The mission was going well. They’d arrived without any runners; no new recruits backing out at the last minute, sick to their stomach and in over their heads. The wind was howling, drowning out the shouts and screams and crumbling of infrastructure. No help would be coming for the victims, not in time at least.
Despite this being labelled as a political mission to send the message of their devotion, Regulus could only view it as a massacre. Around him were the bodies of muggles; children, families, elderly. They were defenceless; hit in the back by spells they couldn’t even fathom the existence of.
Still, he held his wand and wore the mask and fired the spells, feeling separate from his body. When the uniform went on and the walls in his mind came up, he found the death not so bothersome. It was only when he’d return home that he would collapse on the floor, heaving and shivering and wishing he were somewhere else, someone else.
Spell after spell, he fired, sickening screams following each. When he could, he’d move his aim slightly wrong and watch as a muggle ran into an alleyway unscathed. He would look away and not look back for fear they were found and his hope of their safety crushed.
If he could, he would miss every shot, but the Dark Lord knew people’s minds better than they knew their own. Even though Regulus had learned occlumency, it could never stand up to the force of a natural legilimens. The Dark Lord had had decades to perfect the art, Regulus had had a mere two years. Each time the Dark Lord entered his mind, it took all his focus and energy to hide his most valued secret, leaving everything else undefended. So, he fired the spells with as much passion as he could muster, hoping it would be enough to bleed through into the memories.
Another down, never to get back up. Each time his wand found a new target automatically, and another was down. He only faltered when his next target was a child. There, at the outskirts of the battle, she stood with a teddy bear hugged to her chest and eyes glistening as she watched the coloured streaks of light pass by.
No matter how cold he became, how emotionless he forced himself to be, he could never directly harm a child. Perhaps it was because he knew what it was like to be a child in pain, not understanding what was going on, just enduring and praying for an end. Or, perhaps it was the thought of his cousins’ children, the ones he hadn’t met yet.
Andromeda’s child was probably near the girl’s age. Narcissa’s child hadn't even been conceived yet, but her first miscarried baby would have been just a couple years younger than this girl. No matter how steady he pointed his wand at her, no spell would come.
It was unfortunate, then, that Bellatrix noticed her standing in her bright blue pyjamas. Bellatrix skipped over, a frighteningly joyous look on her face. A wand was raised, a spell spoken from her mouth. Just before it hit the girl, she met Regulus’ eyes.
They were wide and scared. She clutched the teddy bear tighter. Then the spell hit and she began to scream. Regulus froze as he watched, then turned away to face the battlefield, the graveyard, once again.
He turned just in time to deflect a curse sent his way. Before him, apparating in as he watched, was the resistance. The Order of the Phoenix, they called themselves. It was almost as pretentious as the Death Eaters.
More curses were sent his way to deflect. Behind him, he heard Bellatrix shriek in frustration. He looked back briefly to see the girl collapsed on the floor, Bellatrix moving away to focus on more pressing matters. From that distance, he couldn’t tell if she lived or not.
Something inside of him needed him to check. Being able to save her would be a start to repenting for his sins and washing the blood from his hands. Never would it be gone, he knew, but the scales could be balanced. He could never be a good person, but he could not end up a monster.
A break in duelling allowed him to slip away from the main battle. He ran over then crouched down at her side and put a hand to her shoulder. At his touch, she shifted and squinted her eyes up at him. When her vision focused, her eyes widened and she shuffled away from him using her hands and feet, head shaking frantically.
Regulus shushed her, reached up to his mask and removed it. If anyone asked why he had taken it off, he’d lie and say it was lost during the fight. Reaching out a hand to her, he tried his best to look friendly, a hard feat when his occlumency walls were still up and blocking out the cries of anguish around him, stopping them from affecting him.
“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered, “I can get you away.”
Still, she didn’t move closer and her eyes didn’t look any less frightened. Looking back at the battlefield, he could see the resistance was struggling. Soon, Bellatrix would be back and even angrier than before at being interrupted.
Then, he saw it. Lying on the floor a few feet away was a cuddly, little teddy bear. Reaching over, he snatched it up and held it out to her. She stared at it, then at him. When he nodded to it, inviting her to take it, she took it from him and held it tight to her chest.
Once she took it, he kept his hand outstretched, an offering. “Come with me, I’ll take you somewhere to hide,” he said in what he considered a soothing voice.
After a few seconds, just when he thought he might have to give up, she nodded and grabbed his hand. Relief washed over him and he made sure to hold her hand tight lest it slip from his grasp. With the other arm she held the teddy close to her side.
Regulus took her away from the battle, down an alleyway that was slightly obscured by fallen bricks. Here, the noise was quieter and he could hear he sniffs and his own ragged breathing. About halfway down the alleyway he stopped and turned to her, crouching down.
“Now, you stay here. Don’t leave until you hear nothing. Keep your teddy close,” Regulus said to her urgently. He needed her safe, he needed her to live.
