II
Regulus woke up in a coughing fit, lungs burning, desperate for air; Regulus had tears gathering in her eyes before her coughing fit settled down. Regulus' eyes blinked open properly for the first time, her bleary gaze resting on a teal-coloured duvet—Regulus could hardly imagine the Inferi tucking her in; the thought was laughable if she wasn't in such a shock.
Her heart beating a mile a minute as Regulus' eyes flicker around her old bedroom, surprise quickly melting into confusion; there was no scattering of paper and books to show months of dedicated obsession with Horcruxes and Tom Riddle, no crumpled up practice letters of her note to the Dark Lord that weren't dramatic enough scattered around her room. Her bedroom hadn't looked like this in years; Regulus absentmindedly scratched her left arm, a movement that she did when she was frustrated; in a twisted way, Regulus liked to imagine that clawing her dark mark, the Dark Lord would feel her pain, and if she ended up peeling her skin from scratching it raw, maybe the wretched thing would peel off with it.
Of course, it was a foolish thought because all she got in her efforts was damaged scarred tissue, and the Dark Mark looked as new as the day she received it. Her hands trembled as she tried to dig her nails in her skin, wanting to pierce the skin at least, yet when she looked at her perfectly cut short nails, Regulus' eyes snapped to her forearm, and she froze, whimpering.
The Dark Mark was gone.
Regulus felt bile rise up from her throat; her arm was bare. She hesitated to touch it as if it was a poorly concealed glamour that would fade instantly. This couldn't be the afterlife, for she would have surely been punished for her past transgression and would have woken up screaming from the torture. It would have to be a side effect from the poison; as studious as Regulus was, she hadn't studied it because the potion hadn't existed before the Dark Lord invented it; she didn't know the continents or the effects, only what Kreacher had told her.
Regulus ran her fingers through her hair; her fingers startled at the softness of her hair. Merlin . Regulus couldn't remember the last time she had cared for her hair properly or herself.
She glanced back down at her unmarked forearm, chest swelling with so many emotions she could scarcely breathe. Slowly lifting herself from the bed, Regulus tried to find a sense of familiarity. It was hard to find any; the place wasn't dark or gloomy with all the curtains shut. No dangerous plant decorated her window— a last gift from Pandora, who held no regard for danger.
It didn't have Barty's Quidditch sweater hanging from her chair when he made the team for a week because they were too short on players, only to start a fire and almost burn down the female locker rooms where Regulus left her sweater. It burnt most of the room, so he gave it to her as an apology even though she got a new one the next day.
Evan's horrid taste in music records wasn't there; half of the photos he took weren't put up on her wall either. Regulus' stomach churned at the sight of her walls, windows and bed draped with Slytherin's trademark colours, his colours: emerald and silver. Her house motto was painted on top of her bed, " Toujours Pur ", which made a soft sardonic laugh escape her, 'Always pure' no one in this family is pure, the motto that once filled her with pride and made her cringe away; why would she even let something as tacky as that on her wall?
Regulus wanted to vomit; her room looked the same as before she had taken the Dark Mark; it was the picture of innocence and family pride. The Dark Mark had taken all of that from her, and Regulus couldn't hold the vomit back this time.
Regulus headed to her bathroom, and she couldn't even reach the toilet before she started throwing up in the sink. Panting slightly after stopping, Regulus shivered in disgust; she didn't like vomiting nor the taste of it left in her mouth. Maybe the hallucination would stop now that the potion was out of her system. Lifting her head up, Regulus took in her appearance with shock. She hadn't looked like that since- well, Regulus could hardly remember when she had stopped looking anything but pale and sick; Regulus squeezed her eyes close until she saw white static.
No matter how many times she blinked, Regulus was still met with a younger and healthier version of herself; there were no bags under her eyes or sunken cheekbone, and while her face might still have a soft sharpness to it, it was nothing like the razor-sharp features she had developed when she was older. Her height was more or less the same, and she looked well fed, skinny but well fed, which was typical for Regulus; she had always been built like a twig.
Her appearance left a different sour taste in her mouth; it was another reminder of her life before everything; maybe Regulus had been too hasty in thinking this wasn't the afterlife; this was as cruel a punishment as any. She knew she shouldn't complain when Regulus wasn't the most upstanding person or the kindest. She wasn't proud of who she had become, a coward, a torturer, a murderer, a follower.
