The Drink of Despair
October 31st, 1979
Regulus
Regulus can swim quite well, even enjoys to, but he’d rather be doing so in much warmer waters, on a bright and sunny day. The ice-cold Atlantic Ocean on a dauntingly cloudy day? Not ideal.
Kreacher had offered to apparate him to the cave’s opening on the cliffside, but he hadn’t wanted to risk triggering any potential wards the Dark Lord had placed around the area by a human apparating within the vicinity. So, he swims along the cliffside himself to where Kreacher waits at the almost pitch-black cave entrance.
Once inside, Regulus grimaces at the burdensome robes weighing him down with their saturated state. He casts a hot air charm, to both dry his clothes and warm himself up. Frustrated with how long it takes to get through all layers of his ornate robes, he curses his family’s upper-class pride, not for the first time recently. He forgoes the attempt after several minutes.
“Kreacher can dry Master Regulus’ robes for him, if Master wishes,” Kreacher offers, raising a hand to snap his fingers. Regulus raises one as well, in a gesture to stop him.
“I’ll make do. Save your energy,” he tells the elderly Elf. “We don’t know what’s waiting for us in there. The Dark Lord could have wards or other types of protection that he didn’t let you find out about, beyond the lake of Inferi.” Kreacher makes that trademark face of his, the one capable of giving the impression that he’s looking down at you, regardless of being several feet shorter. Regulus might be intimidated by the disdain; had he not been subjected to it every day of his life.
“Kreacher is getting old, not getting weak,” he scoffs. “The Dark Lord led Kreacher through a secret entrance at the back of the cave.” He’d already explained as much in the several times Regulus had asked him to recount his experience with Voldemort, which is how the boy knew he was merely eager to change the subject. Thinking smugly about how he’d more or less won what could hardly be considered an argument (and also rolling his eyes at the House Elf’s stubborn pride), Regulus follows Kreacher to the wall of rock a handful of meters away.
Running his hand over the stone, Regulus feels for the section that has the strongest pull aura of magic. His palm comes into contact with part of the surface that’s a great deal colder than the rest, surrounded by a charged sort of air that immediately puts all of his nerves on edge.
“Right here?” he asks. Kreacher nods gravely.
“Kreacher will- No, Master Regulus-” Kreacher cries in alarm when Regulus uses his wand to cast a wordless lacero, drawing blood from his own arm to drip over the cave wall.
“We agreed, Kreacher,” he reminds the Elf. “I won’t be putting you in any more danger than necessary, and you’ll face no harm that I can avoid.”
In any case, he thinks, bitterly reminded of his mother. This small cut, with the meager amount that it bleeds, is hardly of any consequence to me. When Regulus made Kreacher promise back home to put the horcrux above any other priority, including Regulus himself, he hadn’t told the Elf that he suspects the, ah, hypothetical situation in which he doesn’t make it out of the cave is more probable than any other outcome.
He doesn’t allow himself to ponder that fact, however, when the rock crumbles away to leave a momentary path into the hiding place. It’s dark. Regulus can’t even see his own hand when he places it a mere few inches from his face, so the first thing he does is conjure a beam of light from the end of his wand, running it over their surroundings. The lake is too vast to see all the way across, though he can make out the shape of the island in the center, and the walkway around is so narrow that he’s glad he hadn’t stepped out yet.
Kreacher leads him around the water’s perimeter to a piece of thick, mossy chain laying on the rock. “You must pull the boat to us with your hands. Summoning charms do not work in here.”
Regulus does as he’s told, making a face at the slickness of the algae built up on the iron. The trip across the lake is silent, save for the soft rippling sounds of the water beneath them. The trip across the lake is deadly silent, Regulus can’t even hear the sound of the water rippling beneath the boat. He’d wonder if there was some sort of silencing enchantment on the cave, were it not for the echo of his boots as he steps out on the island. The ground is wet, and he tries not to think about what that means. Were the inferi wandering about until they got here? Did the water levels rise? Either option could mean that there are wards to alert the cave when someone enters. Does The Dark Lord know they’re there?
Regulus rushes to the basin, even more in favor of getting the locket and getting at least Kreacher out as swiftly as possible. Moving his wand to his right hand, he grabs the cup floating on the surface of the potion in his left, and fills it to the brim. He could guess, from Kreacher’s description of both the potion and its effects, that it was the Drink of Despair. Looking at the green liquid in the goblet right now, he has no doubt of that fact. He swallows the first cup’s worth in three gulps.