The girl nodded and clutched the bear tighter. “His name is Rufus,” she told him. Her voice sounded so small with too much fear to be felt by someone so young.
“Well, Rufus will keep you safe.”
She shook her head, “No, I will keep Rufus safe.”
Regulus couldn’t help but smile at that before he stood again and mentally prepared himself to rejoin the fight. Each mission, he was scared he would run into his brother, scared the next and last time they saw each other would be at the end of the other’s wand.
Regulus was certain the next time really would be the last, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep living this life. There was a plan he had, at least, where his death would mean something. It wasn’t going to be nice, but he didn’t deserve nice. He deserved to feel the pain and despair that he inflicted on others.
“What have you found, cousin?” came the chilling voice of Bellatrix Lestrange.
Fate was cruel and life was unfair and Regulus hated Bellatrix with all his being in that moment. All hope was lost for the little girl, he knew. The gaps he’d made in his walls for her and her teddy bear Rufus were quickly filled in and he found he didn’t care anymore.
“So this is where you ran off to, good find Reggie,” Bellatrix praised him.
Not for the first time, Regulus wished he had a spine. He wished he had the courage to step in front of Bellatrix’s wand, to disarm her or die trying. That’s what Sirius would have done. But as Regulus was reminded day after day, year after year, he was not his brother.
So, he stepped back and closed his eyes and tried to block out the screams. Somehow, it was even worse when he heard them stop. Once they had, he opened his eyes, knowing Bellatrix would soon turn on him with questions.
Before she could however, a pain erupted in Regulus’ side and his hands clutched at it, coming away bloodied. At the entrance to the alleyway were three resistance members, wands up and shooting spells at Bellatrix, presumably already considering him incapacitated.
The first few, she deflected, but then she shrieked, turned on the spot, and aparated away. Regulus watched the place she had been and slumped against the wall behind him. Briefly, his eyes drifted to the girl lying lifeless on the ground. Rufus the teddy bear was just out of her reach.
The resistance members were talking around him. All he knew was they weren’t attacking, but they should have been. He wanted them to. All he could do was stare at the little girl and wonder if maybe she’d have lived if he hadn’t intervened.
“...take him for questioning,” said one of the resistance. Regulus only caught the end of a conversation they’d been having, presumably the rest was them deciding what to do with him. There seemed to be murmurs of agreement around him before a wand was shoved into his face, a spell muttered, and the world went dark.
* * *
Sirius hadn’t got the call. There had been a raid and no one had called him to come and help. No one had even told him it had happened until it was all over and won. Even then, they had sent a letter by owl rather than the faster method of patronus.
Instead, they had let him stay home. When he marched into the headquarters and demanded a reason, they had simply said he needed rest. Apparently, his wellbeing and recovery from previous missions was more important than the lives of innocents.
But, he knew the real reason. It was obvious to him; Once a Black, always a Black. They had never trusted him, no matter how many Death Eaters he felled or imprisoned. He carried his last name around with him like a boulder attached by a heavy chain at his ankle. Unmissable and irremovable.
He sat now at the headquarters still. Its exact location was unknown to him, as it was to all, but he knew to aparate to the woodland and which path to walk to the premises. They were due a change of location soon; each month it changed, chosen by Dumbledore.
“You got ditched too, huh?” Dorcas Meadowes commented as she sidled up to him and sat in the adjacent seat.
“Yup. Why’d you not get invited?” Sirius asked, curious. It was true, Dorcas had, in the past, been closed with those who became Death Eaters, his stupid brother included. But Dorcas was one of the most loyal members of The Order. She was viscous and seemed wholly unbothered by the thought the Death Eaters she was killing may once have been her friends hiding behind the masks. It was unusual for her not to have been chosen to step in.
“They think I’m unstable,” Dorcas said with a sardonic smile.
Truthfully, Sirius would agree. Marlene had only died two weeks ago and none of them had recovered, but least of all Dorcas. The night she’d heard, she had gone on a rampage finding any Death Eater she could, in Knockturn Alley, in their homes, at work, and killed all she could find. Sirius didn’t know whether to believe it, but many said she’d tortured them too. Sirius didn’t really care, the Death Eaters would have deserved it anyway.
“Well, they think I’m a traitor,” Sirius huffed.
“They’re stupid,” she muttered. They were quiet, each thinking and each silently seething. “I just can’t sit here and do nothing,” she continued, her voice unsteady, “Doing nothing is what got Mar-” she stopped, choking on the name she still couldn’t speak, “She’s dead because we sat around and did nothing.”
“I know,” Sirius whispered. He had never been a good comforter. Only with Regulus, when he was young and innocent, did he know how to use words to sooth and touch to calm. But, look where Regulus was now; he had obviously done something wrong.
“Where’s Remus?” Dorcas asked, changing to subject to one Sirius deemed just as bad.
“Don’t know,” he answered, voice cracking slightly.
