When The Stars Align

Regulus walked quietly, clutching the hand of the elderly elf like it was his lifeline and he was a small child. He was no longer so small, but sometimes it felt like they were.

Like when he had to kneel in front of the Dark Lord, beside his beloved cousin, and gripped her hand so tightly that they left little crescent shaped divots in her hand.

Or when he and Sirius were huddled in a corner of the library, hidden by Kreacher’s magic, reading books or talking through words scratched onto parchment in a way that made his head twitch and nose scrunch up at the unpleasant sound.

He exhaled slowly as they walked through the cave, the water dripping and their footsteps echoing in a manner that made him click his tongue with it in a satisfying way. Kreacher sighed softly at the teen’s habits, but was by now far too used to their eccentricities to comment or get upset at them for it. In fact, he had often subtly shielded them from the backlash of said behaviors in the form of muffling Regulus’ hearing or moving objects so they would just barely miss his cowering form.

Regulus continued to walk, determined to find what he was looking for, unaware of Kreacher’s thoughts. Their gaze scanned the walls as the two of them made their way through the damp and rocky tunnels that made him shudder and feel thankful that they spelled their clothing to repel water. Even just the idea made Regulus cringe with distaste.

He was supposed to be the proper little pureblood for his parents, and that expectation only rose after Sirius left.

After he left them.

It hurt, it made their chest ache. Logically, he understood why Sirius had done it— hell, they would have done it the moment they got the chance. But they didn’t have that chance anymore. With his older brother effectively out of the family, Andromeda disowned for marrying her muggleborn husband, the lack of acceptance around Narcissa, and Bellatrix spiraling in her mental illness as her parents refused to get her to a proper healer, Regulus was their last hope.

A tug on their hand pulled them out of their thoughts, and he blinked as he noticed how blurry their vision had become. Regulus raised their free hand to their face, noticing how their chest rattled and his throat felt tight. It took them a moment to understand what he was even feeling.

“Young Master Regulus is crying,” Kreacher’s voice stated, and the concern in his voice made them close their teary eyes. They found that they couldn’t talk, words not so much caught in his throat, but like they were stuck in his head, bouncing around but unable to get out:

Even if they could speak, he didn’t trust his own voice to not break. Regulus rapidly shook their head as they used their sleeve to wipe away the few stray tears that had leaked out. Breathing unsteadily, they glanced around to see why Kreacher had signaled for them to stop.

They had learned everything they could about Horcruxes. Why one shouldn’t use living hosts, how murder could crack the soul, why that even mattered for the ritual, and all the other details and warnings about how Horcruxes were the stupidest idea on the damn planet. 

They were also entirely aware of how possessive the creators could be of their vessels, and how unstable they became once creating their Horcrux. Regulus knew that the Dark Lord that he was sworn to was both of those things, and that it was very likely he’d made more than one Horcrux. His instability, lack of spell use outside of the Cruciatus, and his appearance signified that.

It was why Regulus was so quick to recommend Kreacher to the task— they knew that Kreacher would willingly report back to them, as the elf had his personal agenda that paired with her own. Their quickness to agree with the Dark Lord’s plan just as fast gave way to an immense amount of guilt and horror when Kreacher answered their call, on the edge of death.

They didn’t let Kreacher answer to anyone but themselves for months after that, outside of his daily duties required for the house.

Kreacher was not exactly pleased with that order, but he understood Regulus’ feelings better than even Regulus himself sometimes. He adhered to the order, helped by the fact that he wanted to do so to ease the worry coming from the young secondary heir. The elderly elf had seen many things during his lifetime, but rarely did he see a pureblood that treated elves more like an equal than a servant without feelings. It made him rethink his own ideals, built and reinforced over all the years that he served, as he watched Regulus struggle for just a bit of recognition, for a bit of positivity thrown their way, and still remain mostly kind towards all that haven’t earned his ire.

He was resigned to the quest that the child he had all but raised had assigned themselves to. Kreacher vowed to himself that he would keep Regulus, and the light that remained in them, alive, even if that meant following him into whatever situation that he found himself in.

Which brought him back to what they were doing, and Kreacher heaved a heavy sigh as he lifted a finger and pointed at the small group of glyphs carved into the stone, feeling resigned to their fates.

It took a moment for Regulus to find the glyphs, then another to decipher them. He knew what was needed, since Kreacher told him the steps to the basin with the locket already. Yet, for some reason, he wanted to be safe, so he double checked with the carving itself. 

