Regulus could feel the water infiltrating his lungs. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut, it was like his body wanted him to die. Wanted him to be drowned. The slimy, skinny and wretched creatures scratched his legs, pulling him down further into the water. His last thoughts should have been of his failed mission. Of his failed devotion to his Lord. Of his failure to be a good heir to his mother and his family. None of that crossed his mind. He had never believed the myth that your life flashes before your eyes as you die, he still didn’t. All he could see was the long, curly, black hair, the pale skin, the silver eyes, the long eyelashes fluttering, the scars on the backs of legs, the slender and gentle fingers, the sound of a soft piano.
He saw his brother.
Crying, sobbing, screaming, reaching his arms up as high as he could; it was all futile. He wanted to be good. He wanted the chance to be good. That had to mean something. But death didn’t care about wanting to be good. Death didn’t care if you were good or bad. It took and took and took. Never satisfied.
As he drowned, as the water became more and more unbearable, he wanted everything. He had never allowed himself to want. But now, he was dead. Now, he wanted his brother. He wanted to have ran away with him. He wanted to have been given a chance. He wanted friends. He wanted a family. He wanted his brother. He wanted his brother more than he wanted to live. Sirius. Sirius and Regulus. Together even through death. Regulus hoped that was true. He hoped that one day, he would be able to see his life once more. His brother, his light, his everything.
The light left his eyes.
The water filled his lungs, leaving no room for air.
His eyes closed.
His limbs went limp.
He allowed the monsters to drag him down.
Nine days later, his death was printed in the newspapers. Nine days later, his brother saw his face on the front page, Black heir DECEASED for reasons unknown. Nine days later, both of the Black brothers were dead, but only one had stopped breathing. Nine days later, Sirius Black lost his idiot brother. Nine days later, he remembered every moment he had spent with him and wished that he had done something differently to give them more moments. Maybe if he had tried harder, his baby brother would be sat opposite him, eating eggs and bacon and they would be laughing at some stupid joke. But things weren’t different. He was just dead.