Dorcas didn’t reply but she sat with him for a moment longer before she stood and bid her farewell. Briefly, he wondered where she would go. She had moved out, he had heard, and bought a flat. She was going to ask Marlene to live with her on her birthday, but Marlene and her family had been murdered five days too early for the question to ever be received.
If it were him and Remus had died, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to revisit the flat they’d bought together, decorated together, lived in together. The memories would be too painful. They already were; sometimes Sirius felt like he had already lost him.
The next person he saw was a battered Fabian Prewett. He sported a split lip and a cut just below his left eye. Both eyes widened when he saw Sirius, seemingly startled to see him.
“Sirius, you’re here,” he observed. He seemed anxious; looking around as though for an escape, or somebody to help. Fabian stared at Sirius for a moment, seemingly thinking through his next words. “I lost my brother, Gid, last month. If I had one last moment to talk with him, I’d want somebody to tell me. I don’t know if it’s the same for you, considering your family, but I suspect we share mutual feelings.”
“What are you on about?” Sirius asked, dread pooling in his stomach just hearing the words, not knowing what they meant but knowing what they implied.
“Interrogation Room 5, don’t tell anyone I told you,” was all Fabian said after a pause before he turned and left Sirius alone again.
Sirius walked with heavy footsteps, head a daze and not quite focusing on where he was going. He passed Interrogation Room 1 and started picking at the skin around his nails, at Interrogation Room 2 he was grinding his teeth, at 3 he was breathing quickly, heart thumping in his chest. At Interrogation Room 4 he picked up the pace until he stood, frozen, at the door of Interrogation Room 5.
He hesitated. He inhaled. He exhaled. He opened the door.
Inside is a small container room. Four bare grey walls, one small window, a table and chair facing the door. Opposite the first is another chair, the one which Sirius now walks silently over, having shut the door, to sit in.
The boy, for he was a boy, just eighteen, was slumped and only held up by thick rope around his body. His arms were pinned to his side, his back held in place against the chair. His head and face are concealed, but Sirius would recognise those dark curls anywhere.
“Regulus?” Sirius asked.
The boy moved slightly, and then his head was being raised and he was squinting at Sirius with such familiar grey eyes. Sirius hadn’t seen Regulus since school last year, and even then they weren’t talking. In fact, they hadn’t spoken outside of arguments since Sirius left back when he was sixteen.
No words came from Regulus. All Sirius received was a blank stare. Sirius used his silence as time to study his brother. Regulus looked older but not in a good way; he looked haunted, like he’d already lived a life much too long and arduous to care any longer. In terms of his physical appearance, his hair was longer, his face slimmer, his cheekbones more pronounced. He looked more like Walburga than ever.
“What happened?” Sirius asked quietly. He hadn’t expected to be so calm. Everytime he had seen Regulus before he had been seething with anger, betrayal or guilt. But now, all he felt was an odd sense of composure. Maybe it was the fact he was seeing his brother again after thinking he never would. It didn’t quite feel real.
The question he offered could have been asking anything and everything all at once. It was the only question he ever wanted answered because he truly could not put his finger on what happened to them. When did everything go so wrong?
“I need to do something,” Regulus croaked out, his voice rough from disuse. He cleared his throat then spoke again, clearer, “I need to do something and I need your help doing it.”
Sirius stared at him without a word to say. It was mad that after everything Regulus wanted a favour. It was so like him to ignore their history and still expect Sirius to help him at every turn. It was so like Sirius to feel the urge to comply. Only ever for his little kid brother.
“No,” he said instead, hating the taste of the word in his mouth.
He was unsure how long he had left undisturbed. At some point, the rest of the Order would come, following their debrief, to question their newly captured Death Eater. There was knowledge Regulus could give them that would bring them great leverage in the war.
“Sirius, you have to,” Regulus said, his voice sounding strained with a faint desperation as he leaned forwards as much as he could in his chair, pulling at the bonds keeping him back.
“I don’t have to do anything you say,” Sirius disagreed. “I just had to see you, and if you won’t tell me what happened, I’ll say goodbye,” Sirius said, his voice getting unsteadier by the second because he knew this goodbye would be the last. The Order wouldn’t kill Regulus, but he would rot in Azkaban for the remainder of his life. Looking at him now, Sirius wasn’t sure Regulus could endure it.
A few times, Sirius had been the Azkaban when tasked with finding out specific bits of detail from the already imprisoned Death Eaters. He could imagine Regulus slumped in a corner, rocking with his hands to his ears like he had when he was a child and the world became too much to handle. Regulus wouldn’t scream and shout like the others, not externally anyway. Sirius suspected that Regulus would probably never speak again.
In that moment, he hated himself. Hated that he’d be standing by and doing nothing,watching Regulus be taken in chains to never see the light of day again. But, there was nothing he could do; Regulus was irredeemable.