Regulus confirmed that it all lined up, and he stood there quietly for a moment, reminiscing about how his friends would gather around and dissect runes, old passages and ancient languages from books they dug up from their respective family libraries. They shook their head as he glanced down at his palm, tracing the lines before picking out a stray piece of thread on their sleeve, transfiguring it into a small but sharp blade. Eyes closed and hand held out, they cringed as he nicked his hand. Shuddering at the feeling, he quickly pressed his hand onto the glyphs and could feel them heating up under his palm. They opened their eyes hesitantly and he blinked in surprise as Kreacher grabbed his hand and healed the small cut quickly, muttering under his breath about reckless children not caring about their safety.

Regulus felt his lips twitch in a small smile at the words of the house elf, and the concern held within them, but that smile soon gave way to the flat, neutral expression that was most natural for them. He watched as the stone wall opened up to a cavern filled with water so dirty they couldn’t see the bottom.

Glancing down at Kreacher, they froze at the terrified look on the other’s face. Regulus’ heart twinged in sympathy as Kreacher stepped forward, squaring up his frail looking shoulders and tugging them forward by the hand clutched in his own.The teen followed the elderly house elf, feeling a deep sense of foreboding at the sight of the island in the middle of the lake. Regulus briefly wondered if loyal Kreacher’s panic and pleas to no go actually held some weight. Even after being forced to tell the truth of what happened and the elf’s near death, prevented only by Regulus himself, they did not believe nor understand the gravity of those words.

Now, though, it felt like they did.

But they could no longer go back and run into their brother’s arms for safety.

They watched blankly as his loyal house elf pulled on a chain and dragged a boat to the surface of the water, cleaning it as he did so. It felt like his ears were ringing as he walked over to the boat and silently sat down, placing his hands in their lap as Kreacher climbed in after them. The boat rocked unpleasantly, but Regulus found that their thoughts felt like static. He swayed with the boat on instinct as they listened to the words Kreacher spoke that couldn’t reach his ears. 

He couldn’t move, couldn’t make himself do anything. Regulus couldn't even turn his head, or close their eyes. 

The boat shuddered to a stop, and a small part of Regulus shook with it, a small part of him that wanted to claw and cry and flee. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t go back.

They stood up, following Kreacher as the other climbed out of the broken looking boat. Mimicking Kreacher was instinctive, a skill he had trained since his childhood, and so was listening to the words of others.

“Do not touch the water. Water is filled with deep, Darkest magic, young master Regulus. Do not touch it. You understand, young master?”

Kreacher’s voice sounded sharp, harsh. They felt like their head was filled with cotton, so he just nodded at words he barely processed.

Regulus slowly approached the basin in the middle of the small island, noticing runes and carvings he had never seen before on the sides and edges of the stone.

His hand dug into their pocket, feeling for the cold metal of the fake locket he had made. The divots in the chain bit into their numb hand as they pulled it out, eyes catching the glinting light as it bounced off the metal of the counterfeit Horcrux. Their mouth opened to speak words they had secretly practiced saying so many times that they could say it in his sleep.

“Kreacher. If I can’t destroy the locket… take the real one, place this one in that bowl, and… destroy the real one. No matter what it takes.”

“He’s gone!”

Rabastan’s voice was uncharacteristically stressed, and Barty froze, blinking rapidly for a moment while slowly looking up from the book he had chosen that morning. He noticed Evan standing slightly behind Rabastan, whose hands were planted on the table.

“Rab, you’re going to need a good reason for interrupting my reading,” Barty drawled, his head flicking to the side as he spoke. Rabastan rolled his eyes at the dirty blond’s words as Evan scoffed from behind him. Eventually, Barty sighed, closing the book on the table, a bookmark keeping his place in it. He then slid his leg over the bench, resting it there.

“..Well? What are we waiting for? You were saying something asinine-“

“Regulus is gone. No note, nothing. And he always leaves notes!”

Rabastan’s harsh tone cut the Ravenclaw off and Evan stepped up, his usually bored expression replaced by one of mild concern. That was more than he usually emoted outside of his customary smirk or sneer which got Barty’s attention the most. While Rabastan was the most reasonable and responsible of them all, Evan was the most uncaring. Barty had heard Evan complain enough about Rabastan jumping to conclusions that he had started to tune them out as well. Whenever he did experience them, that is, since most of Rabastan’s bouts of paranoia and anxiety happened in their dorms. Barty was much the opposite in that regard, since they all had their ways of expressing their own issues. He simply sighed, shaking his head, slipping the book into his bag.

“I’m already done eating, you mother hen-“ He murmured, clicking his tongue as he stood up. Adjusting the strap on his bag again, he scrunched his face up in distaste as he focused on the malfunctioning thing. “Plus, Reg probably has a good reason for it, you know her. Come on, let’s go look for them. Maybe their wayward brother knows. If not, we check with Bellatrix.”

“I already checked with her, you fool! Nothing! She’s just as concerned as us,” Rabastan hissed, while Evan rolled his eyes behind his back when Barty looked up from the faulty bag. 