Regulus bit her lip; she could hardly stand the person she saw in the mirror either, an ignorant, entitled brat with a severe need to prove her worth; her naivety and ignorance cost her her freedom. While she wasn't as oblivious or stupid as the worst, she hadn't seen her enemies from all sides, just the ones in front of her. Anger bubbled in Regulus, along with her magic. If only she hadn't been so trusting, was it her fault that believing the people who were supposed to protect her would never hurt her? Another sort of anger wheeled up inside her for all the injustice she had faced, and the mirror shattered; Regulus barely flinched when the glass cut her skin.
Regulus stared at the mirror in surprise; she trembled as she whipped the blood off her cheek; staring at the red-tinged blood on her finger; Regulus scoffed in discern; her fresh, pure blood, the blood that many other pureblood fanatics were fighting for, only for them to kill off slowly other like them.
Exiting the bathroom, careful not to step on the shards of glass, Regulus walks to the door, suffocated by the atmosphere, before stopping at the sight of her wand. Regulus' breath constricted as she reached to grab her wand from the holster on the nightstand; her 9-inch Dogwood wand with unicorn hair was in perfect condition; it shone as if recently polished, and Regulus could cry.
Her wand was snapped at a raid on her first year as a death eater. Sirius snapped her wand. Fury bubbled in her at the reminder as she held onto her wand tightly, knuckles turning white. Sirius accio'd her wand and looked at it. He had recognised it, they were duelling, and he had recognised her ; stopping the duel, he just stared , a look of disappointment overtaking his face. Regulus could hear his voice as she clenched her fists.
"I thought you were better than this, better than them."
One thing about Sirius Black was that he was a narcissistic hypocrite; he fought for equality when in reality, Sirius thought no one could be better than him; he used his 'tragic' life as a way to be put on a higher pedestal of morality, but she could never be on the same pedestal because Sirius didn't think her to be better than any other criminal. He stereotyped her the moment that ratty old hat sorted her into Slytherin, and it wasn't like Regulus didn't try . She tried so hard to not be perceived as evil by her brother when she realised she was fighting a losing battle.
Maybe he still thought they could save their relationship, which would have been useless; their foundation was cracked, their relationship memories haunted by ghosts, too many words said, too much blood was in the water, and too many tears spilt. They could never be family; they hardly ever were. Maybe there was a semblance of family in their childhood, but now those memories seemed like a distant dream, a bittersweet one with only half of it remembered. Regulus learnt not to expect much from her brother but the worst. He could never see past her Slytherin crest, and why would Sirius want to work for a family he never even wanted when he already had one he loved?
Regulus dropped her wand like it was hot fire and left the room, this time without looking back.
The corridor was empty; Regulus wasn't surprised; it almost always was. She was the only one living on this floor. It used to be two, and it often got quite lonely. Regulus spared a fleeting glance down the corridor before shutting the thought out; she shouldn't bring her hopes up. But was it hope? When she knew what to expect? Her brother wouldn't be in his room; the notion seemed otherworldly. Regulus would go see herself, just prove herself right.
She walked towards Sirius' room; coming to a stop, she realised the door was ajar, strange since her Mother had always locked it and sealed it since he ran away. Regulus swallowed, stomach dropping; what if he was inside? Would Sirius be another tormentor in this punishment? Or would he welcome her with open arms? The former seemed more likely, Regulus knew he wasn't dead, but still, it would be ironic if her torture were led by the image of her brother.
Breathe stuttering, Regulus pushed on the door softly, a breath of air escaping her to find it empty. Was it a relief? She didn't know; stepping through the threshold, Regulus looked around the room; it was as bare as the day he had left, and the only decoration was those crude posters and muggle magazines he loved to annoy her Mother with along with some clothes he had left behind.
Regulus wasn't surprised; her brother let her down even in her hallucinations.
Regulus reached for one of the magazines; she wrinkled her nose at the woman at the front of the page, half-naked. Regulus's eyes trailed to the publishing date, and her hands split the magazine.
July 13th 1957.
Regulus swallowed hard; tiredness from another life came over her, and she collapsed on the bed. How audaciously cruel, she mused as she tucked her legs into her chest. Was her punishment to relive the worst day of her life? Although that would give Sirius too much credit, she could live without her brother; she couldn't live with herself if she had to retake the Dark Mark; maybe that was what this was, giving her an ounce of freedom before taking it away from her again. Regulus felt a wave of drowsiness envelop her before she lost consciousness.
✭✭✮✭✭
The punishment continued.