“Please, Sirius, just this one thing and I’ll never ask anything more of you,” Regulus pleaded. As he battled the ropes around him, fidgeting to get free, his wild, glistening eyes were glued to Sirius’. One, Sirius noticed, had a burst blood vessel and his eye had a pool of blood in it. It was clear he was losing his cool, that the calm, indifferent persona he had adopted back when he was ten was cracking. “Consider it a dying man’s wish,” he said quieter but no less firm, “the only thing I will ever ask you of.”
Sirius had always been weak when it came to his brother. It was because his expressions, his mannerisms, hadn’t changed from when he was just a young boy. Regulus was still that boy, digging his palms into his hands and biting the inside of his cheek to try to remain composed and not cry when their parents demanded who had knocked over the great grandfather clock. Sirius would always jump in and take the blame just to try to remove the look from his brother’s face.
Now, he felt the urge again to take all Regulus’ struggles away again, to grant his one wish. Regulus was speaking some more, begging, but Sirius could only watch and feel himself slipping, caving in to the request.
“It’s important, Sirius, more important than you or me or us. It’s something I need to do, it’s the last thing I have left. I will go to Azkaban of my own volition after, I swear to you, but I need to do it or everything I have done would have been for nothing,” Regulus explained further though little of it made sense to Sirius. All he knew was that Regulus’ state was worsening and that there was hopelessness creeping into his words.
Sirius was so close; so close to taking out his wand and vanishing the rope, of retrieving Regulus’ wand and asking where they would go next. Throughout the war, he had lost so many people, he didn’t think he could lose his brother too.
“Is it for Voldemort?” Sirius asked. It was the only question he needed to ask before he caved in completely. He could live with himself if the answer was no. Days would pass, the Order would be angry, but Regulus would have done something good. If the answer was yes, Sirius was prepared to leave that room and never return for fear that aiding his brother would aid Voldemort subsequently.
Regulus shook his head. One shake. There was distrust in his movements and fear in his eyes that gave Sirius confirmation there was no lie. Sirius knew he should have been overjoyed with the news. After years of fights and begging and longing, Regulus had finally come to his senses. But, he just felt hollow because he knew it was two late. There was nothing in the world that could save Regulus from Azkaban except death.
“Okay,” Sirius said slowly, “what is it you have to do?”
Regulus didn’t seem pleased at his agreement. Instead, he seemed to tense up more, if possible, and his breathing picked up and his expression crumbled further. Sirius wished he could take his words back; he had wanted to make things better, not worse.
“I need to get something, I can’t tell you what, but it belongs to the Dark Lord and it’s important, more than you can imagine, Sirius. I need my wand and I need Kreacher,” Regulus said. Though he looked more frayed, his voice was steady and certain.
“I can get your wand,” Sirius nodded, “I’ll untie you and you can call Kreacher and then we can go get it.” He wanted to demand Regulus tell him what it was, felt the frustration rising in him, but they had no time and their arguments never got them anywhere in the past; they were both too stubborn and Sirius knew he would never get a real answer out of his brother.
“There’s no we, Sirius. You’re not coming,” Regulus corrected, watching Sirius as he went over to the corner of the room where Regulus’ wand lay next to a bloodied teddy bear.
“I’ve got your wand, Reg,” he said, the nickname slipping out as he held the familiar wand, “Where I go, this wand goes or else it’s going nowhere. I’m not arguing about this with you,” he added, hoping that Regulus wouldn’t put up any unnecessary fuss.
There was silence behind him, then, “fine. But you’re staying outside.”
The brothers had never done compromise before. Each of them always wanted all or nothing. Sirius contemplated his response. He wanted so badly to argue, to tell Regulus he was coming all the way, but he was trying to do better. So, reluctantly, he agreed.
They left quickly after that. Sirius vanished the ropes and Regulus stood, stumbling unsteadily and blinking fast. There was blood that could be seen on the side of his shirt. Sirius wasn’t sure whether he hoped it was his brother’s blood or not.
Regulus caught Sirius looking and huffed. “Just a cut, the resistance who took me healed it, I’ve lost a little blood, it’ll pass,” he explained though Sirius hadn’t asked. Nevertheless, the words soothed Sirius’ concern.
“I can get you some potions before we go,” Sirius offered. He found that he still didn’t like the look of his brother in pain.
Regulus waved a hand in the air, “No, no. No point.”
Sirius chose not to dwell on the finality of the words and instead opened the door of the interrogation room and led Regulus out. There was an anti-apparation spell on the entire complex, so they’d need to head to the woods. As they walked, there seemed not a soul in sight. Sirius suspected there was a meeting going on somewhere concerning the raid, one that he obviously wasn’t invited to either. At least it meant they got out unseen.
In the woods, they stopped and stood facing each other. Sirius still gripped his brother’s wand in his hand and Regulus was shivering slightly in the cold. The sun was slowly sinking to the horizon and cast a warm light through the brown leaves that still stubbornly clung to the trees.
“Ready?” Sirius asked.
Regulus nodded though he looked anything but. Sirius watched as his brother straightened his spine and took a deep breath in before he called the family house elf. Kreacher looked exactly as he had in Sirius’ memories; bitter and wrinkled. The elf didn’t see him, instead gushing to Regulus about his wellbeing and how worried his mother was.