“Not to mention, why the fuck are you recommending her brother of all people? Why in the fuck should we have to deal with his dramatic ass?” Evan drawled, sneer twitching on his lips before it fell into a half hearted glare at Rabastan when he slapped their arm.

“As Regulus isn’t here to correct you, I will. Language, Evan.”

Barty snorted at Rabastan’s reprimand, flashing a smirk at Evan.

“Cope.”

“Bartemius Crouch Junior, shut your Morgana-forsaken mouth and help me, will you?” Evan snapped, shifting his already fading glare to Barty, who flinched slightly at the sound of his own name, humming before finally pulling his bag over his shoulder.

“I would love to help you, but I think we need to confront a particularly rabid dog first,” He drawled as he followed the retreating form of Rabastan and falling in step with Evan, who laughed shortly as his words while shaking his head.

“You magic-damned-“

“You heard Rab, Evan. No swearing,” Barty teased with a smirk as his friend groaned, getting a snort out of him. The two laughed quietly as they followed their much more determined friend, who was ready to part the sea if it meant his friends would be safe and okay. 

Kreacher only felt dread as he watched his young master Regulus hold up the fake locket, the chain wrapped in loops around their thin wrist. The links of the chain were somehow delicate, and he remembered how Regulus had been bent over their desk as he very carefully crafted the counterfeit.

“You… said that it was poison? That would… show me my worst memories?”

Regulus’ voice was filled with anxiety as Kreacher slowly approached the youngest master he was serving. He watched as their eyes finally tore away from the glint of the locket, turning their head to look at him. Simply nodding at her words made the dread unfold tenfold as her eyes widened.

“That… is correct, young master. Kreacher does not want master Regulus to drink it.”

There was hesitation in Regulus’ tense form as their eyes flicked between the house elf, the false locket, and the basin that held the real one. Kreacher had known the dark haired child their entire life, and could therefore effectively predict her thought process; whether to disregard his near plea, or to listen and be some form of cautious.

Whether to be reckless, or to have some form of intelligence, and use it.

It felt as if the seconds were ticking by like minutes, as dark desaturated blue eyes flicked around, thoughts spinning as the self preservation and urge to be recognized for something warred with their complete lack of self worth. 

Eternity seemed to pass as Regulus’ focus shifted back to the locket itself, head tilted.

“There’s… no restriction here. For you, anyways. Summon… a rat or something. I’ll feed it the poison.. and see if that works…”

Relief flooded through the elf as the teenager shifted their attention to him. Kreacher nodded and summoned a rat as requested.

“Young master is… positive? Of his decision?” Kreacher asked hesitantly as Regulus placed the locket on the edge of the basin. They nodded quietly as they took out a small cup from their pocket, listening to the muffled clinking of vials that they had taken in preparation. She stared down at the poison for a moment, then slowly dipped the cup into liquid, watching it freely pour in. 

The two watched as the green pooled into the cup, and how it stayed there when the young Black lifted it out the rest of the potion.

Seconds ticked by in tense silence between the pair, with their own thoughts and prayers to higher beings that their plan would work. For Kreacher, he hoped that the child he had raised would not have to die so soon, or even be hurt at all. But for Regulus, all they hoped was that the potion could be drunk by the rat so they could leave.

One moment, there was a liquid in the basin. The next, there wasn’t, as if it just popped out of existence. 

In that brief moment, Regulus’ hand darted out and grabbed the chain of the Horcrux and threw in the fake, not waiting to see if it settled as they wrapped the chain of the true locket around their wrist.

It made the fact they realized that the poison had shifted into gas, a green mist that spread over the island, much worse.

Their head whipped over to where Kreacher was standing, mirroring their panic and dread, and she ran over to him, trying to get close enough for the elf to apparate them away. Horrible beings that Regulus didn’t want to look at, and couldn’t truly process, were crawling out of the water and towards them.

Panic shoved its way to the forefront of their mind as their foot skidded on the slippery surface. Instinctively, they gasped, and immediately swallowed a mouthful of water as a hand grasped at their wrist, pulling her deeper into the lake.

Their brain went into overload, fear flooding their brain as the sensation of cold sunk in. Choking on the water, they thrashed around, trying to get his right hand out of the tight hold.

Regulus couldn’t recognize anything anymore— it was hard to think and all they could feel was more fingers grasping at them. A hand— thin like the one on their wrist but smaller— suddenly grabbed their ankle. Sounds were faint, but they just barely picked one out, the pop! of a house elf. Regulus wondered for a moment if Kreacher had left, but couldn’t accept the idea that the house elf that wanted to protect them so badly would just leave them to drown.

Weakened by the lack of oxygen and water in their lungs, their consciousness faded to black as they wondered if that was how he would die— in defiance. Just like their older brother, who joined the war for that same exact reason.