Regulus stood alone, collar turned against the wind and hands clenched by his side.
Salt spray dampened his hair but solidified his resolve. The world was dark, mist clung to the landscape before billowing out around the cave entrance. It was as if nature were taunting him. This place had haunted his dreams for months. Regulus closed his eyes and took a breath. The cold air stung. He tilted his chin up and narrowed his eyes, as if preparing to face the Dark Lord himself. And in a way, he supposed he was. A stray curl danced across his vision before he apparated closer.
Grief. It permeated the cave's rigid edges, pushing outwards and squeezing tightly around Regulus’ body. As he stood, closer to his enemy, his goal, than he would have ever thought possible, it was not the encroaching possibility of his own death that had his step faltering and hand rising to find support from stone. No. It was a carefully crafted curse. Regulus’ own Father had aided in its fabrication, boasted of it no less. For even the Dark Lord was not arrogant enough to leave his soul unprotected. This was a defensive measure, meant to discourage all those suicidal enough to seek the Horcrux.
And Regulus had prepared for it.
He took a step forward and was hit by a wave of despair. As it coiled like an iron band around his stomach, Regulus pictured James. The face of the sun. He borrowed the warmth of James’ smile, letting its rays soak into the walls he’d cemented around his heart. The agony of rejection, the grief that came with a short life defined by regrets - Regulus had always thought it would kill him - in fact he was pretty sure it was one of the deciding factors in his assignment to this task. But he would not succumb to it. Not yet. James was the lifeline he needed. He was pure hope, dappled Summer sunlight and the feeling of sun soaked concrete in the late afternoon. His beautifully obnoxious laugh filled Regulus’ thoughts as his infatuation with James flooded his mind. Painful in its rightness, it spurred him forward, taking a purposeful stride into the dark.
Shadows engulfed him and Regulus welcomed the anonymity. He didn’t want to be known by this place. Somewhere in the distance water dripped in a steady stream and Regulus knew to follow its guiding rhythm - had been told to do so. But as he ventured forwards, steps an echoing beacon in the silence, an uncanny sense of observation began to itch the back of his neck. It was the only warning he got before James was forced from his mind by a powerful unseen force. His memory was replaced with every wound Regulus had ever known. Faced with the full weight of his past the walls barricading his mind fell to pieces.
First came Walburga.
‘Foolish boy. You cannot run from one as powerful as the Dark Lord.’ Her tall form stalked around him, an imitation of his Mother made from smoke and magic. His eyes flickered away from her disappointment. He remembered this night. Far too well. ‘You cannot run from your own destiny.’ She raised her wand. ‘So do not try.’
‘I’d rather die than let this be my destiny, Mother.’ He spat her title out like poison.
Regulus did not need to see it to know a looming silhouette of his Father had swirled into existence behind him. The gloved hand that curled into his hair and yanked harshly shouldn’t have been possible but the Dark Lord’s command of magic was overwhelming. It had always been strongest when inflicting suffering.
Regulus was helpless to stop the next words that spilled from his memories, ‘I will fight who I am, who you have made me every single day that I live.’ The hand in his hair pulled him up off the ground, his ankles lifted to lessen the pain but he didn’t stop speaking. ‘I will never stop fighting the curse of my herita-’
A wand was against his throat, ‘Crucio.’
An angry wind forced its way into the cave, its screams coalesced with Regulus’, creating a terrible cacophony of noise. He fell to his knees on the crude rock. When he finally raised his head and faced his parents Regulus felt sixteen again.
Orion glared down his nose, his face shifting in and out of focus. ‘Regulus Arcturus Black. You are the Black heir and servant to the Dark Lord. You will sit at his table. You will fight in his name. You will take his mark.’ Walburga leaned forward, ghoulish fingers encircling his wrists like shackles. His arm was pulled forward and his sleeve rolled up. Her actions were met without protest, just the resigned glare of her son, who had at that moment decided that his anger would only be directed at the source. At the Dark Lord. At Voldemort.
As Orion held his wand against his youngest’s pale skin, Regulus re-lived the feeling of loss that came with being conscripted to fight for the wrong side. Grief had carved a home for itself within him just as permanently as the ink that seared his skin. This grief came from knowing he’d just lost James, and that he’d lost his brother forever. He felt himself mourn a life he’d never get to live.
Then they were gone.
Where his parents had stood was a sheer drop overlooking the heaving ocean. He kneeled at the entrance of the cursed cave, the spell having forced him away from the prize deep within. Back to the start. One more step and he’d have fallen off the edge and into the sea, claimed by the viscous grey waves.
Regulus told himself that he’d expected this, ‘you are prepared’ was the mantra he repeated in his mind. But as a tear slid down his cheek he was forced to face the fact that he could never be prepared for something like this. He’d hoped for so long now that he’d never have to face these demons again. So of course they were the very thing his Father’s curse vividly reanimated.
His parent’s indifference, their hatred of the world was not something Regulus wanted to define him. He refused to let their faults continue to dictate his life, his actions. But as he stared with sightless eyes at the sea they threatened to consume him. He was tired of pretending that grief was not a constant companion, so Regulus let himself feel. For the first time since the start of this war, Regulus allowed himself to experience the crushing weight of his pain. It filled his lungs with fire and made his hands shake, raw emotion coursing over his kneeling form before dissipating. Its absence forced air down his throat. Regulus’ breath came harshly, in great gasping lung fulls. Breathing in and out.
