MOANING MYRTLE
Regulus had decided to sleep in the common room that night, knowing that if he went to his old dormitory, it would be filled with other students. He wouldn’t have any privacy to think or plan, so the couch in the Slytherin common room became his makeshift bed. He lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, his mind filled with thoughts of Tom Riddle and how he could destroy him. The task ahead of him seemed impossible, but Regulus couldn’t afford to give up. He had come back to fix everything, to stop the darkness before it could even begin.
Eventually, exhaustion overcame him, and he managed to drift into a fitful sleep. His dreams were full of shadows and voices, all leading back to Riddle. By morning, he had barely slept, but there was no time to waste.
Regulus woke up early, before anyone else, in the quiet stillness of the common room. His body ached from sleeping on the couch, but the urgency of the situation pushed the discomfort aside. He quickly gathered his things and left the room, heading straight for the library to search for any information he could find on Horcruxes.
The halls of Hogwarts were eerily quiet as Regulus made his way to the library. The faint sound of his footsteps echoed through the empty corridors. Once inside, he headed straight for the dark magic section, scanning the shelves for anything that might help him in his search. But most of the books were far too vague, focusing on curses and other dangerous spells rather than specifics about Horcruxes.
Frustration began to creep in as he leafed through a sixth-year Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. There was a section on dark magic, but it barely touched on anything related to Horcruxes. Regulus was beginning to feel a sense of helplessness settle in, the urgency of the situation weighing heavily on him.
He knew he needed access to the restricted section if he was going to find any answers, but that required permission from a professor. And he had no way of getting that authorization. The slip of parchment granting him access was locked in the closet of his future self with the clothing he had left behind when he had traveled to the future.
Regulus sighed and leaned back in his chair, his fingers absently flipping through the book in front of him. He needed to make do with whatever knowledge he could find here—he couldn’t afford to waste time.
Regulus spent hours combing through the library, searching for anything that could help him understand how to destroy Tom Riddle. But no matter how hard he tried, the information he found was scarce and mostly irrelevant. His mind was foggy with fatigue, and eventually, he couldn’t focus any longer. He decided to leave the library, his exhaustion starting to weigh on him.
He wandered through the corridors, his thoughts still swirling with the mystery of Horcruxes and Riddle’s connection to them. He was heading back to the Slytherin common room, where he could try to catch a nap on the couch.
As he walked, a third-year girl suddenly dashed past him, tears streaming down her face. She was running toward the bathroom with such urgency that she didn’t even notice Regulus standing in her way. She bumped into him lightly but didn’t apologize—just kept running toward the bathroom door, her sobs growing louder as she disappeared inside.
Regulus stood there for a moment, caught off guard by the sight. He heard a couple of girls behind him laughing. One of them called after the crying girl, “Four eyes Myrtle!”
The name rang in his ears as he watched the girls continue down the hall, still snickering. Regulus turned his attention to the bathroom door on the second floor, the one the girl had entered. “Myrtle,” he muttered under his breath. The name stuck with him, and a strange realization hit him.
Moaning Myrtle, the ghost who haunted the girls' bathroom. He had heard rumors of her, but it had never quite clicked before. Now, as the memory settled, he couldn’t help but wonder if this girl—the crying one—was more than just an ordinary student. Something about her was intriguing, and the fact that she had gone into the bathroom where Myrtle supposedly haunted gave him a strange feeling.
With one last glance at the bathroom door, Regulus pushed the thought aside. He had more important matters to attend to.
Regulus stood there, watching as the girls who had mocked Myrtle disappeared down the corridor. He was about to leave, lost in his own thoughts, when he heard footsteps. Instinctively, Regulus pressed himself into the shadows, not wanting to be seen.
He held his breath as Tom Riddle walked past, unaware of Regulus’s presence. The chill that ran down his spine wasn’t from the cold, but from the realization that this was the moment he had been waiting for. Tom entered the girls’ bathroom without a second glance, and Regulus’s heart raced. He knew that the time to act had come.
Once the door closed behind Tom, Regulus stepped out of his hiding place, moving quickly but silently. He made his way down the corridor, just behind Tom, slipping inside the bathroom with barely a sound. The room was dim, and the only sound was the soft sobs echoing from Myrtle, who was still in her stall crying near the sink.
Tom was standing near the middle of the bathroom, his wand already drawn. He muttered something under his breath, words that Regulus immediately recognized as Parseltongue—the language of snakes. Tom’s voice slithered through the air, an unsettling hiss that made Regulus’s skin crawl.
