Echoes of the Dead
Sirius and Barty sat in the hollowed remains of a seaside shack, the wind howling through the cracks in the walls. The fire sputtered between them, its flickering light illuminating the sharp lines of their faces. Sirius stared into the flames, his thoughts a torrent of memories: Regulus at twelve, trying to follow Sirius into the forest behind Grimmauld Place; Regulus at fifteen, his jaw tight as he refused to meet Sirius’s eyes at the train station.
“He didn’t just die for nothing,” Barty said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Sirius’s eyes snapped up, his jaw tightening. “You keep saying that, but you’ve yet to prove it.”
Barty smirked faintly, though there was little humor in it. “He figured out Voldemort’s secret—Horcruxes. Objects containing pieces of his soul. Regulus found one, stole it, and tried to destroy it.”
The words hung in the air, their weight pressing down on Sirius like a physical blow. He felt the fire’s heat against his face but shivered anyway.
“And you just let him?” Sirius’s voice was sharp, cracking under the strain of anger and something worse—regret.
Barty leaned back, resting against the broken wall of the shack. “I wasn’t there when he went to the cave. He didn’t tell anyone but Kreacher.”
Sirius flinched at the name. He had always hated that damned house-elf, always loathed the way Regulus had treated Kreacher like an extension of himself. But now, hearing that Kreacher had been the only one Regulus trusted, the bitterness twisted into something darker.
“He was a fool,” Sirius muttered, though the words felt hollow.
Barty tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Maybe. But at least he did something. More than most can say.”
The accusation hung between them, unspoken but felt. Sirius turned away, his throat tight. He had spent years convincing himself that leaving Grimmauld Place had been his only choice, that Regulus had been a lost cause. Now, that certainty was crumbling, leaving behind only guilt.
“Why tell me this now?” Sirius asked, his voice low.
Barty shrugged. “Because I need your help. And because you’re the only one who might actually care.”
Sirius’s laugh was bitter, harsh. “Care? You think I care about the brother who stood by while our parents tortured me? Who joined the Death Eaters without a second thought?”
“He wasn’t like you,” Barty said quietly. “He couldn’t run. But he fought back in the only way he could.”
The words struck Sirius like a physical blow. He stared into the flames, his mind replaying the countless moments he had ignored Regulus’s small, desperate attempts to reach him. The birthday presents left on his bed, the hesitant questions about life in Gryffindor. All of it had seemed insignificant then. Now, it felt monumental.
The Time-Turner spun in their hands, its golden light illuminating the cramped space. Sirius felt the air shift, the weight of the years pressing against his chest as the world blurred and reformed around them.
When the dizziness subsided, they were standing in the cave. The air was damp and cold, the smell of salt and decay clinging to the stone walls. Sirius’s breath caught as he saw them: Regulus and Kreacher, standing by the dark water.
Regulus looked so young—his face pale but determined, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. Sirius’s chest tightened painfully. He wanted to call out, to run to him, but Barty grabbed his arm.
“You can’t,” Barty hissed. “If he sees us, we risk changing everything.”
Sirius didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on his brother, on the way Regulus’s hands trembled as he reached for the goblet filled with the potion guarding the Horcrux.
“It’s the only way,” Regulus whispered, his voice shaking. “I have to do this, Kreacher.”
The house-elf whimpered, clutching at Regulus’s robes, but didn’t protest.
Sirius’s nails bit into his palms as he watched his brother drink the potion. Regulus’s body convulsed, his face twisting in agony, but he kept drinking, his determination unyielding.
When the goblet was empty, Regulus collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Kreacher knelt beside him, sobbing.
Then the water began to stir.
The Inferi rose slowly, their skeletal hands reaching for Regulus. Kreacher screamed, but Regulus pushed him toward the edge of the water.
“Take it,” Regulus gasped, pressing the locket into Kreacher’s hands. “Destroy it. And don’t come back for me.”
Sirius couldn’t take it anymore. He surged forward, ignoring Barty’s protests, his voice breaking as he called out.
“Reg!”
Regulus turned, his eyes wide with shock and pain. For a moment, Sirius thought he saw relief there—hope.
But the Inferi were faster. They dragged Regulus into the water, his scream echoing through the cavern. Sirius reached the edge just as his brother disappeared beneath the surface.
“No!” Sirius fell to his knees, his hands clawing at the water. “Regulus!”
Barty grabbed him, pulling him back. “He’s gone, Black! There’s nothing you can do!”
Sirius fought against him, but his strength was gone. He collapsed against the stone, his body trembling with sobs.
They returned to the present with the Horcrux, but Sirius felt no triumph—only an unbearable emptiness.
He sat by the fire that night, staring at the locket in his hands. The metal was cold, its weight far heavier than it should have been.
Barty watched him from across the room, his expression unreadable. “You wanted to know the truth. Now you do.”
Sirius didn’t answer. His thoughts were consumed by Regulus—by the brother he had abandoned, the boy who had died alone in the dark.
“I should have been there,” Sirius whispered finally, his voice raw. “I should have stopped him.”
“Maybe,” Barty said. “But you didn’t. And now it’s up to us to finish what he started.”
Sirius looked up, his eyes burning with grief and determination. For the first time in years, he felt a spark of purpose. He couldn’t save Regulus, but he could honor him.
Even if it destroyed him.