In and out.
With this new clarity came the reminder of his Father’s half formed mutterings from two years prior. Murmurs of legilimency followed by his unbearable self satisfaction at having discovered its potential as a founding principal for spells of deterrence. That was the basis of this curse. Orion’s cruelty.
Hours of private tutoring came back to him.
‘Disgraceful! Occlumency is a skill and tool of the Purebloods. It has been curated over centuries! Over generations! Your incompetence brings shame upon the entire House of Black. Your Father would be repulsed by your inadequacy in this field.'
At eleven Regulus had been petrified of inducing his parents' anger, and so he had practiced for weeks, alone in his room, pushing himself to the limit until he achieved perfection, intent on avoiding their disappointment. If there was anything Regulus could fight against, it was this. He could fight the last remaining influence of his Father, devout to the Dark Lord even in death.
He just had to reinforce his walls.
A warm weight settled on his shoulder. ‘You can’t let them win Reggie.’ Sirius. ‘You’re stronger than this. You always have been. Mother never could make you cry, even with Father’s cane. You can’t let them get to you. Not now that you’re so close...’ The hand squeezed and Regulus tried to catch a glimpse of his brother’s skin. ‘Pull yourself together Reg. You’re a Slytherin. Where’s that steadfast determination, huh?’ Regulus gritted his teeth, eyes squeezed closed. ‘Come on Reggie, get up!’ For once in his life, he listened to his brother.
He stood facing where Sirius should have been. The air was empty. A void of desolation lay framed by grey rock. Regulus’ gaze dropped to his left forearm. His Dark Mark seemed aggravated, the snake's mouth open in a silent hiss as it fought against the skin containing it. Bubbling beneath his control was a foolish impulse to press the skull - to taunt Voldemort with a reminder of his own mortality. Regulus ignored it, there would be no more distractions.
‘You are prepared’
He moved forward.
Ghosts shifted in the shadows. Regulus fortified his mental defences with each face he saw, every moan of despair that got lost in the wind, he shrugged off the feeling of apparitions relentlessly clawing for a hold in his hair and clothes. The atmosphere was so thick with anguish that he could feel it slide like molasses over his skin. Willing it to part for him Regulus just kept pushing further inside. He couldn’t stop, not now.
After what felt like hours of blindly stumbling through a nightmare everything stopped.
The howling gale and the crash of waves were cut off by a sudden, penetrating silence. It wasn’t a gradual fade from increased distance but an abrupt noiselessness, a full stop punctuating Regulus’ surroundings. He scanned the area with nervous eyes.
It was still, a pale grey darkness sporadically interrupted by bioluminescent creatures hidden in small crevices, entirely invisible to Regulus. They were an eerie imitation of the stars. Isolated green dots on an expansive ceiling so high it appeared endless. Regulus was grateful for the visibility they provided, no matter how meagre.
Nothing appeared to have changed. He still felt as if he was being watched, hundreds of soulless eyes scrutinising him. But their voices had been silenced. His footfall, muffled. Then, slowly, the walls dissolved, morphing into a room of unwelcome familiarity. A high pitched noise pierced his skull and Regulus covered his ears desperately trying to block it out, but it was everywhere, it was in his mind, causing cracks to form and spiderweb across his defensive walls, throwing him off balance, nothing could have been worse.
Regulus immediately cursed the thought as the past suffering of his brother came into sharp focus.
‘Mother! Mother, no, please stop! Stop! You - you’re- you’re killing him! No, no, Mother, not Sirius - please! Hurt me, punish me! But please, please, you have to let Sirius go!’
Ah, yes, he remembered this night. Had been tirelessly trying to forget it.
Regulus watched as a younger version of himself took form with each word that was torn from his throat, his skin so pale it seemed to glow. He ran straight through where Regulus stood, rooted to the living room floor of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He didn’t feel the slap this time, Regulus saw it. Watched as he fell back from the blow, a detached recollection of his own life. One of the greatest hits.
Walburga hadn’t even spared him a glance, she had been so intently focused on his older brother who was writhing on the floor once again. Living in that house Regulus had come to know the sound of the Cruciatus Curse. Intimately. He had been the one cuffed to the floo grating too, so many times he’d lost count.
This was the day his life had changed forever. And for as hard as he’d tried he couldn’t blame Sirius. After all, Regulus had been the one who had stolen his Father’s wand and whispered ‘Alohomora’ with a nervous glance over his shoulder. He had been the one to push Sirius to his feet and into the fireplace. He had been the one to call out, with perfect annunciation, ‘Godric’s Hollow’. He had been the one who couldn’t look Sirius in the eye. Who couldn’t face his confusion when Regulus didn’t follow.
So no, he could never blame his brother. But he would always resent him.
Resent him for never coming back. For never approaching him at school. For ignoring the bruises that took up permanent residence on Regulus’ skin in the weeks and months that followed. For letting Regulus save him and never thinking to do the same. For being a terrible big brother. Oh yes, resentment was as easy as breathing.
And now he was being forced to watch the moment his life’s trajectory was altered irrevocably for a second time.