Regulus has the first four refills down in less than a minute, one right after the other, before he feels the effects. His whole body begins to feel prickly, hot, and clammy. Like every single nerve ending under his skin has turned into a searing needle. The second the mental effects kick in, halfway through the sixth cup, he drops it in shock.
“You’re no better than them,” His brother’s voice seems to reverberate through the whole cave with the force that it rams into his mind.
“No!” He stumbles back. Kreacher retrieves the cup before it can roll into the water, holding it up to him.
“Master Regulus, you must keep drinking. You ordered Kreacher to make sure you drink the whole potion!” he cries like it pains him to force the cup back into Regulus’ hand.
Regulus shakes the surprise from him. He should have guessed the Drink of Despair would bring up memories of his brother. He had guessed as much, though he still hadn’t been ready.
Fighting the stabbing pains that make his arms tremble and his legs almost too weak to stand, he grasps the goblet and goes for the seventh drink. The moment the liquid touches his lips, he’s hit with another memory, but this one he can see as well as hear.
“Crucio!” Walburga’s shrill voice rings out in the drawing room. Sirius screams are hoarse from where he lays on the floor, curled in on himself and bleeding from several wounds.
Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the palm that hold his wand to his temple. He remembers the scene so clearly. It’s hard to forget something that he’s seen every night in his sleep since he was fifteen years old. The second week of the summer holiday, when Sirius had point blank refused to take the dark mark when their father had told him it was expected.
Orion had first given three lashes with the cutting curse, then repeated the order. Sirius had refused again, with the gall to tell their father to go fuck himself after that one. Twelve more lashes, to various parts of his body, and Walburga had grown tired of Sirius’ defiance. It had taken their mother sixteen years, but she finally realized that their usual punishments held no sway over their eldest son.
Regulus had stood by and watched for the entire thirty something minutes that she repeatedly used the cruciatus curse, screaming at him in between rounds. He’ll never forgive himself for it, especially as another round of the memory hits him as he finishes the cup.
“You are disgusting! Disgraceful! I will not have a blood traitor for a son!” She roars “I should have pulled you out of that good for nothing school the moment you were sorted into Gryffindor! A house of sniveling, weak, filthy mudbloods if there ever was one.”
She swept out of the room after one more curse, ensuring Sirius would be too weak to move for quite some time, her husband following her dutifully. Regulus remains, staring in horror as Sirius lays in a still growing pool of blood, whole body convulsing in short bursts every few seconds. He feels frozen, unable to move for what is far too long.
Regulus used to think of that as the night he lost his brother, but as he got older, he recognized that to be false. Sirius had been lost to him for years already. That’s just the night that Regulus finally let go of him.
He doesn’t remember much beyond the eighth glass; Falling to the floor when he could no longer hold himself up; Kreacher speaking to him in firm words of encouragement, urging him on and forcing him to continue drinking; more memories flooding through his weakening mind shields.
“I want to help you,” echoes Remus’ voice. “But I can’t do anything if you won’t help yourself, Reg.” The night he lost his best friend.
“I tried so hard, Black,” came Dorcas’ scornful tone, colder and more detached than she’d ever spoken to him. “But I’m done trying to see the good in any of you. I’m done pretending I can fix you. You, Barty, and Evan… You’ll get what you deserve eventually.” That’s when the self-loathing had reached its all-time high, and it hadn’t come down since. That night, he realized how wrong everything was, when it was too late to turn back.
He remembers begging, curling in on himself on the cold stone and pleading for the pain to stop, crying out to his big brother to come save him, like he always used to. Like he hadn’t in so long. But this was different. Regulus wasn’t being weak anymore. He was doing the right thing. Surely Sirius knew that. Surely, his big brother could forgive him now. So why won’t Sirius come to save him?
Why won’t his big brother come and scare away these monsters? They crawl towards him, moving at various speeds. Their pale, grey skin pulled tight over their bones, giving them the look of skeletons wrapped tight in… well, flesh, but it doesn’t look right. their eyes are sunken in, their cheeks hollow, and their expressions haunted, reminding him vaguely of what’s it’s been like to look in a mirror recently. He almost laughs, he might actually laugh, but he’s so out of it that he can’t really tell.
He can’t feel half of his body anymore, and the parts he can feel are so weak and shaky that they aren’t any more help to him than if they were numb as well. His vision swims, going in and out of focus as it becomes increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open.