“Hush, Kreacher,” Regulus interrupted, voice softer than Sirius had ever heard it. “I need you to take me-” he paused and his eyes met Sirius’, “ us to the cave, you know the one I speak of.”
Kreacher groaned and put his hands up to his face, “Keacher cannot, Kreacher will not take Master Regulus there. It is too dangerous, Master Regulus will-”
“Kreacher,” Regulus cut in, firmer, “It is not a request, it is an order. You will take me and Sirius to the cave.”
“The blood-traitor?” Kreacher suddenly said with the most venom as Sirius had ever heard in a house elf. “What is that doing here?” Kreacher scowled as he turned to look at Sirius.
“Nice to see you again, too,” Sirius greeted sarcastically.
“Now, now, Kreacher. Sirius is here to help, you will be pleasant to him. That goes for you too, Sirius. I don’t want any petty arguments,” Regulus sighed tiredly.
“He always starts it,” Sirius complained like he was twelve years old again having just withstood a lecture from Regulus on why he should be kinder to the decrepit, old creature. Regulus looked at him, unimpressed, before offering his hand.
Sirius took it with a little hesitation. Not once had he considered this might be a trap and he had the brief thought that maybe he should have. Here he was, ready to follow his Death Eater brother to the end of the world to retrieve something Regulus had refused to describe.
It was too late to back out, however, not that Sirius even contemplated it, because with a nod from Regulus to Kreacher, Sirius felt the familiar pull of apparation and they were gone.
* * *
Stood on the cliffside, the two figures stumbled when they appeared. The wind whistled and the rain and seaspray quickly soaked their clothing. One had an expression of determination, the other of confusion. The former gestured to the other to follow, and together they picked their way down to a rocky outcrop below. Before them, barely visible in the sheets of rain coming down, was a little house elf.
“We have to swim across,” Regulus shouted to Sirius over the wind, pointing to a cave that could just about be seen across a small stretch of water.
“Swim?” Sirius asked, voice disbelieving and a protest quick on his tongue which he swallowed down. Regulus pretended not to hear, not having the time to explain or convince.
Once before, Regulus had been here with Kreacher. It had only been a week or so ago, though it felt like it had been longer. The purpose had been to investigate and to find out how close they could get to the cave. Kreacher could go all the way, but the anti-apparation for wizards stretched to the entrance of the cave, so swimming was the only option.
There was a slight crack in the air as Kreacher went on ahead. Regulus climbed down the last few rocks until he reached the water. With his feet getting soaked by the crashing waves, he paused and then felt a hand on his shoulder, heard a voice in his ear. “We won’t make it, Reg, the sea is wild,” Sirius shouted.
“Give me my wand, we’ll make it,” Regulus argued back. Sirius looked across towards the cave, expression grim, before he dug the wand out of his pocket and shoved it into Regulus’ outstretched arm. “Thank you,” he said, almost hoping the wind would steal away his gratitude to never be heard.
There was a spell he had researched thoroughly, one he’d spent many weeks searching for and perfecting. It wasn’t a common spell because wizards commonly didn’t spend time swimming through rough waters. He cast it on them both now.
“It’ll help you swim across,” he shouted to Sirius in explanation, “You won’t feel the pull of the tide, just the water. Swim normally.” Pushing his dripping hair from his face, he prepared himself for the journey.
“I didn’t know you could swim,” Sirius shouted out of nowhere before Regulus could turn to lower himself into the water. It was a strange outburst so similar to how they used to talk. It was always Sirius who would say something so outlandishly wrong that Regulus was momentarily lost for words.
“Of course I can bloody swim,” he looked back at Sirius with an incredulous, slightly offended expression. There was a smile on Sirius’ face once he said the words but he couldn’t understand why. Regulus, deeming it better to not dwell on it, took another step into the water. He didn’t miss Sirius’ playful comment of “you don’t seem like the type. ” It wasn’t the time for childish squabbles, though, so he continued on, swimming across to the cave. A slight splash behind him confirmed Sirius was still following.
It wasn’t a long swim, but it chilled them both to the bone. The climb out was also a challenge. The rock was so sharp it was hard to find a handhold where it wouldn’t dig harshly in his palm. In the end, he ignored the pain and lifted himself out, turning to hold a hand out for Sirius.
There was a little blood dripping from it, falling onto the rocks, but both ignored it as he pulled Sirius out. They sat for a moment at the entrance of the cave, breathing deep breaths. A wave of Sirius’ wand brought warmth to him once more as his clothes dried in an instant.
“You’re staying here,” Regulus reiterated as he stood, “I won’t be long.” Walking to the deadend of the cave, footsteps splashing lightly in the puddles. He brought his bloodied hand up and placed it against the cold stone and the entranceway appeared. It was time.
“Are you sure about this?” Sirius asked. The truth was, Regulus had never been so sure about anything in his life. This act of defiance was the last thing he had left, his last chance to receive any type of redemption.