He got to see the exact moment his Mother’s outrage shifted to him as she made the dangerous connection between the empty cuffs and Regulus’ upturned chin. He saw the moment her gait became predatory as she stalked closer, the only noise the deadly tap of her heels on tile and the rush of Regulus’ blood. He watched himself tremble involuntarily as she drew that awful wand, suffocating her son for his defiance. The last gasps for air were cut short as the scene in front of Regulus fell away in a swirl of grey smoke.
It was replaced all too quickly by Malfoy Manor. Regulus knew this table and the faces around it, but this wasn’t a memory. It was something new. He was the one in the centre of the table, suspended and helpless as Voldemort’s new pet, Nagini fed. He saw Evan across the table, appearing stoic under his Father’s stern gaze, but Regulus could see the way his eyes glistened. Unsettling laughter drew Regulus’ gaze to the head of the table. There Voldemort sat, his arms raised high to the sky, eyes wild with mania.
Then Regulus felt the spell break and his body fall.
The green stars were gone, replaced by dense darkness. After taking a shaky breath he forced himself to push down the nausea and reorientate. He could not let his walls fall. These were just nightmares, they were a final defense, protecting the entrance. It meant he was close.
‘You are prepared.’
With a new urgency, Regulus reached deeply within himself, searching for something good.
James’ smile returned easily to its place in the forefront of Regulus’ mind. It was stupidly lopsided but oddly charming in its asymmetry. The left side of his mouth was always slightly more upturned than his right, teeth proudly on display and eyes crinkling behind those silver rimmed glasses. Regulus tried to bask in the soothing comfort of the image, let its reassurance seep into his bones.
But the grin didn’t last.
James’ lips curled further, turning into a cruel snarl, shifting until not a single trace of kindness remained in his twisted features. It had become a cold and unwavering face, those beautiful brown eyes clouded by hatred. And then he spoke. Brutal words delivered with a sickening sweetness that mocked the connection Regulus used to crave.
‘Ahhh, a Dark Mark. Bad Reggie. Evil Reggie. You’re exactly what you said you hated. A helpless little boy. Just blindly following mummy and daddy. But do you know what, Black?’ Regulus flinched. James knew his flaws and insecurities. He knew how to abuse them. ‘This isn’t news, is it? Oh no, no, no! We all know that Sirius is the only one with guts. The only good Black brother. You tried your hardest to be like him. Truly you did. But even your best efforts weren’t enough. They never are.’ The image of James flickered as Regulus’ mind was engulfed by shadows, strands of black wrapped around James’ skin like pulsing veins, tightening around his malicious smile. ‘Oh, how it must hurt to always be second best. You keep copying and copying him, but you inevitably come up short. When will you learn that he manages where you don't?’
The bands of black cut into his skin, deep red beading before flowing freely from each wound. The gashes grew, fracture lines that followed the harsh angles and soft curves of the best man Regulus had ever known, the man verbally dismantling everything Regulus was. ‘He beat your parents. He got sorted into Gryffindor… I chose him.’ His eyes had been consumed by a white as stark as bone, staring unblinkingly into Regulus’ thoughts. ‘I chose him over you and your Death Eater friends. Over your self pity and inaction. Over you. And do you know what, Reggie?’ Regulus tried to force his eyes open, prove to himself that this wasn’t James, that his words weren’t real, that they were just a manifestation of the cave’s magic. But it was impossible, all he could do was brace himself for the final blow. ‘I would do it. Every. Single. Time.‘
He fought for control of the spell. His mind grappled with his heart, but then, finally, finally he could see again. He was met with a fading image of his selfless James, and it stung that he had one arm slung lazily across Sirius’ shoulder. But it hurt like nothing else to see that the other hand had found a home carefully snaked around the slim waist of little Miss Evans.
Regulus sank to the ground, a glint of green light reflected by the tears in his eyes. James would never lie to him. And hadn’t his expression said all this and more when Regulus had finally found it within himself to ask for help all those months ago? When he’d told James his parent’s plan for him and James’ face had fallen. The way he’d reached for Regulus’ sleeve. The disbelief in James’ eyes when Regulus quickly pulled away, holding his arm to his chest. It had said it all. James couldn’t tell if Regulus was on the right side anymore. He didn’t trust him. Regulus felt his heart fracture, blood oozing out of each crack, tainting the memory of his sun. He heaved for air as he fell to pieces.
As if in reaction to his grief the cave walls inched closer. Darkness pressed against Regulus’ body, constricting around his mind, insisting it be let in. Regulus fought the tempting urge to just give up, to let the desperation and disappointment consume him on this cold, dank floor. Let himself become the mindless, malleable little soldier both Sirius and James believed him to be. No one would know he was gone, or what he had tried to do. No one would care. He closed his eyes.
‘Merlin! Is that you Reg?’
Pandora.
‘What in the name of Salazar are you doing on the floor?’
In his rush to sit up, Regulus’ sleeve caught on rock and tore, the harsh rip slicing through his bubble of resignation, breaking the deafening silence. No, she couldn’t be here… but despite his disbelief there she was, her hair oddly golden even in the dim light. She was focused on something just past his left shoulder, green eyes fixed on the ground bemusedly as she stretched out a pale hand. A pit of despair opened, wide and gaping in Regulus’ stomach, he’d tried so hard to make sure no one could follow him. Regulus reached for her but their skin never met. His fingers grasped at air and oh- oh no, that was somehow worse. She was another mirage conjured up by the Dark Lord’s magic. Just another trick How will she taunt me? Regulus wondered. She had her pick of ammunition after sixteen years of friendship. He laid back down, head resting on cold stone once again as he waited for another betrayal.