Please, Siri-
He’s ripped viciously out of his delirious state when he realizes he can’t breathe. He doesn’t know how he got in the water, but he’s been dragged to what must be dozens of meters below the surface, if the weight pressing in around him is anything to go by. It’s a moment later that he recognizes the pressure for something else entirely; hands, pushing and pulling at him from all angles. His lungs are already burning, so he’s been under for a while. He can’t see through the dark around him, but he can taste his own blood in the water and feel the hands shredding at every inch of his body.
Sirius isn’t coming, he scolds himself. Don’t be a fool. You knew how this was going to end. You wanted an end to everything. This is it. Take it. Stop fighting it, you coward.
Coward. “Here’s your chance.” Sirius once said to him, giving him the only opportunity he’d ever have to slip away from his parents. “Don’t you want an out? This is it! Take it!” He’d started shouting when Regulus had refused. “You fucking coward, take it!”
Those are the words that occupy Regulus’ mind as he stops struggling against the Inferi, letting go of the bony hand he’s been fighting to pry from around his throat.
This is your out, is his last thought.
_____
October 2nd, 1975
Remus
A shadow fell across the heavy textbook that Remus was bent over. He looked up, expecting to see Lily, or perhaps Peter, both of whom joined him for studying sometimes. The person approached him far too quietly to be James or Sirius. The greeting stopped short on the tip of his tongue when he saw Regulus Black standing in front of him on the other side of the table instead.
“Wh-”
“Do you mind?” The younger Black brother asked through gritted teeth as though it physically pained him to be speaking to someone associated with Sirius. “Every other table is full and nowhere else in the castle is ever quiet enough for me to focus.”
It took Remus a moment to realize what he was being asked. “Er, I suppose I don’t mind.” He moved hastily to clear his books and papers off of half the table.
Regulus sat down, pulling out his own textbook, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, and opening his notes beside it, quietly reading. Remu settled back into his own work on his history essay.
It was surprisingly not the most awful study session he’s ever had, both of them kept to themselves and made no attempt at conversation, hardly noticing each other for a few hours.
After a while, he heard the continuous turning of pages, and dared a glance up to see the younger hunched over his journal, his previously immaculate posture forgone, and his face scrunched up in confusion as he flicked back and forth through his book. He debated for a few seconds whether to offer help, assuming that Regulus would probably rather they didn’t acknowledge their proximity.
He felt Remus’ eyes on him, however, and looked up with a sharp glare. Remus expected to be snapped at, especially as Regulus smoothed his expression over into his usual resting look of boredom and fixed his back into a straight position.
Instead, what he got was, “Did you struggle with the summoning charm last year?”
“Er- well, most people do struggle with it, yeah.”
Regulus sucked on his teeth for a moment, then grimaced before admitting, “I keep making the wrong things fly at me with too much force. I gave Evan Rosier a concussion yesterday with an entire drawer of my dresser when I tried to accio my tie.”
Remus barked a startled laugh at that, quickly covering his mouth to quiet himself. Regulus’ cheeks were tinted pink from embarrassment, though his lips were turned up at the corners just slightly. “You have no idea,” he told the younger without thinking. “James tried to summon his broom once during Quidditch practice last year when we were learning it, and it turned sideways and hit Sirius in the back of his knees on its way over, completely knocked his feet out from under him.” He realized a bit belatedly that Regulus probably didn’t like mention of his brother any more than Sirius himself, but to his shock, Regulus only snorted rather violently, then slapped a hand over his own mouth, amusement immediately falling from his features, though Remus didn’t miss how he had to bite the inside of his cheeks to stop a grin.
“I do wish I could have seen that.”
“It was the highlight of my week.”
Regulus cleared his throat after a moment. “Well, how did Potter get better at it?”
“It helps if you practice on smaller and lighter objects first. Like your tie, but with no bigger objects around. Once you’ve got the hang of catching it in your hand, you can start adding more to the surroundings to work on your precision with which objects you summon, though probably still don’t do it around large objects that aren’t fixed down. I almost took myself out with Pete’s bed, too.”
The Slytherin considered this advice for a moment, then seemed to conclude that it wasn’t utter nonsense. Packing up his things, he nodded to Remus civilly. “Well, I suppose you aren’t entirely useless, Lupin. That makes one of the four of you, at least.”
“Uh, thanks?” Remus said, but Regulus was already on his way out.
_____
November 6th, 1979
Remus
“-us?Sirius? Sirius!”