“Yeah,” he replied with surety, “You wait here for me.”
“Is it dangerous?” Sirius spoke again. Regulus assumed he must have imagined the words containing the same concern they used to, because Sirius hadn’t spoken to him like that in a long time.
“No,” Regulus lied, still not turning to face his brother. If he did, Sirius would know for sure that instant. Regulus had never expected to get so far without Sirius challenging him and demanding he accompany him. Never would Regulus have let that happen, he had been prepared to stun Sirius and have Kreacher whisk him away if he did, so he was grateful that his rebellious brother was, for once, complying. He wasn’t about to give him any reason to change his mind.
“Well, be careful,” Sirius said earnestly, and only then did Regulus look over his shoulder to face him. “I only have one brother and I don't want to lose him.”
The words hit Regulus deeply, like a cutting curse right to the bone. They were the words he had longed to hear since he was eleven years old and considered himself replaced by James Potter. A shame, that they had been told just a little too late to change anything.
“I will,” Regulus assured him, eyes studying Sirius’ face for what could be the last time, memorising the changes that had occurred since they’d last spoken back at school. Sirius had changed little except for the added grief in his eyes, the odd scar on his hands and face.
“Kreacher, come on, it's time,” Regulus said, nodding to the elf to follow him in.
Behind them, the entrance to the cave disappeared.
* * *
The potion was foul, but he kept drinking it. Sometimes, he wasn’t even aware that he was. Kreacher kept his word, forcing the vile green liquid past his lips and offering words of encouragement that Regulus could barely hear over the roaring in his head.
His memories, the darkest ones that he pushed to the bottom of his mind, had been resurfaced and he watched them replayed over and over. Sirius, his mother, his friends, his victims, they all flashed before his eyes as he hunched over, sat on the floor, hands to his ears and mouth mumbling incoherent pleas.
It was a never ending torrent of anguish. Some that he had felt, but a lot that he had caused. It was deserved, he reminded himself. A punishment and fragile redemption mixed into one.
He didn’t notice when the potion stopped coming, the burn so intense and memories still coming in unrelenting waves. He did, in his haze, see the locket in Kreacher’s hand, being offered out to him. He shook his head vehemently. He didn’t want it; didn’t want to touch something so abhorrent, didn’t want to look at what had brought him there.
“Need water, please,” Regulus managed to say, his voice hoarse and barely intelligible. As he spoke, he already found himself dragging his body to the water’s edge. The sharp rocks cut through his clothes, through his skin, but the pain was nothing to what the potion had caused.
He didn’t hear Kreacher’s protests, or feel his hands trying to drag Regulus back and stop him. Distantly, in his mind, Regulus remembered something about keeping away from the water but the thought wouldn’t solidify in his mind and couldn’t remember the exact reason. His thirst was too great to stop his course anyway.
One hand in the water was all that was needed to wake the monsters in the lake. With all the energy he had left, he pushed himself further back onto the island so his back hit the podium that had contained the potion. The adrenaline brought him clarity so he could understand his mistake.
How did he forget the inferi? Why hadn’t he considered a memory affect potion may cloud his judgement? Maybe he just hadn’t cared enough until that moment to actually consider what to do once the locket was retrieved. Until Sirius had come back into his life, brief as it was, Regulus hadn’t been keen on surviving and so his plan was half finished. Never, had he considered escaping the cave.
It hit him, as he sat on the rocky island and watched the corpse-like creatures writhing out of the water and pulling themselves towards him, that he wasn’t getting out of that cave. Though it was an inevitability he had prepared for, he still felt sickened at the idea that this would be the last place he ever went, that the mangled faces would be the last he ever saw.
“Go straight back home,” Regulus ordered, frantically turning to Kreacher and gripping the elf’s shoulders. “Take the locket, go straight home, act as though you never left, and never tell anyone in the family what happened today. Not mother, not Sirius, and especially not Bellatrix, you understand?”
“Kreacher understands, but-” Kreacher said reluctantly and it was clear he was about to protest. Regulus had always liked Kreacher’s defiant outburst, liked that he felt comfortable enough around Regulus to not say yes to his every request, but now was not the time or place for disobedience.
“No. You leave me here,” Regulus interrupted, speaking more forcefully to the elf than he ever had. “Now. Go,” he urged, all too aware of the movement of bodies getting closer each second.
Kreacher bowed to him, his big eyes leaking tears as he clutched the locket safe to his chest. Their eyes conveyed a goodbye that Regulus didn’t have the courage to voice out loud. A moment later, he was alone.
Bony hands grabbed at him, pulled him until he felt cold water on his skin. They scratched at him, ripping skin as each tried to drag him in different directions. It was not a death he had expected; to be dragged beneath a lake, bleeding and poisoned and alone. The plan had been to get out, destroy the locket before handing himself in to the authorities, and dying a quiet, miserable, death in Azkaban.
Sirius.