Although it wasn't actually a punishment, nothing had happened. The past several days had passed in a blurry haze; each morning, Regulus had opened her eyes, expecting to be the subject of a new method of torture. But when nothing happened, Regulus had turned paranoid and hysterical, waiting for the other shoe to drop, until Regulus had enough of wasting away in her room and had begrudgingly accepted her new reality.
It didn't seem like a punishment when everything continued as if it was a normal day in the streets of London; Regulus could hear the children playing in the park, and the neighbours dog that she knew would die in six months kept barking at the mailman and the only form of torture where the cars that drove past that where annoyingly loud.
The first time she woke up, Regulus was still in Sirius' room; she jumped off the bed as if it burned her and ran to her room; locking her door, she slid down the door and stared at her room for hours; it was only when Kreacher popped in her room did Regulus started to cry.
It startled the poor elf that he almost went to her Mother because he thought something was wrong with her— which there was, but it wasn't what he thought. After letting Kreacher heal her cut on her cheek, which sent him into hysterics when he saw it and convincing him not to tell her Mother about her little incident, he left to inform her that she wasn't feeling well and wouldn't come down to eat. Regulus moved to her bed; seeing Kreacher was emotionally exhausting for her; she was half in terror and relief in seeing him again but mortified someone had seen her in such a state. All she wanted to do was bury her head in her pillows and fall asleep again.
Now Regulus was staring at the ceiling in a daze, unsure whether she wanted to laugh hysterically, cry, or scream.
Regulus breathed heavily, hands fisting the sheets. Why her? She was as jaded as they come; Regulus had done barely any good in her life or made the right decisions when it mattered; she definitely didn't remember pre-subscribing to a second try at life, if she had well, as morbid as it sounds, she'd kill herself ages ago. She let out a long, shaky exhale, a wave of panic surging over her so intense that, for a moment, her ears buzzed. Regulus felt a headache from the situation and wanted to curse the Gods for making her go through this all over again, not to mention it was her OWL year, and she wasn't feeling like going back to school to see a ghost from her past, and maybe some of her victims too. But she didn't want to stay here and become the Dark Lord's servant, ready to serve in awe and gratitude, grovelling at his feet for a second of attention. Regulus wasn't going to convert into Light propaganda either; she was a dark witch through and through, and she was proud of it.
The sound of her stomach gurgling distracted her from her musings, and Regulus realised that the odour she was wrinkling her nose at all day was her; with a heavy sigh, she stiffly got up from her bed, knocking off the fifth-year books she was reading to make her stop thinking about the war, about Tom Riddle and Sirius.
Walking towards her bathroom, a new mirror replaced her old one courtesy of Kreacher; Regulus barely flinched at her dishevelled appearance; although she still looked considerably healthy, even if she hadn't eaten in a while, the food tasted weird on her tongue, Regulus had thought it strange that she needed to eat when she was dead at first, and Regulus almost stopped eating although before Kracher all but shoved some fruit in her mouth.
With a sigh, Regulus turned the tap water on her large porcelain bathtub and placed her towel at arm's length. She kept staring at the bath until it was almost overflowing; Regulus found it infuriating that she was feeling apprehensive about a bath; sheer determination made her sink into the tub. Her knuckles turned white at the sheer strength Regulus used to grip it from both sides; phantom fingers of the inferi brushed against Regulus, and she stood still, petrified and hyperventilating, as she felt the weight of bodies surrounding her. Regulus started scrubbing her body raw, trying to stop the feeling of the inferi, and she didn't stop until her body was filled with angry red marks. Breathing heavily, Regulus started washing her hair; it was disgraceful, and she wouldn't be caught dead smelling or looking like Snape.
Regulus hopped from the bath in a hazardous way and realised it was the first time in months that she felt clean; she had looked like Snape; the thought made her shiver. A mad giggle escaped Regulus as she realised she felt awed by basic hygiene, no one would believe Regulus Black would lack basic hygiene and look like a train wreck for months in her hunt for Horcruxes, and that made her giggle turn into an unhinged laugh. Regulus laughed until her stomach hurt, and tears welled in her eyes; by then, she had stopped laughing and was just crying.
Regulus dressed in a different set of pyjamas, not wanting to see the atrocity that was her closet, her parents would hardly make a fuss, if they believed her ill then it was better for her to dress for comfort as long as guests don't come over.
