Saving Icarus

This was how it was always going to end up.

Regulus was born to die like this.

In plenty of ancient (and often dark) families, names are a seer’s duty rather than the mother’s. Even light families have at least one name from a seer. Those are usually called true names, and they’re very important. Believed to have power and such. Complicated rituals nearly always need names, and those don’t have any power over you if they don’t have your full, true name.

When Regulus was born only the seer themself, his parents, and himself were supposed to know his true name. Of course, Regulus told Sirius when he had grown a bit and could tell someone something, but that was neither here nor there. He told Narcissa after she told him hers, as well.

Regulus’ true name, is Icarus.

Icarus thinks he was always a bit looked down on for it. His parents had always sneered. Regulus. The lion’s heart. Regulus’ parents did not see him as a lion’s (a fierce, noble animal’s) life-force, they saw him as the weakness within an otherwise precious killing machine.

Icarus, they didn’t see him as the boy who touched the sun, they saw him as

The boy who fell.

The boy who failed.

When Sirius told Icarus his true name, while they were still warm under the blankets-

(warm, and not too old yet. Not yet a tragedy. They still flinched at yelling, yes, but didn’t flinch at words start with a “cru-“. The brothers did not yet know the pain they’d endure, even if they guessed at it)

-Regulus almost felt ashamed. Sirius was destined to do great things.

Icarus was destined to die.

So he supposed this fit. This- stupid, stupid sacrificial act. His parents were right all along.

He was never going to make it out alive.

Icarus has been doomed since the moment he’d been born.

Regulus commands Kreacher to give him the potion.

——

Regulus is-

somewhere?

He has no clue what this is.

His surroundings are somewhat incomprehensible despite being tangible in front of him. It’s like the surface of what he’s touching keeps changing, but every time it changes, it feels as if it has always been like that. Everything is blurry, but not, bright, but not, constant, but not.

Icarus thinks- is that sand?

Or- water? Concrete?

Ugh.

Someone (something?) materializes in front (?) of Regulus. They (it?) feel familiar. Feel like many things that he just barely grazed before his wings melted.

Regulus wants to go near it, wants to embrace so bad, but his body is actively recoiling from the abomination/only-correct-thing-in-the-universe and his instincts are screaming no.

“I am Death,”

The thing says. Death says.

Death is glowing. It’s face seems blanked out, hollowed, maybe just blurry. But the blond hair and bright yellow light emanating from it is unmistakable. Icarus wonders how cheesy it is of him to see Death as Apollo, as the sun. How cheesy (maybe it’s just tragic. It usually is with Regulus.) it is of him to want to embrace them.

Icarus doesn’t respond in the way he thinks he should in the face of Death. He’s too defeated for that. What questions can he ask that he doesn’t already know the answer to? What, did I do good? Of course he didn’t. And that’s a reassurance only a child would reach for. He stays silent.

Icarus thinks Death is circling him, maybe. His sense of space-time is a bit funny in the veil, after all. It doesn’t feel like a predator circling prey. It just makes him feel restless, itchy. He wants this done, over with.

“Do you want to live again?” Death asks.

Regulus thinks of Sirius. Of being on his knees, begging for his brother not to leave him at that house. Grimmauld place, the grim, old place. Icarus doesn’t think Sirius would be begging him to stay right now.

He thinks of Dorcas. She hasn’t talked to him since she saw the Mark. They were laughing and suddenly his sleeve lifted, and she stared at it for a moment before up-and-leaving. That was 2 years ago. Regulus doesn’t think she’ll be glad for this, but he also doesn’t think she’ll cry when she sees his death in the paper. She’s come to terms with the loss of him already.

Barty’s going insane. He has been for a long time, so Regulus didn’t want to finally admit he was too far gone. But he joined the Dark Lord of his own volition. And he’s been practicing the Crucio on himself. Regulus doesn’t think you can get much worse than that.

Evan hardly talks anymore. He keeps trying to reign Barty in, but he knows it’s a lost cause. Everyone does. Regulus will just be another addition to his list of failures.

And Pandora. Oh, Pandora. She wants him to live. She’s been trying for a baby with Xeno. Regulus wants to live long enough to be named godfather. And Narcissa is pregnant now. She says the babe’s middle name will be Leo. Even if it’s not his actual name, or the boy’s first name, (Lucius would never agree on naming him directly after Regulus), he’s honored. He wants to live to see the sweet darlings, but. It’s always a but with him, a never, an ending, the death of something.

Regulus doesn’t think he’s strong enough for that. Not in the middle of a war. Not when he’s fighting for the wrong side.

“No,” Regulus finally answers.

“No?” Death phases close to him and the breath is knocked out of his body. Icarus recoils and flinches into himself. He feels like his mother’s wand is on him. “See?” Death’s laugh feels like nothing and everything at the same time. A siren call, the sounds of his own and Sirius’ screams. A Veela’s magical touch, the venom of a scorpion.

“You do want to live. You all do,” it drawls. “Well, the babies want to stay in their non-existence. But you’ve been alive longer than you’ve been dead, enough that you still flinch away from me.”

“Instinct means nothing. I don’t act on gut feelings,” Regulus grits out. A stupid decision to argue with Death, sure, but he will not be able to take living.

“You don’t have a choice in this.”

“Why not?”

“The Master of Death has called upon you to be resurrected. Fate has approved.”