Guilt was the last thing he felt before the end; guilt that he had dragged Sirius all the way out here just to disappear without a goodbye. It was a cruel thing to do, to have your brother play a part in the events of your death. Regulus hoped Sirius would forgive him.
Regulus wondered if Sirius would still be waiting outside for him, he wondered how long he would wait there in the storm until he decided Regulus had abandoned him. Selfishly, Regulus hoped Sirius would never leave him, never again. But, realistically, he knew Sirius wouldn’t stay, and he didn’t blame him, not anymore.
Death was not quick for Regulus Black but it was a death he deemed worthy for monsters such as him.
* * *
Padfoot lay at the mouth of the cave, head resting on his paws and watching the crashing waves. Occasionally water from the cave’s roof dripped onto his head, and his ear twitched uncomfortably. His fur was soaked, but he was far warmer this way than as himself.
It had been five hours and still he refused to leave. Sirius had transformed into Padfoot after just thirty minutes of waiting. As a dog, the worry faded slightly as all emotions were when in dog form. Dogs weren’t so complex to humans so, though the dread still lingered, it was duller than it had been before.
Regulus had said he wouldn’t be long but Sirius wasn’t quite sure how long he had meant. Part of him knew he hadn’t meant hours. Part of him knew that if Regulus hadn’t returned already, he most likely never was. But, those thoughts were pushed away because they simply couldn’t be true. Sirius wouldn’t let them.
Padfoot paced, he growled at the wall of the cave, he whimpered when another hour rolled around with no sight of Regulus. Sirius transformed, staggered slightly where he stood, unsteady on his legs from spending so long as a dog. His emotions intensified and he had to stand still for a moment just to process them.
Walking to the end of the cave, he put a hand on it just as Regulus had done. With no blood, there was no admission. Sirius wasn’t going to go inside, though. He had seen how the entrance had disappeared once Regulus had gone in and figured if he too entered, he may never get out. With hope, he wondered if that was all it was; Regulus was simply stuck on the other side and needed Sirius to open the entrance again.
His hopes were dashed once he remembered Kreacher. If Regulus truly were stuck, he wouldn’t have hesitated to send Kreacher to relay the message. Sirius had always been confused at the amount of trust Regulus put in Kreacher, but he’d be lying if he claimed Kreacher was completely devoted to his master. That meant, no matter how much Kreacher hated him, he would come to Sirius if Regulus asked.
Sirius wondered if Kreacher would come when he called. He hoped so, especially with Regulus’ safety in jeopardy. “Kreacher?” he called out loud. There was no harm in trying. Then again, perhaps Kreacher had perished in the cave.
But that wasn’t the case. Kreacher appeared, possibly taking longer than he would have for any other member of the family. The elf looked distraught; more sickly than before with obvious tear tracks on his cheeks. His hands and ears were shaking uncontrollably.
“The blood-traitor has called,” Kreacher muttered, sniffing and not meeting Sirius’ gaze. Though his words weren’t kind, his tone held no malice.
“What happened?” Sirius asked. He had spoken quietly, as though not quite wanting to know the answer. “Where’s Regulus?” The second question came out harsher.
“Kreacher is not knowing what the blood-traitor means,” Kreacher said. It was a blatant lie. Sirius could be angry at Kreacher, he wanted to be, but he knew that house elves couldn’t lie unless ordered to. Kreacher wasn’t trying to deceive him, he was keeping a promise. There had never been a time when Kreacher hadn’t followed Regulus’ command, or, as Regulus called them, requests. Kreacher would also never have abandoned Regulus without being ordered to do so.
“Yes, you do,” Sirius argued, his voice rising in tempo with the same old anger he had tried so hard to tame. It was just so frustrating; if he hadn’t been disowned, Sirius would hold just as much authority over the family elf and would be able to make him speak, but, insead, Kreacher only held enough loyalty to Sirius to appear when called. “Just tell me where he is. I know you know, he’s ordered you not to tell me, but I know you know .”
“Kreacher does not know.”
“He’s alright though, yeah? He’s safe?” Sirius asked desperately, even going as far as to crouch down before Kreacher and meet him eye-to-eye. Sirius wouldn’t mind Regulus leaving him, tricking him, if only it meant he was safe. At that moment, he would forgive Regulus for any wrongdoing in his life just to know that he was safe.
Kreacher’s lip quivered and tears filled his eyes. “Kreacher cannot say.” They were both quiet as Sirius just stared and Kreacher looked to the floor. Those words were really the only confirmation he needed but still he felt the anger hot in his veins. How dare the elf not tell him, how dare Regulus command him not to.
How was it fair that a pathetic house elf could come back while his brother didn’t. Regulus was smart, clever, his life had only just begun. If Kreacher were truly loyal, Regulus would be standing there instead of him.