‘Is it comfortable?’ His eyes shot open. Pandora was still there? She had crouched beside him, head quirked in a distinctly owlish manner, a smile playing on her lips. ‘It must be if it can tempt Regulus ‘I despise inactivity’ Black to take a nap.’ And with that, she plonked down next to him.
There was a loud rustling of skirts as she made herself at home on the rock, shifting back and forth restlessly. Had she been real Regulus was sure he would have felt her warmth next to him but just hearing her breath was enough. It was a steady rhythm for him to focus on, like a moving tide it was constant and familiar but just unpredictable enough that he had to concentrate to hear it. Pandora was a bright reprieve from the hell Regulus was fighting his way through. He sat with her for a moment, just two friends gazing at an artificial sky full of pale green stars. It was no longer a repressive silence, but rather blissfully quiet.
‘Reg… you are good.’
Regulus didn’t respond. Disbelieving to the last.
‘You don’t have to prove it. Not to us, not to yourself, and certainly not to Sirius.’ She turned to him, cheek pressing against the salty ground. Regulus resolutely stared up at nothing, he couldn’t face her. ‘We already know.’
It was a whisper, barely a breath in the vast chasm surrounding them but it had power. And Merlin how it hurt. This feeling was the pain he’d felt when Voldemort had assessed him with cold, slitted eyes, before deciding he was loyal enough to be bestowed the title ‘Death Eater’. It was the relief that coursed through him when Dumbledore called him into his office midway through sixth year, assuring him the Dark Lord had been wrong. Both Good and Evil trusted him, expected him to fight for them. Pandora’s words hurt because he’d never been able to reconcile the two perceptions of himself. He had always been ‘helpful’, but never good. Now here he lay, almost certain he’d never get the chance to try.
‘I’m not-’ He took a breath. ‘Pandora. I am the furthest thing from good anyone could possibly be.’ He finally faced her. ‘I’m not strong like you, and by no means am I effortlessly kind.’ She narrowed her eyes at him, mouth opening to protest. ‘No. No, don’t even try to deny it. Haven’t you noticed the way the first years all hide behind their friends when they see me? How Gryffindors avoid me like some sort of disease? Even some of the teachers don’t trust me anymore. It’s kind of hard to miss how ‘good’ everyone thinks I am. And they are well within their rights to think me evil, a tool of… Voldemort.’ He had to make her understand. ‘But you, they stop you to ask directions, they even ask you for help with their stupid homework for Merlin’s sake! Pandora, you and Barty, and Evans - you guys are good. You’re all trying so desperately to survive this, to avoid becoming what I am. Barty has defied his parent’s wishes! You and I both know I could never even try something like that. I have the damn mark to prove it. You are good. I’m just a coward.’ Regulus raised himself onto an elbow, leaning over his friend. ‘I know you aren't actually here, that this version of you is some sort of sadistic way for Voldemort to taunt or ridicule me.’ He stopped, considering, ‘Maybe both. I’m aware of that, I am. But when I told you - the real you- where I was going, what I was planning to do, do you know what she said?’
He was crying, Regulus noticed absently, for the second time that night. Pandora lifted a hand up as if to wipe his tears away. It passed through his skin and Regulus choked on a sob.
‘She told me that she was coming too.’ He had been so afraid she had found a way to do just that. ‘That if I was going to ‘play soldier’ I’d need help.’ A dry chuckle escaped his throat, ‘In the end, she was so adamant that I not do this alone that I lied and said I’d changed my mind, that I wasn’t going after all.’ He remembered her relieved hug and meaningful stare, promise me Reggie, it seemed to say. So he had. ‘Selflessness is a trait of good people. I have never once completed a selfless act. I hate myself for it.’ Sadness began morphing into something more volatile, years of pent up anger. ‘I hate myself for becoming something my parents would be proud of. And I hate my parents for having that level of control over me. Over my future. I hate them.’ He felt the truth of that statement resonate within him, toppling the last barrier he’d placed to compartmentalise his childhood. The pain grew and with it so did his anger. ‘I hate them. I hate them! I hate that I’ve done terrible things to please them. Terrible things Pandora!’ She was sitting too, cross legged with a grimace of empathy marring her skin. ‘ I. Am. Not. Good. And I can do nothing to change that.’ Pandora shook her head. ‘Do I need to show you the bloody Dark Mark?!’ His voice echoed in the dark, agony spilling out of his barriers and into the air, making it spark and glow. ‘I can’t change who I am. But I can do this. I have to do this!’
Regulus’ anger had reached its boiling point. It coursed out of him in waves of light, pushing against the cave walls saturated by grief and overpowering it. A wholly unbalanced rage replaced it quivering in anticipation. He’d suffered his whole life. Been beaten, neglected, coerced, rejected. Used. This curse was an amalgamation of his pain. A clever attempt to dissuade him from pursuing the Horcrux. Seeking revenge.
But nothing could stop him.
