No Greater Sin

Regulus considers killing James Potter. He could do it quickly, maybe hide the body in the forbidden forest. No one would have to know. Of course, he'd have to kill his friends as well. Lupin, Sirius and Pettigrew wouldn’t be too hard, he reckons. He could take them. Sirius is the only one actually trained to fight, but he’d probably not practiced in a while. 

Either way, Potter spreading the story of his little… issue around school just wouldn’t do. Regulus actually wants to throw himself off a cliff when he thinks about it. He’s fully prepared to find Potter and obliviate him. There'd be complications, but nothing he couldn't handle. Right now though, he doesn’t quite have the time. That spell requires skill, and he really needs to find the chamber first. 

After charms, Regulus has Care of Magical Creatures. The walk down to the class space is long and cold, the wind instantly biting through his robes. Luckily, he has the class with Dorcas. She bounces lightly in an attempt to keep warm.

“Anyway, I think we should go.” 

“Go?” 

“To the party.” 

“Who’s having a party?” In his defense, Regulus has been a little distracted.

“The Gryffindors. They’ll have weed, at least. Our supply is low. Maybe we could steal some.”

Regulus shakes his head. “We absolutely should not go to a Gryffindor party.” He wrinkles his nose. “Hufflepuffs have better weed anyway.” 

“Why not? Could be fun.” Dorcas rubs her hands together. Regulus had the foresight to bring gloves, but the wool scratches against his raw fingers. 

“Why do you want to go so badly?” He sends her a look. “Is there someone you want to see?”

She glares right on back. “Is there someone you don’t?” 

And- well- that’s fair. They walk in silence for a bit. It’s Dorcas who breaks it. “I know Evan and Barty really want to go, and Dora already agreed.” 

He sighs. “Can’t you go without me?”

She loops her arm through his and bats her eyelashes up at him. “It just wouldn’t be the same. And anyway,” She looks slightly more serious. “We could all use some fun. I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be a rough year.” 

“You’ve got a feeling or Pandora has a feeling?”

“Does it matter? Let’s just get you really pissed and then you won’t even have to look in your brother's direction.” 

For once, it wasn’t Sirius Regulus was afraid of running into.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Fine. But I’m not staying the whole time.” 

Dorcas smirks and squeezes his arm in thanks. They’ve reached the rest of the class.

--

After the lesson, Regulus lets Dorcas go up to lunch. He corners Professor Kettleburn while he’s putting away his gloves. 

“Professor? Do you have a minute?” He stands up as straight as possible, clasping his hands behind his back. 

Kettleburn starts, then turns to face him. “Oh! Mr. Black. I have a bit. What do you need?”

“I just have a few questions, Sir. About a magical creature.”

Kettleburn sniffs, looking him up and down. “Are you Sirius Black’s brother?”

Regulus grits his teeth. “Yes, Sir. As I was saying-”

“Lovely boy. Always with those friends of his, but lovely boy.” 

Regulus can’t bring himself to nod, instead just staring at Kettleburn. “My question, Sir.” 

“Right, of course. What did you need?” 

“My mother wanted me to do a little personal project on Basilisks, but I couldn’t find any information in the library. I was wondering if you could tell me anything.” Regulus waits. 

Kettleburn eyes him. “Basilisks, eh? Dreadful creatures, but quite fascinating. No, I don’t suppose you’d find any books on the subject.” 

“Right. So…” Regulus trails off imploringly. 

“Well, they are quite deadly. Meeting a basilisk's gaze alone can kill instantly, and eye contact through something, like a mirror or lens, will petrify the victim.”

Well fuck him then. 

“A rooster's cry is deadly, of course. But I’m not sure if there are any antidotes to its venom.”

“Venom?”

“Oh yes. Basilisk’s fangs are filled with venom that will kill within 10 minutes. Destroys skin, objects, anything.” 

Regulus considers this. “Do you know if the poison has to be ingested? Or would one get sick purely from skin contact?” If he was going to have to touch the fangs, he’d have to be careful. 

Kettleburn frowns. “I imagine it has to be ingested. An odd question, boy.” 