Before Tom could go any further, Regulus’s voice rang out, loud and clear. “Tom.”
Tom’s head snapped around, and for a moment, his cold eyes narrowed as they fixed on Regulus. He didn’t seem surprised, but there was a flash of irritation. “You! What are you doing here?”
Regulus held his ground, though his pulse quickened. It wasn’t just the question—it was Tom’s tone, a voice laced with authority, as if he was already used to commanding respect. Regulus fought to keep his composure.
Regulus drew his wand, his hand steady but his heart pounding. He pointed it directly at Tom, his voice firm but betraying none of the fear twisting in his chest. "I'm here to fight you."
Tom’s laugh was cold, cruel—just the way Regulus had heard it in his nightmares. “Then you’ve come to die.”
Regulus’s mind flashed with images of everything Voldemort had taken from him: the love of his life, his family, his brother, and his own sense of self. He’d been nothing but a puppet, pulled along by strings, controlled by someone who had never seen him as more than a tool. A tool to be used, to be cast aside when no longer needed. But now, standing in front of Tom Riddle—standing in front of the monster who had destroyed everything Regulus held dear—he realized one thing.
He had nothing left to lose.
His life was already shattered. His family, once everything to him, had twisted into something unrecognizable, led by a mother who could barely stand to look at him and a father who cared only for bloodlines. Sirius had turned his back on him, but maybe that was for the best. James—he couldn’t even think about that. Not now.
But what he could do, what he could still fight for, was something far more important. Justice. For all the people Voldemort had destroyed. For all the lives the Dark Lord had stolen.
And Regulus wasn’t going to let that bastard get away with it.
A smirk tugged at his lips, the first real smile he’d worn in ages, and the words left his mouth, biting and defiant. “You’re right about one thing, Riddle. I’m here to die. But I’m going to take you with me.”
Before Tom could react, Myrtle’s sobs, muffled by the walls of the bathroom, echoed through the space. She was about to shout at them to stop, but when she saw what was about to happen, the sight of the two boys facing off in the bathroom made her scramble out of sight.
Tom, however, didn’t waste a second. With a flick of his wand, he hissed out the words, “Expelliarmus!” The spell shot toward Regulus, fast and furious, but Regulus was faster.
Instinctively, he raised his own wand. “Protego!”
The force of the counter-curse collided with Tom’s disarming spell, pushing it away harmlessly into the air. The bathroom was filled with the crackle of magic as both boys stood their ground, tension crackling in the air between them.
Regulus didn’t flinch. The fight had only just begun.
The bathroom felt suffocatingly still, the air thick with the crackling tension between Regulus and Tom. Myrtle’s soft sobs echoed from the stall, a haunting reminder of the chaos that was unfolding. The fear in her heart grew as she pressed herself further into the stall, trying to make herself as small as possible. She had no idea what kind of fight was about to take place, but she could sense the danger in the air.
Regulus stood in the dim light of the bathroom, his heart pounding against his ribcage like a war drum. His body was taut with the anticipation of the duel. Every instinct in him screamed to run, to flee from Tom Riddle, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not anymore. He had nothing left to lose.
Tom Riddle, the prefect he had met the day before, was no longer just a boy. He was the embodiment of power, of control, and the knowledge that he was about to reshape the world according to his will. Regulus could see it in the cold, calculating gleam of Tom’s eyes. The same eyes that would one day become the most feared in all of wizarding history.
"You," Tom sneered, his lip curling with disdain as he slowly turned to face Regulus. His wand was still raised, ready to strike. "You think you can defeat me? You’re nothing. Weak. Pathetic."
Regulus’s jaw clenched, his gaze hardening.
It wasn’t just Tom’s words that made his blood boil. It was everything Tom represented. Regulus thought of everything Voldemort had taken from him—his family, his brother, his future. His life had been stolen from him, shaped by forces beyond his control. He was a puppet on a string, a boy torn between family loyalty and his own moral compass. But here, now, in this moment, it didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t just fighting for his own life—he was fighting for all the lives Tom had destroyed.
The room seemed to narrow, the walls closing in as Regulus stepped closer, his wand outstretched. "I'm stronger than you think, Tom," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but heavy with conviction. "And that means you have everything to fear."