Pandora tried to move closer, but she was flickering now. In and out of focus like a rippling reflection. Her face twisted, nose turning to slits, and teeth rotting. Those golden curls vanished, replaced by splotchy purple flesh.
Regulus stood, raising his wand to face the failing image of his friend. ‘Regulus. You don’t have to do this. Dumbledore is lying to you!’ He took a step towards her and she retreated. ‘Don’t do this, please! It will achieve nothing! Reggie please!’ Pandora’s pleas turned to deranged screams as Regulus approached. The magic that he had released into the cave surrounded him, pulled back to him like a magnet. It formed a cyclone in the dark space of the cave, caging him in with the twisted version of his oldest friend. His hand not holding his wand reached into his pocket, gripping the small silver knife Kreacher had stolen for him weeks ago. ‘Do you really stand against me, child! I am the Dark Lord, infallible, all powerful! You are a school boy neck deep in a war he doesn’t understand!’ Voldemort stood where Pandora had been,emanating power. Dumbledore’s words reverberated in Regulus’ head. The first of only two conversations they’d ever had.
‘Dark magic, it almost always leaves traces. You must find the place where kindness greets you. A friend, partner…relative. Something of the sort, yes?’ Regulus had nodded up at an adult he’d trusted with his life. ‘By all means, face it, but don’t listen to it. This is how you shall gain entry. You must research curses, all sorts, and their counters of course. Finite Incantatem may not be enough.’
And Regulus had studied. Spent hours in the library. Days lost in books of all languages. It had been exhausting but this is where it would pay off…hopefully. He’d followed the dripping water. Faced his ghosts. Kindness was just the last step.
‘You are prepared.’
Regulus locked eyes with Voldemort.
‘Subvertet Maledictionem!’
His mouth formed each syllable flawlessly after months of practice. Next came the blade. He pressed it into his skin and felt nothing as a gash opened across the tattoo on his forearm. His heart thumped in his chest and the conjured Voldemort roared, trying to reach him through the storm of magic. Regulus just smiled. His warm blood dripped from his veins, over his torn sleeve to stain the ground beneath his feet.
‘Finite Aeternus Incantatem!’
Voldemort’s dark robes expanded before melting back to shadows, his cries mixing with the wind. Regulus stood alone, the green creatures glowed brighter above him as if his Father’s magic had dulled them. As if Regulus had freed them. For only the blood of the caster could entirely reverse such intricate and detailed magic. The only benefit provided by his lineage Regulus had ever encountered.
The blanket of despair was lifted, and each ghostly apparition evaporated with the last of his Father’s influence in this godforsaken war.
As Regulus cut off his ruined sleeve, wrapping the fabric tightly around his cut, movement caught his eye. He turned to face the wall to his left, watching in slight fascination as the stones collapsed in on themselves, revealing a narrow passage carved in crystal.
The path to the Horcrux.
He took a steadying breath, straightened his spine, and stepped into the tunnel. Years later Dumbledore would unknowingly dismiss the power Regulus had faced. Faced and defeated. The godson of his brother would remain as oblivious as Regulus to the lies of his mentor.
‘This is the place.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘It has known magic.’
It had not just ‘known’ magic, it had been cured of it. Regulus had purged his Father’s presence, and weakened the defenses of the Dark Lord so thoroughly that even Dumbledore himself failed to recognise the hatred that had consumed the cave’s entrance for so long.
No one would ever know just how much Regulus had managed to achieve.
He pushed forwards, the world narrowing to a pinprick of light as the entrance sealed him in. It was perfectly still as he marched toward death.
‘There will likely be water, it’s symbolic representation of transformation and purification is not just a muggle association. The seductive nature of these qualities will not be lost on Voldemort. Many Dark wizards are drawn to the element of change.’
As he stood with black water lapping at his boots Regulus cursed the old man for his adept deduction. He muttered a soft ‘Lumos’ and surveyed what he could.
Before him was a vast, hollow cavern, those green stars still scattered amongst the rock. Dull and futile. Regulus shivered. There was no breeze here, nothing seemed to be able to reach this place. Not even the ghostly howl of wind whistling through tunnels corroded by sea spray managed. But it wasn’t silent either. Something was amiss. The air was stale and syrupy beneath the smell of salt, sticking to the roof of Regulus’ mouth with every breath. Rouge water droplets fell from stalactites causing quiet ripples to form on the water’s inky surface, spiralling out towards the rocky shore. The white glow emanating from the tip of Regulus’ wand caught each disruptive shift of the water giving the unsettling illusion of pale limbs swaying lazily with the lake’s subtle currents. The temperature seemed to drop and goosebumps rose on the exposed skin of Regulus’ neck. An involuntary shiver wracked his body. Yes, something was definitely wrong with this place.
A shapeless silhouette that protruded out from the darkness caught Regulus’ attention. He whispered, ‘Lumos Maxima’, into the dark, afraid to break the unnerving calm of the contained environment and as the ball of light gradually expanded he guided it to hover in the air above what he now saw was a small island. It was a large mass of the same clear crystal the entrance tunnel had been carved from. The light radiating from his makeshift sun caught in the gem, bending and refracting to form fleeting rainbows and weird elongated shadows that danced along the cave’s walls. In any other context, on any other day, Regulus would have allowed his breath to catch, stolen by such a stunningly ethereal sight. But not today. Not when he knew that anything beautiful could not be trusted. Not when there was so much at stake.