“The Master of Death,” Icarus sighs. He just wants this to stop. It feels like a joke. This old wives’ tale Kreacher scared him with, the story Pandora and Xenophilius liked chasing after. Regulus doesn’t want to be called upon by the Master of Death. And who would want him alive, anyway? Neither of those two collected all the Hallows, he would know all about it. “Why would Fate approve? My name destines me to be a martyr, anyway. Just let me rest,” he pleads.

Apollo gazes upon him. “I do not know why Fate does what They do.”

“Just let me rest,” Regulus repeats.

Death seems to sigh, maybe. What would be a burst of air if Death wasn’t Death and the Veil wasn’t the Veil feels instead a ray of radioactive burns. Icarus flinches from Apollo’s essence.

Tears may or may not escape Regulus’ eyes. He’s not sure if he even has eyes in the Veil.

“Any more complaints?”

Icarus looks at death. He is just so, so tired. There is no more energy within him to fight. He was supposed to die. He stays silent.

The world shifts around him.

—

“Hello there.”

His torso is filled with piercing pain. Everything feels so heavy. This isn’t fair.

Regulus looks towards the voice.

There’s a kid curled up against his side. They aren’t looking at him but their shade of blond is exactly as Pandora’s always was. Regulus smiles, a bittersweet thing. He left her and her husband alone in a war. The nostalgia and guilt fight for dominance in his head.

Regulus tries sitting up (OW OW OW OW) and he seems to be pretty well-bandaged while propped up against a decently large rock. It is not the most comfortable position.

“Hi,” he croaks out. Wow. Icarus didn’t think drowning would leave him with a dry throat.

“Here’s some water, mister,” the kid summons a glass of what is distinctly not water. It is sludgy and purple.

Regulus drinks it anyway. He really has absolutely nothing to lose. Except this kid now, he guesses. Speaking of,

“Sorry, the Master of Death is 9? And why do you want me alive anyway?”

The kid looks up at him. Her face strikes his heart, hard. She looks just like a mini Pandora.

“You’re my godfather, silly. And I’m 12,” she says. “Mummy always called you my Uncle, but I don’t think you’re really my uncle.”

Regulus is reminded of all of his times with Pandora and Xeno. She seems just like them already.

“You’re-“ he chokes. “You’re Pandora’s kid?” Oh, he wishes he were alive to see this kid grow up. His heart pangs at the thought of Kreacher giving the locket to Pandora after he died. “How do you even know about me? Wasn’t I already dea-“ his voice betrays him by breaking on the topic of his death. Icarus hardly thinks that should invoke any emotion. He’s been preparing for martyr-ship his whole life, why should he prove Death right about wanting to live?

Regulus clears his throat. “What’s your name, kid?”

She smiles. And oh, it’s a familiar smile. It’s the first smile he’d ever seen that wasn’t tinged with pretending or resentment. It’s all his times of pure happiness when he could forget his fate. It’s the last smile he’d seen in the weeks leading up to his death. “I’m Luna. Mummy always told stories about you, and I always saw your pictures around the house.” She pauses and frowns.

“I never met a lot of mummy’s friends. But she always told me about you guys. I think she talked about you the most, though. She warned me about all your wrackspurts,” Luna snuggles back on his chest. He should probably stop her from doing that considering he’s filthy with blood and she’s pressing on his wounds making him delirious with pain but. Oh well. He just got back from the dead, he thinks he deserves some hugs. Regulus’ mind focuses on one part of her sentence.

“You never met a lot of her friends.” The devastation is clear is his voice. He can hear Luna worriedly shifting to look at him again.

Regulus wonders if he could’ve saved them. It was a war, he should have been there with them. He should’ve been fighting along their sides. Or rather, they all should’ve been fighting on Dorcas’ side.

She nods against his chest.

“End of Everything?” His goddaughter says, almost like she’s asking a question.

“What was that, kid?” Regulus asks. He opens his eyes and-

“AH!” Regulus scrambles up the rock and tries to curl around Luna like a shield. Death smiles. Probably. As close as someone without a defined mouth can smile, anyway. “Do you forget She is the Master of Death?” Icarus feels like he can hear the respect in those titles. If “She” even is a title, anyway. And if he’s even hearing it. Death’s voice feels halfway like telepathy.

Once Regulus processes that, he heaves a big sigh and loosens his grip on Luna. “Death,” Luna smiles, “here you are. Can you get Aunty Dorcas too? And Uncle Evan?”

“I shall try, my Master. I must converse with Fate and Magic,” Death seems to bow before dissipating with a funeral’s breeze. He now looks, to Icarus, like the love child of Apollo, Poseidon, and a skeleton.

“Where’s- where’s Pandora, Luna?”

Luna stays silent. Regulus gets distracted by the cold wind ruffling the towering branches before she answers.

“Dead.” She answers in a whisper. Regulus hardly catches it, especially in his distracted state from when he came to terms with being ignored. He looks back at Luna.

“No. No, no she isn’t.” Regulus’ head is shaking, not of his own accord. “Where’s Pandora, Luna? Where is she? You’re the Master of Death, come on, please, you brought me back.”

“Fate didn’t agree with Death. Lady Magic tried to convince Them. It didn’t work.”

Icarus basks in barely-there denial until he is shaking, crying, and too weak to keep up the disbelief. He falls asleep weeping while Luna puts the Invisibility cloak over him for a blanket.