Tom’s eyes flashed with surprise, but only for a moment. His lips curled into a wicked smile, the kind that sent chills down Regulus’s spine. "You think I’m afraid of you?" he sneered. "You’re nothing but a weakling. I will kill you. And it will be quick. So enjoy what little time you have left."
The words were like a blade, sharp and cutting, but Regulus didn’t flinch. He felt his body tense with the rising heat of rage. Tom Riddle was a monster, a creature that needed to be destroyed. And Regulus was ready to do whatever it took to end this.
The air in the bathroom crackled with the ferocity of their duel. Spells ricocheted off walls, shattering tiles and sending sparks flying. Tom's wand moved with precision and speed, his attacks relentless.
“Expulso!” he shouted, sending a blast toward Regulus.
Regulus dodged, countering immediately with a spell of his own. "Confringo!" The fiery explosion illuminated the room, forcing Tom to conjure a shimmering shield that absorbed the impact.
“You’re skilled,” Tom admitted, his voice calm but calculating. He circled Regulus like a predator. “But I don’t know you. Who are you?” His wand slashed the air. “Stupefy!”
Regulus deflected the Stunning Spell with a flick of his wand, gritting his teeth. He knew Tom was trying to unnerve him, to dig into his mind, but he wouldn’t let him. Not now.
Tom’s gaze narrowed as he pressed the attack. “You shouldn’t be here. Tell me who you are!” He punctuated his demand with another spell. "Incarcerous!"
The ropes sprang toward Regulus, but he severed them mid-air with a sharp "Diffindo!" He didn’t hesitate, using the opening to step forward. His heart was pounding, but he masked his fear with a cold glare.
"You want to know who I am?" Regulus said, his voice steady and cold. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark etched into his forearm. The sight of it gleamed menacingly in the dim bathroom light.
Tom’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the only crack in his otherwise impenetrable facade. He stared at the mark, then at Regulus, his expression twisting into one of suspicion and curiosity.
“I’m your nightmare,” Regulus said, his voice low and laced with venom.
Tom’s surprise turned into laughter, a cruel and mocking sound that echoed off the bathroom walls. “My nightmare?” he repeated, smirking. “In this case, you’ll have to do better than that.”
Without warning, Tom flicked his wrist. "Crucio!" he shouted, the curse crackling through the air like thunder.
Regulus’s body was immediately seized by the force of the Cruciatus curse. His muscles tensed, every nerve ending ablaze with excruciating pain. His legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed to the cold floor, the world spinning around him. He gasped for breath, but every inhale felt like fire, every exhale a struggle. His back arched involuntarily, the agony pulling him in every direction. His body felt as though it was being ripped apart from the inside out, his bones twisting, his skin burning, his very soul shredded with every second that passed. Every nerve screamed, but Regulus clung to a single thought: This is not the end.
He could hear Tom’s voice, cold and mocking, as the curse continued to ravage him. "You’ll never be anything boy. You’ll die here, weak and broken. No one will remember you."
The words were like daggers, each one more painful than the last. Regulus wanted to scream, to beg for it to stop, but the pain wouldn’t let him. It was like being submerged in a sea of fire, every inch of him consumed by the torment.
Regulus’s vision blurred, but he forced himself to focus. The Dark Mark on his arm throbbed, burning hotter with every step Tom took toward him.
Tom stepped closer, his expression cold and impassive as he watched Regulus' mark. “You’re not from here,” he said, his voice low and full of menace. “But it doesn’t matter. You’ll die here, just the same.”
But somewhere, deep inside him, a flicker of defiance remained. A spark that refused to die. The pain was unbearable, but it didn’t break him. He had been through it before. The Cruciatus Curse wasn't new to him. He had endured worse. He clenched his fists around his wand, his mind screaming at him to focus, to fight back.
"I won’t... I won’t let you... win," he gasped, each word a struggle. His voice was hoarse, his throat raw, but there was determination in it. His heart raced, but there was something else now—something stronger than the pain. The love he felt for his brother Sirius, the pain of losing James, the anguish of everything that had been stolen from him—all of it surged within him. He wasn’t just fighting for himself anymore. He was fighting for them. For the love he had lost. For the future he wanted to shape. For everything that mattered.
With a sudden, desperate surge of strength, Regulus whispered the words he knew would either kill him—or kill Tom. "Avada Kedavra."
Tom’s face twisted with disbelief as the green light shot from Regulus’s wand, its brilliance blinding in the dim light of the bathroom. The curse met Tom’s gaze head-on, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze in time.