The island had to be where the Horcrux was hidden. It was practically radiating with power, raw magic oozing into the water surrounding it like some kind of oil. Gazing at the shifting waters Regulus knew he had to find a way across but found himself reluctant.
After receiving Dumbledore’s cryptic advice Regulus had memorised an arsenal of aquatic spells and curses, but the one he needed in this moment had its roots interwoven with the turmoil of his childhood.
As a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Black household had suffered through countless “extended family” gatherings. They were always filled with stilted silences and hushed conversations and Regulus had hated them - usually. Sometimes they were alright. Like when Sirius would catch his eye from across a wide foyer of intricately carved oak, pulling a face behind Uncle Tiberius’ back. Or when he’d knock twice on the guestroom Regulus had been forgotten in. Forgotten by all but Sirius. On those occasions, they could almost be, fun.
Regulus could remember running beside his brother, feeling the world come back to life as cold winds turned his cheeks red. In those moments nothing mattered except the rapid beat of his heart and the way his feet tripped over sticks and loose stones. The looming manor of whichever family member had hosted would fade into a small dark smudge behind a thickening tree line as they made their escape, alone and carefree for however many precious hours they could manage.
They used to run until their legs burned, collapsing next to one another and gasping for air when they’d finally find some shaded spot or obscure stream that would offer them refuge. Regulus would always remember those stolen hours fondly, regardless of the ever increasing distance between himself and Sirius. With his brother next to him water had felt like home. But the water of his past had been clear, shallow, and undaunting, not the unsettlingly tranquility of his present, staring at the dark murk of some nameless sea. He didn’t doubt that to even dip a toe in this water would be like signing his own death certificate, not that his first step into the cave hadn’t already done just that. Regulus needed a way across, and the spell he knew would get him there was the most painful to perform. He had been the one to come up with the idea, lying on the ground like he’d done with Pandora not so long ago. Except the sky had been blue and the future had seemed bright with possibility.
‘Sirius?’ His brother had hummed in acknowledgment, ‘Have you ever made a spell up before?’
‘Nah, Reg. Only really powerful wizards can do stuff like that.’
‘Like Father.’ Naive. Sirius had stayed silent. ‘But I mean, it can’t be that hard, it’s just a bunch of fancy words said in the right order.’
‘Okay then. Go for it, invent one.’ Sirius had sat up on his elbows to level Regulus with a challenging stare. He remembers his outrage at his brother’s quirked eyebrow - he thinks I can’t do it! - childish and stubborn, an inescapably Black trait. Regulus had glared right back. ‘Come on Reggie, if it ‘can’t be that hard’, have at it. Do your worst baby brother.’
He had scanned the mossy grove they’d been hidden in for inspiration and his eyes had landed on the small stream cutting through its centre. Sirius had his bare feet splashing beneath the surface. He had been tutored in Latin since before he could remember and knew the language was the basis for any spell. So, under the impatient scrutiny of his brother Regulus had tried his best to find the right words.
‘O-obestor? Obestor navicula.’
Sirius had craned his neck, eyes hopeful…
Nothing happened.
And thank Merlin it didn’t. He was an underaged wizard scared stiffless by authority. If he’d gotten in trouble with the Ministry for the illegal use of magic it would have likely instilled such a deep fear in him that it may have destroyed the possibility of rebellion, tipping the scales enough to ensure his complete submission to his parents, hapless to their ideal future for him.
Instead, he had been motivated by the humiliation of failing in front of Sirius. Perfect Sirius, who would have gotten it on the first go. Regulus had finally mastered the spell years later, sat quietly beside the Great Lake, his bare feet cradled by the icy water.
‘Existere Navem Aeris.’ Words he’d tirelessly practiced, experimented and refined. He’d wanted desperately for them to work, for some kind of positive accomplishment to keep the neverending dark at bay.
The water had bubbled and the air shimmered. Then a boat had appeared, translucent at first until it was gliding silently across the deep water as if it had always been there, completely at home on the lake. Regulus had stared for a moment, eyes wide and full with the simple joy of creation. A laugh of disbelief had bubbled from him and he’d turned ready to bask in his achievement with the person who’d dared him all those years ago. But his brother wasn’t there, of course he wasn’t. He was a Gryffindor, one of Dumbledore’s supporters. A disowned Black and traitor to his bloodline. Regulus was alone. Alone by the Lake as he invented his own magic. The only witness to something spectacular.
He rolled his shoulders, what’s more reliable than some spell a teenager came up with? Hopefully nothing.
He raised his wand in the dark, ignoring the way the ball of light flickered and dimmed without his concentration demanding it stay afloat. He whispered the spell, cringing as the cave caught its echo and repeated it louder. But the spell worked, he blinked and there it was. A small boat made out of a distinctly coppery material, the prow curving upwards before spiralling into a tight coil. It was fashioned with dangerously low sides and a base that was just large enough for one passenger to sit on the wooden bench fixed at its centre. An image of Charon’s ferry entered Regulus’ mind. No more dwelling on death. It’s just a boat. He pushed Greek myths from his mind and held his breath as he put a foot securely onto the boat’s base. When no horrible monster came to claim him and the boat didn’t sink, his other foot followed.
‘Protego.’