“He’s not home now, Prongs.” Remus calls out with a sigh when he hears James’ voice come through the two way mirror on the counter behind him. “He’s out for a ride on his bike. Don’t worry, I’ll chew him out for forgetting the mirror at home when he gets back.”
“Remus!” James emphasizes his name, and Remus frowns when he picks the mirror up to see the state of his friend. Running a hand through his already unkempt hair, his glasses off and held in the same hand, the way he does when he’s really stressing about something. “Have you got the paper this morning? Sirius went off? Where? Did he see the headline before he left?”
“What headline?” Remus frowns, a puzzled look crossing his face. “He left before the post came and I haven’t looked at it yet. He’s just out for a regular ride… James, what is it?” He probably does a poor job of masking his rising concern, but the younger isn’t exactly doing anything to help him keep calm.
“It’s Black, he’s gone,” James blurts. “I mean his brother, Sirius’ brother, Regulus Black.”
“Yes, I know who his my boyfriend’s brother is,” Remus reminds James, used to his friends’ tendency to ‘forget’ that he was once close with the youngest Black. He does his level best not to sprint to the stack of mail on the arm of the sofa, and yanking The Daily Prophet out from the bottom of the pile, Remus asks James, on the verge of panic, “what do you mean ‘gone’, James? What’s happened to Reg?”
He hears James trying to form another incoherent sentence, still in a fit about where Sirius is, saying something about how they need to find him now, before he hears this news when he’s alone, but it falls on deaf ears when his eyes land on the front page of the newspaper.
Black Heir Confirmed Missing After Week Long Search
Regulus A. Black, 18, was confirmed this morning to be missing. Orion Black reports this morning that his only son has not been seen since early in the evening on October 30th, and that the family has had a private investigator looking into his whereabouts since November 2nd. The family of Regulus Black has no more to say to the public on the matter at the present time.
“-old of him? Remus?” Remus doesn’t really notice James’ speaking to him, focusing more on the way his chest caves in and the room seems to get smaller as his mind floods with every horrible possibility there is.
What if he’s dead? What if he’s being held hostage or tortured? What if he’s being held hostage and tortured? What if he got cold feet and ran? Did he get away? Or did Voldemort catch him? What if-
“REMUS!” James shouts through the mirror. “Do you think you can get ahold of Sirius?”
“I, uh-” He swallows hard. He doesn’t need to see himself to know how pale he is, he’s light-headed enough. “I don’t think I could manage a Patronus right now, and I haven’t got anything else-”
James’ lips press into a thin line, a layer of disdain now coating the worry on his expression. Luckily for Remus, he puts aside his obvious want to give Remus one of his repetitive lectures on the subject of his friendship with Regulus Black, in favor of Sirius.
“I’ll send one, but Remus you know what a disaster it’ll be if Sirius finds this out by himself. One of us has to break the news, and… well, to be honest-”
“It should be you.” Remus finishes his sentence for him. “You’re right, I can’t- I need a moment. You just, you go and do that- send that Patronus- and I’ll just…” He trails off, voice and hands both shaking. James just sighs and gives Remus on more glance through the mirror before he disappears from view.
Remus drops the mirror ungracefully onto the coffee table as he sinks down onto the sofa, his throat tight and burning.
_____
Sirius
Sirius bursts into the flat an hour later, helmet tucked under his arm. His fingers are numb from the cold, but he can still feel how disheveled his hair is when he runs a hand through it. Remus is sitting on the couch, knees tucked up to his chest, chin rested on them. There’s anxiety present on his face when he turns to Sirius, eyes red rimmed as though he’s been crying.
Oh, Merlin, what’s happened? He thinks, remembering James’ Patronus., ‘hurry back, bad news. Best I come to your flat to tell you so Remus isn’t alone any longer.’
“Alright, Moony?” he frowns, setting his helmet down and stepping forward to kneel in front of his boyfriend. He places a hand on his leg, rubbing soothingly.
“I’m… fine.”
Sucking his teeth, Sirius resists the urge to argue. He’s learned over the years when he can push Moony to be honest about his feelings and when it’ll just lead to a fight. Besides, on top of the dislike Remus already has for being fussed over, they’re both very proud men, and Sirius can understand the struggle to unbottle negative emotions.
“Prongs said I ought to hurry and get home. He’s got something to tell me apparently,” he tilts his head in question. “Do you know what that’s about?”