And then, with a sickening thud, Tom Riddle crumpled to the floor, his body hitting the stone with a heavy, final thump. His wand fell from his hand, his eyes wide and lifeless, his face frozen in shock.
Regulus didn’t move at first. He simply stared at Tom’s body, his heart still racing, the adrenaline of the duel fading into an eerie silence. The weight of the moment settled over him, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. Tom Riddle—the boy who would one day become Voldemort—was dead. And it was his curse that had ended him.
Regulus rose, exhausted, every part of him aching with the aftermath of the fight. The Cruciatus curse had taken its toll, leaving him bruised, battered, and worn. But there was a sense of finality now. He had done it. He had destroyed the monster before he could ever become the legend.
For a long moment, Regulus sat in the silence of the bathroom, the green light of the killing curse still lingering in his mind. He had won. But at what cost? He had destroyed Tom, but what had that truly changed?
Myrtle’s voice broke the silence, soft and tentative, as she peeked out from the stall, her eyes wide with fear. "Did... did you really...?" She trailed off, her words uncertain.
Regulus didn’t answer her. He couldn’t. He was too lost in the weight of everything that had just happened. All he could do was sit there, staring at Tom’s lifeless form, and wonder what came next.
Regulus stared at the lifeless body of Tom Riddle sprawled on the cold bathroom floor. His breathing was ragged, his hands trembling around his wand. The weight of what he had done settled heavily on his chest, threatening to crush him. He had killed a man—a boy, really—and the realization made him feel monstrous. His mind swirled with guilt and disbelief.
But then, a creak broke through the haze in his thoughts. Regulus turned sharply to see Myrtle opening the door of the bathroom stall, her face pale, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.
She was alive.
Regulus’s breath caught as he looked at her. This wasn’t Moaning Myrtle. This was a living, breathing girl—no ghostly pallor, no mournful wails, just a terrified third-year with tear-streaked cheeks. He glanced down at his forearm, where the Dark Mark had begun to fade, dissolving like smoke in the wind. A jolt of realization coursed through him: it was over.
Voldemort was dead.
The weight of his dark destiny, the lives lost, the destruction wrought—all of it unraveled. Everyone who would have suffered under Voldemort’s reign, everyone he had killed, everyone Regulus himself had lost—James, Sirius, even his own life—they were safe.
Myrtle’s small, trembling voice interrupted his thoughts. “He’s dead,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her uneven breaths. “The prefect… he’s dead.”
Regulus nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yes,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the storm within him. “And now you need to go. Go find Professor Dumbledore. He’ll know what to do.”
Myrtle shrank back against the stall door, her face contorted with fear. She stared at Regulus as though he were a monster, her hands clutching the fabric of her robes tightly.
“Myrtle,” Regulus said, more gently this time, though his urgency was unmistakable. “Listen to me. You need to get Dumbledore. Tell him it was Riddle. Tell him Riddle opened the Chamber of Secrets. He speaks Parseltongue he's...”
Myrtle’s lips quivered as she looked from Regulus to the lifeless body on the floor. “W-who are you?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Regulus hesitated for a moment, then straightened up. “My name is Regulus Black,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. “And I need you to go fetch Dumbledore. Tell him I’ll explain it all to him on April 13th, 1978. Can you remember that, Myrtle?”
Myrtle blinked at him, her confusion and fear evident. She shook her head slowly, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“Myrtle,” Regulus said again, his tone sharper this time. “Can you remember the date? April 13th, 1978.”
The girl nodded quickly, more out of fear than understanding.
“Good,” Regulus said. His voice softened just slightly, though the urgency in it remained. “Then go. Now.”
Myrtle froze, her feet seemingly rooted to the ground.
“Go!” Regulus snapped, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. The girl startled, her fear propelling her into motion.
She bolted from the bathroom, her sobs fading as she disappeared down the corridor.
Regulus exhaled shakily, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His pulse was pounding in his ears, his thoughts racing. He didn’t have much time.
With one last glance at the body on the floor, Regulus stepped out of the bathroom and into the corridor. He pulled out the time-turner, gripping it tightly. The world around him began to blur and dissolve as he turned it, counting the years back to his time.
When the motion stopped, the familiar surroundings of 1978 Hogwarts reappeared before him. Regulus stood still for a moment, steadying his breath, knowing that the next step in his journey was about to begin.