Even if the shielding spell was useless against whatever lay beneath the water, Regulus felt better with a protective field around his boat. As he raised his wand to summon a breeze, the boat began towards the island of its own accord. The Horcrux seemed to act as some kind of vortex for nearby magic, drawing anything that entered its orbit closer to its centre, the source. The Horcrux was reeling Regulus in.
He didn’t dare look into the water for fear of what he’d find. Instead, Regulus distracted his mind by staring at where he imagined the ceiling would be, the light from his spell not quite able to drown out the smaller green lights embedded in the rock. It had moved, he realised. The ball of light had shifted closer to the island and now shone, suspended above its centre. The tempting power of Dark Magic was a very dangerous thing. A slight jolt drew Regulus’ mind back to the present, his eyes landing on pale steps and translucent crystal.
He’d arrived.
Regulus sat in the boat, unmoving, he was afraid that as soon as he set foot on the island the boat would disappear. He was afraid to admit to himself that he would probably never return from this island.
‘But you could survive.’ A voice whispered from the back of his mind. ‘You could still survive and have that life you’ve always wanted. The one with James and a little girl, with Sirius living in a city nearby and that mundane job at the Ministry. Dumbledore didn’t say you’d die, just that it would be dangerous. You could live…’
Against Regulus’ will hope reignited within him. He had to live. He hadn’t properly said goodbye. He couldn’t die until he had. Which meant the boat wouldn't move, the light above him wouldn’t dim, and he’d get to see Sirius again. Dumbledore would surely have offered him help, he wouldn’t have sent him to his death. Not without telling him first…
‘You are prepared.’
With that, he set foot on the island, and when the boat didn’t immediately disintegrate into the water the hope expanded in his chest, warming his limbs and motivating his next step, then the next. One foot in front of the other, his gloved hand balancing his climb up the crystals. When he reached the top Regulus was faced with a dark stone basin, elevated on a small pedestal. Hardly the enemy he had anticipated facing.
He ventured closer.
The basin was filled with a strange potion that glowed the same green as the creatures studding the walls and sky. What little hope had been revived withered slightly as Regulus tried and failed to vanish the liquid, it retreated further when scooping it out failed too. Only when Regulus conjured a silver goblet did he manage to finally push past the invisible barrier.
Oh.
Now he understood. It was hopeless after all.
How unfair life seemed to be. Here he stood so obviously facing his own death and Sirius was likely sound asleep at the Potter’s. Regulus recognised the petulance of his own thoughts but couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was unfair. Sirius would get to grow up and fall in love with some beautiful girl. But Regulus would never even get the chance at a life with James. He would never get to explore what life had to offer. No. None of that was for him. But it was for James and Sirius. It was for Pandora, Evan, and Barty. His sacrifice would help ensure it. Sometimes ‘unfair’ was for the best.
He brought the goblet to his lips, the silver cold against his skin and swallowed the liquid in one easy gulp.
For a tantalising moment, nothing happened. Regulus stayed frozen in place, the hand with the glass still raised. Then all he knew was agony. Pure and inescapable. The goblet fell from his grasp and into the basin as it overtook his senses.
Pain coursed through his veins like fire and Regulus collapsed to the floor as it spread to every nerve and muscle, lighting them up with searing pain. His vision went white as his body contorted in response. But he didn’t scream. A childhood marked with torture ensured his silence. Regulus clawed his way across the slippery crystal, blindly searching for the base of the pedestal. When he found it he used what was left of his strength to haul himself up, hunched over the basin with whitened knuckles hidden by leather as his legs went numb. His breath came in ragged gasps. They ricocheted off the walls, breaking the silence and Regulus instinctively knew that he needed to muffle them. He tore off a glove and shoved it between his gritted teeth. The hand still encased in leather gripped the goblet, filling it once again. He spat the glove out and swallowed. It was just as excruciating as the last but Regulus didn’t stop.
Another glass and he broke out in a cold sweat, screaming into the glove that was firmly back in place. Another. Regulus sobbed as voices began to enter his mind. Nothing with form, just a callous presence in his conscience trying to distract him with empty promises and harsh discouragement. But he had nothing to live for. Nothing except the excruciating taste of vengeance. He gulped down more of the potion.
It felt as if each bone in his fingers were being broken, one by one, before being ground to dust under his skin. It was as if someone was slicing his skin open with surgical precision before peeling it back to press a red hot iron to the layers underneath, branding him in the name of the Dark Lord. Amidst the fog of his pain, Regulus clung to James. Not the James that used to steal glances at Regulus across the Great Hall, he was not who he was doing this for. He was doing this for the James Potter who was irrevocably in love with Lily Evans.
He could perfectly picture the way James’ face would transform when he saw her. The way he couldn’t help his smile, or the way his eyes softened whenever he saw her. The ache of Regulus’ heart felt like a promise to himself that if there was even a chance that James could get to look so completely besotted for a little while longer, then Regulus’ actions were likely to ensure it. James Potter was so full ot kindness and love, his excitement for life was so incredibly infectious and yet he had only got to live in a world torn apart by war, one that drowned his dreams before they were even fully formed. Dreams that James had once whispered to Regulus in between kisses pressed to his pulse point, or shared with him on summer days spent lazing in the sun. Regulus had once been part of his dreams and although that wasn’t his privilege anymore, he would make sure James got to at least live out some of them. James deserved a family, deserved to have that little kid with unruly hair and their Dad’s caramel skin. He deserved to get a job and save and travel, the stupidly simple life Regulus had once dreamed of too. He was a man so refreshingly prepared to love without question and trust openly and he deserved to be rewarded for remaining kind in a world that demanded brutality.