“Forgive me sir. I just have one more. Can a basilisk be… controlled?”

Kettleburn watches him with an odd look in his eye. “This is for your report?”

Regulus nods. 

“Then… no, I don’t think so. A parselmouth might have some influence, but basilisks are notoriously independent creatures. Honestly, my boy, I’m not an expert on the subject. That’s basically the extent of my knowledge.” 

“Thank you, Sir. That's all.” 

Kettleburn eyes him, but nods. “Enjoy the rest of your day Mr. Black.”

---

Regulus agrees to meet the others around 8 for the party, so he has some time to kill. He narrows down the bathrooms to the one on the 4th floor and the 2nd. The 4th is still used, but the 2nd floor one has been out of use for some time now. Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Regulus decides that would be the one. The place where the girl rests. That has to be her, doesn’t it? Did Myrtle get killed by the basilisk?

When he finds the bathroom, he slips inside quietly. He locks the door behind him. “Myrtle?” Nothing. He glances at the sinks. Third from the door. He crosses to it quickly. Examining it, he finds twin snakes curled around the handles. He leans back.

Regulus takes a deep breath. This is where it counts, he supposes. This is where everything starts. Up till now, his progress has consisted solely of research. Questions. Nothing substantial. He always had time to get out. But now this, right here, this is very real. He does this, and there is no guarantee he’ll make it to that party tonight. But what’s his other option? Sorry, Lord Voldemort. I didn't complete my one and only task. I was too scared.

Survive, no matter the cost. This is his test. This is his way out. This is his survival.

Open. The word is pulled from him, from somewhere deep in his stomach. Immediately, the snakes on the handles begin to move. They curl back, retreating into the drain. The sink itself begins to move, loud and grating, the sound of stone on stone. Regulus steps back, raising a hand against the plume of dust. The sinks part, revealing a circular tunnel behind them.

A cold gust of air hits him as he moves closer. He sighs, grits his teeth, and enters.

The tunnel is tight. Regulus has to awkwardly crouch, shuffling along. He lights his wand. The tunnel is cold and dark, lined with dust. Suddenly, it drops down into a steep slant. Regulus pauses, looking down into the depths. Maybe this is where he commits. He sits down on the edge, then, after a moment, he pushes himself off. He slides down faster than he is expecting. The air brushes past his face, whipping through his hair. He nearly laughs but remembers himself.

He is deposited ungracefully into a circular cavern. Something crunchy breaks his fall. He makes his way to his feet, glancing around. Bones. Some large, some small, but definitely bones. They are littering the ground, covering it. It must be at least three layers deep. He makes a face but moves forward.

He has questions, but those are for later. He pushes out the how and the why, leaving space only for the now.

The cavern leads to a hall, long and dark. He starts down it. The bones turn to marble, dark grey. His footsteps echo. He passes a few more doors, then he is there. A larger hall, bigger than the one he was just in. Snake statues rise out of water resting next to a marble walkway in the middle. At the end, a huge room. And in the middle, a face

Regulus’s first thought is that Salazar Slytherin looks nothing like him. He is an old man with a long beard, mean eyes, and a gaping mouth. His second thought is how terrifying the statue is. It takes up an entire wall, for one. The eyes seem to bore into him, angry and watchful, as if the statue knows Regulus is there. It is jarring, and probably a little more chilling than it should be.

Regulus turns his attention back to the statue’s gaping mouth. Obviously another tunnel, the same size as the one he came down. So that's where the snake is. Regulus moves quickly. He runs through the chamber to the statue's beard, which he quickly climbs. The large folds of carved marble make easy hand and foot holds. He makes his way up till he is perched on top of the statue's head. He looks around, grabbing a pebble. He leans over the statue's head, shuts his eyes tight, and throws the pebble up its mouth. He sits back, pulling out his wand. He points it where he thinks the basilisk will emerge. He keeps his eyes shut and waits.

