Mama's boy

It was fucking freezing. No seriously, below freezing. Probably about -5. Regulus’ breath puffed out in front of him. The bowl, which was made of crystal or rock or something like that, was almost empty, and his shaking hands reached for the shell cup again to scoop it up. Kreacher was trying to drag him away, but Regulus would not give up. Not now. He wasn’t trying to fucking survive now. He was trying to kill.

The potion burnt his throat and eyes eyes eyes coated the cave walls again. They were all the blue-grey of Sirius’. The blue cave had the same glow. Regulus felt it like ice in his veins, searing down his spine and down his legs to the stone itself that they stood on. This crappy island where he knew he would die.

He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing again and felt a claggy, dry feeling fill his mouth. When he opened his eyes, Kreacher’s face swam. His eyes were huge.

“Master?” He whispered. “You should have allowed Kreacher to drink,”

“No.” Regulus rasped.

He looked down into the now-empty bowl, and heard it. A whispering, horrible sound worming its way into his brain. It was a high, cold voice. The voice was Voldemort's.

Triumph coated every thought. He had been right. Him and Evan. The hours in the library, the aches, insomnia, doubt, it had all been right. Regulus picked up the locket. It was a solid silver, inlaid with green jewels in the shape of an 's'. Hideously ugly. The judgemental aristocrat in Regulus rolled his eyes. Surely for a bit of your soul you’d at least choose a nice necklace?

He held in his hand a piece of Voldemort’s soul.

“Let us go back, Master Regulus,”

Eyes flashed on the walls again and Regulus’ tongue jerked with dryness. He knew they would make him drink the water from the lake. It had been obvious from the beginning, based on the hand he saw earlier on that little boat. Why else would he be in the fucking cave? Inferi, probably. He hoped not, but the water moved and Regulus was sure he had been right. Merlin he was really hoping it was freshwater and not salty sea water. That would be grim.

“Kreacher,” He gasped out. “Go and destroy this locket.”

Kreacher moaned, quivering. “I is not leaving Master Regulus!”

“I order you to. Go and destroy the locket.” He held it out and the ugly thing swung in the cold air.

“No!” The elf was crying. Regulus was painfully calm. “I will not do it Master!”

“I order you to do it now Kreacher. Your final order. The most important order you will ever receive in your life,”

“I promised Master Orion I woulds be looking after you!”

“He isn’t your master anymore, Kreacher. He's dead.” Reg replied gently. He pressed the locket into Kreacher’s tiny hands, and there was a crack that echoed from the walls. Kreacher was gone, only the echo of his cries left behind.

Reg was weak. That potion was a fucking nightmare. He remembered brewing it. A poison that makes the consumer re-live the worst memories of their life. The after effects- extreme thirst. Funny how that worked out for him. The Inferi too- his own handiwork to keep them functional long enough to kill him. He had essentially manufactured his own death.

The fake locket, including the note, he put back in the basin, which instantly filled back up with the poison. Reg scowled at it. He had a mean scowl when he put his mind to it.

He dragged himself forwards to the edge of the island. He should just be able to disturb the water and that would be it. He wasn’t getting out of here. Not alive. Not even dead, he didn’t expect that. Survive survive survive. Not anymore.

Voldemort wouldn’t let him live anyway. Better give Kreacher a chance than rope him into this. Maybe Voldemort wouldn’t even notice until Kreacher killed it and then, Voldemort would be mortal. Reg guessed that all those rumours of Voldemort being inhuman were right after all.

Before he touched the water, He felt it in his pocket. Yes, it was there. Regulus hadn’t looked at the picture since last year, when he first found it looking through the albums in the basement.

He unfolded it now. The picture was yellow, but still functioning.

It was the library at home. Right in front of the fireplace, probably a fucking hazard, there was a tented blanket. A lot more smaller ones around it. There was that tartan one, wrapped around Reg’s thin shoulders. It swamped him. His head and shoulders were visible out of the side door to their fort. His eyes were so bright and happy, even in this ancient photo. Sirius was closer to the camera, his face screwed up with a smile. He waved both hands with the biggest, cheesiest grin Regulus had ever seen. He didn't think he ever saw Sirius smile as big as that again.

They had spent all day making that fort. All of the blankets, even Sirius’ special Christmas tartan blanket, which he had swished over Reg’s shoulder with a wink. Then, watching the fire, they had marshmallows. Regulus remembered that moment even without the photo. It was ingrained in his mind. Not the marshmallows or the warmth, but Sirius’ arm around him. The tickle of long hair on his cheek, and Sirius’ heavy, panting warmth by his side, like a big dog or something.

“Happy New Year Sirius”

Regulus sat on the edge of the island. He ran a hand through the water. It was an icy sheet. He saw something beneath the surface. It could have been a hand, or a foot, or an elbow. He didn't really care.

He closed his eyes.

“Happy New Year Sirius,” He’d said ten years ago.

“Happy New Year Sirius,” He said now, and felt the cold hands on his ankles. Then his legs, his arms, waist, neck, hair.

Reggie, help. Please. Kill me, help me.

Regulus was tugged into the water, he felt their claws at his skin, their teeth at his neck, their laughing, screaming at his ears.

Please help me.

Regulus’ lungs strained. The water would have been red, and had he opened his mouth, he would have tasted blood. Had he been in the present instead of trying his hardest to get back to that blanket fort. He was starting to lose consciousness.

Merlin this hurt, thought Reggie. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Please

The memory was turning black, then white. Everything was losing its colour, until his memory was like an old movie.

Reggie.

It hurt so much, that burning in his lungs, those bubbles blooming out of his nose, those clawing hands and teeth and his skin being shredded into stringy, bloody ribbons. It was so cold. Regulus was so cold.
And it hurt so much.