Remus swallows, making eye contact as he grabs the prophet from beside him rather hastily and folds it up out of Sirius’ view. The older reaches for it, Remus clutches it tightly to his chest. Sirius reels back, suspicion instantly flaring. He doesn’t like how guarded and secretive his Moony’s been lately, but Remus speaks before Sirius can start anything.
“Yes,” he says carefully. “But James and I agree that it’s best if you hear it from him. Is he coming here or calling through the mirror, do you know?”
Sirius swallows back his protest on the assumption that whatever James is coming to tell him will probably have to do with what Remus is hiding. In any case, he’ll find out what the paper says later, if it isn’t what James has to talk to him about. “He’ll be coming here.”
“Well then,” Remus stands up, tucking the paper under his arm. “I’ll go make some tea?”
“Yeah, thanks.” He follows his boyfriend into the kitchen, not missing the way he doesn’t set the prophet down the whole time they’re within sight of each other.
He lets James in a few moments later when there’s a knock on the front door, and the three of them sit around the living room together. Remus takes his previous spot on the sofa back, Sirius on the other end, and James pulls one of the dining chairs up next to Sirius, turned slightly to be able to face them both.
“So what have I done to deserve this intervention?” Sirius tries to joke, sipping his tea and enjoying the warmth soaking into his body.
“Have you seen or heard any news today?” James asks.
“No? Should I have?” Eyes flicking back and forth between the other two, he takes notice of the fact that Remus won’t meet his gaze, and how James’ eyes moves between the two of them with differing amounts of pity.
“I don’t, uh, know how to tell you this, but, uh… Your father released a statement this morning in the papers.”
Sirius snaps his head around to the article still clutched in his boyfriend’s hands, immediately making another grab for it, but Remus had been anticipating the move, and holds it out of his reach, still not looking away from the floor.
“Well, what is it?” He demands.
James considers how best to break it to him for a moment, before deciding to rip the bandaid off. “Regulus went missing last week. They don’t know where he could be .”
“Is that all?” Sirius scoffs “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to get back to my day.” He stands up and waves his arms in a ‘whatever’ motion.
Now, Remus turns to stare at him, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.
“Wh-”
“Thanks, James, but I’m fine with this,” he waves the youngest off. “In fact, good riddance. One less cell wasted in Azkaban when we get all those Death Eaters rounded up and tossed in there.”
Remus makes a strangled noise, clasping a hand over his mouth as he stands himself and rushes down the hall. Sirius flinches at the sound of their bedroom door slamming shut, but pretends that he doesn’t. James gives him a reproachful glance.
“Listen, Pads,” he sighs. “We both know that I don’t believe you’re entirely unaffected by this, and you know I never approved of Remus’ and Regulus’ friendship in school, but… For Moony’s sake, can you at least not pretend that you wish your brother harm?”
“My brother’s right in front of me, Prongs.”
James, to his credit, doesn’t waiver. “Regulus was your brother once,” he reminds Sirius. “I, of all people, know how much you loved him, the things that you stayed and endured to try and save him, and you can’t fool me into thinking that that just went away because he- well…”
“Ended up becoming every bit the son our parents wanted?”
“Yeah, that,” James agrees. “Listen, I don’t like it, but maybe Moony had a point in school, about Regul-”
“He had every chance to get out that I did,” Sirius spits with a tone of finality. “If he’s dead somewhere then good riddance, like I said. If he’d not, then he’ll get what he deserves soon enough.”
James runs a hand stressfully through his hair, then seems to decide not to press any further for now. “Right then, I’ve got guard duty this afternoon. Will you and Remus be alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, get going. Evans will want to see you before you go off.”
Giving Sirius a tight hug that lasts longer than necessary, James then heads for the door. “Don’t do anything to antagonize your poor man today, yeah? And hey, I’ve told you, you can’t be calling her Evans much longer. It’ll be Mrs. Potter soon.” And he leaves with a shared grin between the two of them, spirits temporarily lifted.
‘Temporarily’ lasts about five seconds. The moment James is out of sight, Sirius staggers back.
Reggie? My little brother? He takes notice of The Daily Prophet, now finally out of Remus’ vigilant supervision. Regulus’ picture stares up at him, barely moving as he stands like a statue in front of the camera, eyes cold and jaw set tight. The photograph shows him nearly two years older than Sirius last saw him. Not my little brother anymore. His expression is hard and determined, bordering on angry. Not my soft little Reggie anymore.