Slowly, he begins to hear it. The snake scales on the marble, the quiet hiss he can’t quite make out. And then it is clear and loud, and the snake has to be out of the tunnel by now, and Regulus’s heart is pounding. Blindly he aims at the basilisk. “Conjunctivitis!”

The Basilisk roars immediately, and Regulus can hear it thrashing. He must’ve hit his mark.

See, see, see I can't see, the Basilisk repeats. What did you do? Master?

Tentatively, staring directly down at first, Regulus opens his eyes. He slowly looks up. The Basilisk is huge, larger than he’d imagined. It is grey and slimy, thrashing back and forth on the ground. Its eyes are swollen shut. When it opens its mouth to roar, its fangs are long and deadly. Regulus scrambles back on the statue's head, pressing himself against the far wall. Fear courses through every artery, sending his fingers twitching and chest heaving. 

I'm sorry, he chokes out. The Basilisk stops thrashing.

Who are you? You aren't... The snake trails off, twisting its head in Regulus’s direction.

I- it doesn't matter. He's out of practice, the parseltongue coming out garbled and stiff. I’m sorry about your eyes, Regulus says. I needed to do that. You’d kill me otherwise.

I'll still kill you, boy. I can smell you. You smell like fear and sadness. The Basilisk begins to advance in Regulus’s direction.

Regulus presses himself harder against the wall. If you kill me, you’ll never get your sight back.

The Basilisk stops. It seems frustrated. Why are you here? No one's been here in so, so long.

Doesn’t matter. Who was your old master?

Too many questions.

Shall I go, then?

No! Not without returning my sight.

I just need to do something first.

Regulus takes a deep breath. Picks up his wand again. Best to just get this out of the way. “Stupefy!”

The spell ricochets off the snake’s scales, hitting the wall just above Regulus’s head. The Basilisk roars again, starting forward before whipping its head back. Shit.

Didn’t work, did it? Can’t hurt me, little boy.

Regulus swallows, crawling as slowly as possible to the edge of the statue. He begins to lower himself down. The spell didn't work. He’d jumped into this too quickly. What was he thinking? He should’ve known it wouldn’t have been that easy. He had gone into this way too unprepared. What would the Dark Lord think?

What would his mother think?

Regulus sets his jaw. He won’t make the same mistake again.

Right now, though, he needs to get out. This entire ordeal was a mistake. Standing at the base of the statue, he looks up at the Basilisk. I’m leaving. I will be back.

Give me my sight back first. If you leave me like this, I’ll kill you the next time you come. I don’t care if you blind me again. I will suffer forever if it means I taste your blood.

Merlin, the snake is dramatic. Regulus considers, then nods. Okay.

Before that can happen, though, he begins to run. He sprints, actually, as fast as he can. Back through the chamber, towards the door that leads to the hallway. If he can get there, he can close the door, and the basilisk will be trapped again. So he runs. His footfalls echo around the chamber, and behind him, the basilisk hisses angrily. Regulus' breath is frantic.

He skids to a stop next to the ajar door, turning. The basilisk is slithering towards him at alarming speed. He needs to do this. He has to do this. He raises his wand, putting one foot out the door and turning his head away from the approaching snake. “Oculus!”

Regulus shoves himself through the door, hisses it close, and waits till the iron snakes find their way into locked position. Not a second later, he hears a thud. Not unlike a thousand-pound snake running headlong into a wall, come to think of it. He lets out a long breath. He is shaking. Not just his hand, but all of him. Dangerously hard. His heart is pounding in his chest. He’d been running on adrenaline the whole time and now waves of exhaustion are washing over him. He needs some energy, though, to get back up the tunnel to the girls' bathroom, so he begins to move. Once he reaches the tunnel, he glances up. There is no easy or graceful way to do this. The slope is steep, but not so steep that getting back up is impossible. He doesn’t think he could do it on his own, however, so he casts a sticking charm on the soles of his shoes and his hands and begins to climb.

His muscles are screaming by the time he pulls himself onto the floor of the girls' bathroom. Everything is screaming, actually. Again, he curses his unpreparedness. He pulls himself to his feet, swaying a bit. He has a party to get to, and he’s going to be late.