The thought of her parents made Regulus bite her lip. As of right now, they hadn't been reduced to fragments of their cruelty and still held a symbolism of love for her; well, that wasn't accurate, they had always loved Regulus, but their love turned toxic, and they were blinded by the fear of their legacy ending. Regulus had barely thought of her parents the past few days, her memories much too painful to even bring up, especially now that her father was healthy and alive and her Mother hadn't sunken fully into the Black Madness. She didn't know how to explain her erratic change of personality to them, nor her efficiency of magic and occlumency, although she thought they would be happy about that change; it wouldn't stop their incessant need to feed their curiosity about why their daughter had changed so much since she fell sick. Regulus hoped that her talent of lying and deception was good enough to fool her parents, who had mastered the art years before her; in any case, Regulus was rather good at deflecting and only had to keep the charade up until Hogwarts started.
Regulus wasn’t going to be used as a bargaining chip, she may have a role to play in the upcoming month, but she would hardly sacrifice herself to a Dark Lord that didn’t care about raising old pureblood families back to the greatness they so deeply desire.
Regulus wouldn’t be fooled by people’s bullshit and propaganda and wouldn’t be convinced of empty promises like the morons surrounding her. She was the future of the House of Black, and she alone would lead it back to the greatness it deserved.
Regulus might not know why she was sent back, maybe to fix things or become a better person, but if that was the case, then the Gods had miscalculated. Regulus Black wasn’t a good person; maybe she never had been, she might have some redeeming casualties in her, but that won’t stop her from doing what was necessary for her family even if they didn’t realise it.
So maybe she was going to fix things, but it wouldn’t be for anyone else; she’d fix things for her and her House. That might make her look selfish in other people’s eyes, but where were they when she was struggling? Where were they when she reached out for help? Regulus might be selfish, but she didn’t waste her time pretending she was good and accepting, only to turn a blind eye to people they classified as too far gone. It might have hurt her before, but now? Regulus hardly cared for people’s opinions; they could burst into flames, and Regulus wouldn’t blink.
It wasn't her problem; other people weren't her problem, a lesson that Regulus took a few years to learn.
As much as she loved her parents, she wouldn’t let them manipulate her into what they thought a perfect Heir should be just because they were hurting because Sirius ran away; she wouldn’t be a scapegoat for their cruelty because Regulus mattered too. Just because she stuck around didn’t make her weaker than her brother because that was the last thing she was, and Regulus would make sure her family didn’t make the misconception. Regulus had single-handedly unravelled the Dark Lords' biggest secret because he was too arrogant to see the worth of beings he deemed lesser than him; she had successfully put a tear in his plans, and while she had to die to do it, but it was more than the whole Order of the Phoenix had accomplished in all their years fighting for their cause.
That being said, Tom Riddle wouldn’t even get the opportunity to recruit her, Regulus already had her fill of being a follower in her last life; she wasn’t going to do it again in this one. Tom Riddle might have persuaded other Noble Houses with his pretty lies and ideals but that was all they were lies, Regulus wouldn’t align herself to a madman with the hope that he would change a system that had been in place for a long time. If Regulus even caught a scent of him sniffing around the family members that weren’t lost in his web of lies then Regulus would break him to pieces and take everything from him, Tom Riddle would have a taste of loss, the same loss he inflicted on countless other families.
Regulus would destroy anyone who came near her family, but that family didn’t include Sirius anymore. Regulus wouldn’t be used as a verbal punching bag, so Sirius could let out all his frustrations and anger on her instead of his friends. Her brother can try all he wants to feel like he is a better person than the rest of his family, but Regulus wasn’t going to help him feel more like a man than he actually is; she wasn’t put on this earth to feed Sirius fragile masculinity.
Sirius wasn’t the answer to Regulus’ problems, nor was Tom Riddle. Regulus wasn’t going to twist and bend her morals at the whims of others for something she thought was complete bollocks. While Regulus had stopped being a pureblood supremacist, she still believed in preserving ancient traditions. Muggleborns hardly concerned her; Regulus cared about them as much as other purebloods; they were irrelevant unless they held a particular advantage to her.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t bitter about muggle-borns coming into her world and complaining about inequality and prejudices. At the same time, they belittled, shamed and mocked her people’s religion as if it was evil and inferior to another religion and threw the gift of magic in Lady Magic’s face. To Regulus, this just showed her that they still had the same mindset as those who had burned her ancestors at a stake because they were too scared of the power and understanding they had with magic.
This lack of understanding brought war to their doorstep, and Regulus was going to become a player they never saw coming because it just so happened Regulus held the advantage in the game, a trump card, so to speak. One side would lose, and it wouldn’t be Regulus Black.