. James tried to push it down, to shove it away like so many things he had buried over the years. He had told himself he had to move on, had to keep fighting, had to focus on the war. But it was hard. It was impossible.
Everywhere he went, he saw traces of Regulus. In the quiet spaces between missions, when he would allow his mind to wander for a moment, he would think of those last moments. The look in Regulus's eyes when he showed him the Dark Mark—the vulnerability, the fear, and the trust that James had rejected. The pain that had lingered in Regulus's expression, the way he had so desperately tried to reach him, and the way James had turned away, choosing fear over love.
Now, in the silence of the night, when James lay awake in his bed at Grimmauld Place, he felt Regulus’s presence around him, even though he was gone. It was like a shadow that clung to his thoughts, haunting his every movement.
James tried to find solace in his work with the Order, in the people around him, in the fight against Voldemort. But every small moment of peace was inevitably tainted by thoughts of Regulus. When he was training in the backyard, he'd see Regulus's dark eyes in his peripheral vision, like a lingering ghost. When he looked at the stars, he could almost feel Regulus’s presence beside him, a reminder of the nights they’d spent together before everything had fallen apart. Even when he laughed with Sirius or joked with Remus, there was always an emptiness. A feeling of one less person, a person he hadn’t fully understood until it was too late.
James couldn't stop seeing Regulus in everything he did, as if the world had somehow become tainted by his absence. Every turn felt like a painful reminder of what could have been—what should have been. The small, mundane things he used to do, like running his fingers through his hair or making tea for himself, reminded him of moments he shared with Regulus: the way Regulus would lean against the counter in the dark, sipping a drink with that distant, unreadable look in his eyes.
Every time he closed his eyes, James would see Regulus's face, and the words that had never been said hung in the air, suffocating him.
I loved you.
James had known, in the quietest corners of his heart, that Regulus had loved him. But now, with him gone, those words seemed like a broken promise—a promise he had never allowed himself to speak. And now, he never would.
He tried to immerse himself in his work, to keep moving forward for the sake of his friends, for the sake of the Order. But it was like trying to outrun the tide. Every moment of quiet, every space where his thoughts were allowed to roam, brought him back to Regulus.
Sirius noticed it, too. There were no more jokes between them. No more playful banter. Sirius tried, of course, trying to get James to crack a smile or lighten the mood, but James wasn’t the same. The jokes fell flat. Sirius would shoot him an occasional worried glance, but James would brush it off, just like he had with everyone else.
One evening, James found himself standing at the edge of the Black family’s property, staring into the night. The air was cold, and the sky was littered with stars, just like it had been on the nights when he and Regulus had shared quiet conversations. When he could have told Regulus everything, when he could have just been honest with him about what was happening between them.
But he hadn’t.
Now, the regret felt like a weight on his chest, heavy and suffocating.
He closed his eyes, leaning against the cold stone of the building, breathing in the crisp air. He thought about Regulus, about the way he had looked when they’d first met—so full of disdain and pride. It was hard to reconcile the boy he had known with the person he had become, and it was even harder to accept that James had pushed him away when he needed him most.
I could have said something.
His heart twisted painfully. He could have said something—anything—to make Regulus believe that he was worthy of trust. That he was worthy of love. But he hadn’t, and now, there was no way to undo the damage.
His hand tightened into a fist at his side. The world felt so full of things that were unsaid. Things that would never be said. His thoughts would always be tangled in what-ifs and missed opportunities.
With a heavy sigh, he dropped his hand to his side, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.
But even as he stood there, fighting the guilt in his chest, he knew one thing for sure. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many nights he tried to forget—he would never truly be able to move on from Regulus.
Because in everything James did, in every fight he faced, in every moment he spent with his friends—Regulus was there, lingering in the background. The boy who had loved him, even when James hadn’t been able to see it. The boy who had given everything for a cause, even though he had never wanted to. Regulus, who had been so much more than just the brother of Sirius Black.
And now, he was a memory James would carry with him for the rest of his life—unspoken, untold, and forever imprinted on his heart.