“Bring me my brother back, you stupid elf,” Sirius snarled suddenly, standing to his full height and staring down with a look of contempt so similar to his parents’. Kreacher cowered at his anger. “You know where he is so you can bring him back. Go back and get him or I swear I’ll kill you. I swear–Just bring him back, please.” As he spoke, his voice broke and all the energy drained out of him. He brought his hands to his face and pressed his palms into his eyes as he slumped against the wall of the cave and slid down.
How stupid he had been, to let Regulus go alone. Regulus had lied to him when he had turned away and told Sirius the mission was not dangerous, but Sirius had let him go anyway. He had wanted so badly for Regulus to stay that he had willingly watched him walk away.
The guilt consumed him. There were so many things that could have been done differently that would have meant this never happened. Sirius was at fault. He had left Regulus, pushed him to his edge, then cast him away. Then, he had seen him again, older and captured and ready to do something good for once. Sirius had mistakenly let him take control. He hadn’t demanded answers or intervened for fear Regulus would get angry and push him away again. Regulus had said the object was more important than him, than either of them, but Sirius didn’t need to know what it was to know he disagreed.
And now, Regulus was gone and it had all been for nothing.
“Take me to Grimmauld Place,” Sirius choked out, knowing there was one way to check for sure. “Please, don’t refuse this,” he begged the elf, “I need to know.”
Kreacher seemed to think it over for a second before he nodded. “Kreacher will take the blood-traitor. But first he must cross the water,” Kreacher agreed.
Sirius sighed in relief and transformed into Padfoot, not caring if the elf saw or not. Across the water, he paddled. It was harder work on the way back, without the spell Regulus had given him, but as Padfoot it wasn’t so bad. Kreacher was already waiting for him when he got to the other side, grabbing his wrist as soon as he’d transformed back to himself, sopping wet.
Kreacher had understood Sirius’ request more than he expected, for he brought Sirius to the drawing room. Together, strangely united, they stared at the family tapestry. Sirius was dripping seawater onto the floorboards and he hoped, strangely, that it would warp the wood and leave a lasting mark.
“Kreacher will be going now,” Kreacher said, hobbling out the open doorway.
Sirius didn’t comment, too busy looking at the branch that held Regulus onto the family tree. There was a burn mark where Sirius should have been. The blackened mark overlapped slightly with Regulus’, tainting his picture and name but not quite covering the birth and death date that were written there.
Sirius wasn’t sure how long he stood there, just staring. Not once did he move, though he considered for a long time about tearing the room to pieces. But he didn’t because somehow the house had dragged him back in time where he worried that such actions were not in keeping with the Black family. It would upset his mother, it would upset Regulus more.
“What are you doing here?”
For the first time since his arrival, he averted his eyes from Regulus’ name and looked to his mother where she stood in the doorway. In his memory, she had been so tall and commanding, so frightening and powerful. Maybe it was because he was older now, or because she was, but Walburga looked almost frail wrapped up in her shawl with her greying hair pinned up.
“He’s dead,” Sirius told her, void devoid of anything. “He’s dead and it’s your fault.”
Walburga studied him and then moved her eyes to the tapestry. She must have seen what he’d seen, for her face paled slightly and she seemed to sway where she stood. It was yet another clarification that what had happened was real.
“I did not,” she said, softly. Sirius had never heard her words anything but piercing and sharp. It angered him that she could stay so serene, so collected, after hearing the news.
“Then who did?” he demanded. Sirius felt like he did when he was sixteen; defiant and resentful. It was being back in that house that did it.
“Himself. He made his choices,” she said coldly.
“But it was you who pushed him to make those choices. He would’ve done anything for you and it’s killed him,” Sirius couldn’t help but shout at her. Just like old times.
“Have you come here to toss blame, Sirius? If so, do not pretend that you are innocent. Don't forget, It was supposed to be you with the mark. He was never suited to it; he was too soft, especially concerning you. I tried to drill it out of him but he would not hear a bad word against you. You never left this house though I wish you did,” she hissed, stepping into the room and towards him.
Sirius looked down at her. The last time he had seen her, she had towered over him, spitting vitriol in his face, but that time was over. Though she had plagued him in nightmares all his life, he found he wasn’t scared of her anymore. She was far from the woman she used to be. He almost pitied her.
“Stop lying to yourself, mother. When you die, this family will die with you, and that is undeniably your fault.”
“You cannot escape your blood, you–” Walburga began but Sirius cut her off.
“First I’m disowned, now I can’t escape my blood? It doesn’t matter whether, deep inside, you still consider me a Black because I will not have children. Even if I did, I would not subject them to the curse of our family name. You’ve lost, mother. You’re lost your husband, your sons, your influence.”
Walburga stared at him, lips pursed. Sirius couldn’t see what was raging in her eyes and didn’t care enough to find out. He would be glad to never see her again.
“Take care, mother, despite everything,” he said and hated how truly he meant the words.
Walburga may have made his childhood misery, inadvertently killed his brother, and hated him with all her being, but he still couldn’t stop caring. After everything, he still called her mother.
Sirius left Grimmauld Place vowing to never look back, but he never was quite able to escape his last name.