Regulus had nothing like that. No desire to live for himself. He raised the goblet once more.
His body convulsed and Regulus clenched his bare hand so hard he pierced skin. Perhaps Sirius had been right all those years ago when they’d conspired late at night with dreams of running away. Just two oblivious little boys dreaming of a freedom only one of them would get to know.
Sirius had been feverishly eager, imbuing his tone with a hint of delirium, ‘We could go anywhere in the world Reg! Imagine it… Paris, Japan? Or maybe - maybe we could go to Australia? Or New Zealand even - Merlin, we could go everywhere!’ Regulus had gazed up at his brother’s face, full of wanderlust. He could still remember the way his tone shifted as shadows played along the sharp lines of his teenage face. ‘We just have to run. If we don’t, we’ll turn into them. Do you understand Reggie?’ His brother’s desperation had scared him, “We’ll have to run and never let them find us. Ever. Or else, they’ll sell our souls.’ It may have been a big brother’s monologue, all dramatic flair and exaggeration, but as Regulus considered who he’d become the words struck home. He had sold his soul, just as Lord Voldemort had done, the only difference was that Regulus had damned himself for a hopeful cause.
He swallowed the final scolding mouthful of the potion.
Regulus had damned himself for the sake of the people he loved. For his friends whose families demanded too much of them. For his brother who could - would, find salvation from his past in a world without Voldemort. For James, who would have a future just as bright as he was. For everyone. Even if it meant Regulus had to be left behind. Especially because he had to be left behind. If he was going to die here, he would make it mean something. He would make it worth the pain that had clung to him all his life. He would leave a legacy defined by light.
The basin was empty.
Cradled by the polished stone was a glinting silver locket. The Horcrux. Regulus reached for it, and when his fingers clasped around metal and Regulus felt relief flood his body, working to combat the lingering pain. His eyes squeezed shut as his legs gave way beneath him once again. He slid to the ground and rested his head against the pedestal. Had he really survived? Had Dumbledore told the truth? Of course he had. He’s the greatest wizard of this age, you’re moronic for having doubted him. Regulus cursed himself for the extra stress his distrust had caused. Still… he had to be sure. It hurt to blink but he needed his vision back, needed to be sure it was over.
He was met with slimy skin and dead eyes.
Regulus couldn’t even scream as clammy hands, frigid from the cold seawater, clasped at his legs, dragging him back the way he had come. No! It was over! It was supposed to be over! He frantically tried to grab hold of something, anything, but it was hopeless. He kicked at his decomposing assailant but his legs were heavy with exhaustion. Regulus thrashed violently but more hands grabbed him where others failed. They pried his fingers off any holds he could find, they closed around his throat and squeezed. He was pulled in different directions and all he could think was, had Dumbledore known? Regulus may have expected death, but these were monsters he had no name for. Reanimated dead that he had no way of fighting off as he was pulled towards the water.
The makeshift bandage loosened around the mark claiming him as Voldemort’s. Regulus imagined it getting lost in the pulsating flesh that encircled him, getting trampled under foot. His scabbed wound reopened, blood burning a trail down his arm, it seemed to make the creatures pause. One sniffed the air, a bloated tongue darting out to lick the copper from the air. Then they doubled their efforts. Their limbs became frenzied, slimy nails dug into his arms and legs until they tore through his flesh, creating bloody rivulets. Regulus tried to scream but his voice had been taken by the pain of the potion. No sound came from his struggle.
This was how he would die.
As faceless bodies dragged him towards the bottomless water Regulus made his peace. He had found the Horcrux. Kreacher would apparate into the cave in a few days time carrying the locket Regulus had altered. A Black family heirloom Voldemort would recognise when he inevitably realised what Regulus had achieved. Kreacher would drop it into the basin and collect the real locket. Collect it and destroy it. Unaware that his master lay beneath his feet.
Regulus could feel the water seep into his clothes - ‘You are prepared’ - the added weight helped the monsters drag him further down the crystal that was slipping out of his grasp - ‘You are prepared’ - the water was at his waist when he looked up - ‘You are prepared’ - his magical sun was dimming letting the spread of green stars shine brighter as darkness expanded once again.
As his head was finally pulled below the turbulent, boiling water Regulus closed his eyes. He had done his part. Redeemed himself. He welcomed the anonymity that came with the chaos of bodies surrounding him. He looked Death in the eye for the final time and Death nodded back.
His last exhale turned to bubbles, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the next inhale. One he knew would never come.
The only thing Regulus wished for as his heart slowed to a stop, was that he could have seen the sun just one more time.
As a golden sun rose the next morning the world was the same and Regulus Black had died for nothing. He had been a soldier to the end. A soldier, a brother, and a young man, desperate to prove to a world that hated him that he had the capacity to be good. A boy so desperate that he had been blind to the manipulation of a different kind of evil.
Evil that had a long silver beard and half-moon spectacles.
He had died as a pawn in a different 'great' wizards's game.
He died and the world forgot.