1. As the world caves in
12:43, 21st of August, 1979
Regulus was dizzy.
Side-alonging was always worse than aperating himself.
His surroundings were in stark contrast to his insides. The late August sun, providing yet another heatwave, stood high in the sky, making the sand beneath Regulus’ black dragon leather boots painfully hot even through the expensive material. Maybe his surroundings did match his insides, after all. But no, he could hear muggles laughing, behind the dunes. The end of the summer vacation was approaching, and many muggle families wanted to enjoy the last bit of sun before the September rain reminded them of school and responsibilities. It was almost ironic, really. They were laughing, enjoying themselves and cooling off in the sea. Building sand castles and tossing wooden sticks at thicker wooden sticks propped up in the sand, while Regulus was, well…
He held on tighter to Kreacher's hand.
“Shall we go now, Master Regulus?” The elf asked. Kreacher was hopping from one foot to another, back and forth on the scorching sand. “Kreacher is really sorry, Master Regulus. Kreacher couldn’t apparate closer to the cave; Kreacher did not wish to risk landing in the water. Master Regulus would not want to end up in there. Master Regulus would not make it out alive.” The elf shuddered at the thought.
“Thank you, Kreacher, show me the way, please.” Regulus said. The elf bowed deeply, smiled up at him and said;
“Of course, Master Regulus.” Said the elf, though it was painfully obvious to Regulus that Kreacher did not like the idea of him visiting the cave very much. Regulus had to admit to himself that he did not like the idea either, but he had to do it. If he stayed with the death eaters, trying to please his parents and the dark lord and giving in to the mountain of unrealistic expectations, he would suffocate. So, he would die either way. Might as well die doing the right thing.
For once in his god-forsaken life.
The climb down the cave was easy, really, compared to what Regulus knew was coming. The only reason Kreacher had stopped reminding him that he did not have to do this, was because Regulus had kindly asked (not ordered) him to stop doing that. Kreacher led him through the entrance, and Regulus felt it humming with Dark Magic. It reminded him of Grimmauld Place, though the air here was much thicker with Dark Magic. The closer to the propper entrance they got, the thicker the air got, the heavier the humm of extraordinary dark magic. Regulus felt more resistance in the air with every step he took, until he could almost hear the magic hum in his ear, rather than feel it the way his mother had taught him to.
They reached the stone wall, which Regulus knew he’d have to smear with his own blood. Kreacher had told him, of course. Kreacher had told him how the dark lord had made a painful cut, how he had - most definitely purposefully - just barely missed Kreacher’s most vital artery. Kreacher’s blood was not an option to Regulus though. Even if the elf had offered countless times to give his blood and to drink the potion Regulus knew was coming, Regulus refused to let him do it. Not again.
Regulus had put a lot of thought into where exactly he would cut himself to get the blood. A dark part of him thought his neck might be sufficient, but he reminded himself that the dying was a later stage in the plan. He also wanted to be somewhat able to defend himself and Kreacher until Kreacher had left there with the horcrux. In the end, he went with his face. He made a small cut following the line of his jawbone, starting where it took a sharp turn underneath his ear, up until it was halfway to his chin. The scar would not be pretty, but he was going to die either way. The others in hell wouldn’t care.
He smeared the blood on the wall, and was pleased to see it open. He didn’t dare to try a healing charm. Voldemort would’ve probably accounted for that. He continued inside cautiously, wordlessly casting Lumos to see, but the dark magic absorbed most of the light, so Regulus could still see no more than a metre in front of him. It did help a little bit though, and Regulus could save himself from stumbling head first into the inferi lake. That would be an embarrassing way to die.
It didn’t take him long to find the boat. Its magic was so much lighter than any of the other magic in the cave, it was practically impossible to miss it. Unless you weren’t taught the ways of detecting magic, something only the most conservative of pureblood families still did. Guess Voldemort hadn’t expected to be betrayed by one of them, huh?
It made Regulus laugh out loud.
Still, he would’ve expected someone like Voldemort to be able to conceal such obvious magical differences. The spell to do it was so simple, that once Regulus was sure he wouldn’t lose the boat, the perfectionist in him just couldn’t help but cast it. He couldn’t die feeling that childish mistake in the magic, really, dying to such magic would be a downgrade of his talents.
The boat led him to a small island in the middle of the lake, that glowed green with the infamous potion. On the way there, Regulus couldn’t help but look at the lake, and shuddered at the thought of the inferi. He could swim, of course he could, drowning was another one of those deaths that would be embarrassing to a Black, but if the iferi pulled him down, then, well, not even an Olympic medalist swimmer would make it out alive. Not even if they could perform magic.
When they reached the island, Regulus took out the piece of paper he had written beforehand. He had made sure that Kreacher would find no loopholes in his orders.
You will force me to drink the potion, no matter how many times I beg you not to give it to me. When I have drunk every single drop of the potion, you will replace the horcrux with the fake I gave you earlier. Until I say ‘Noir’, you will not accept any new orders from me, and follow what I have just told you.
When he was finished, he watched Kreacher desperately find a loophole in Regulus’ orders. But there wasn’t one. Regulus had made sure of that when he wrote them down. The other note he had written was already in the fake locket in Kreacher’s hand.
He took the first cup of potion without Kreachers help. It was fine, really. It burned slightly at his throat, like the firewhiskey he’d drink when all he had to worry about was how to get Barty and Evan to realise they like each other, or the Hot chocolate Sirius made after learning the recipe from Potter’s father. Sirius had made it far too hot. Regulus had no idea why those two memories came to him all of a sudden. Sure, the taste of the potion reminded him of them, but Regulus had done everything in his power to forget those memories.
He took another cup of potion, all by himself. That is when it really started. The potion didn’t hurt, per sé. Not physically, at least. Voldemort knew how to hit his victims where it could really hurt. All of the memories which had previously been carefully hidden behind occlumency shields, to be dealt with at an uncertain, later time, came flooding back, crushing Regulus under the weight of them. He could feel how the dark magic around him danced when the astronomical amount of trauma suddenly filled the room. His knees became weak, and all he could do was sit on the floor, eyes wide, not seeing anything but his terrible past, shaking, hyperventilating, mumbling pleas to whomever was hurting him in whatever memory to stop. He was begging.
Again.
‘“Please, Maman, S’il vous plaît! Please don’t hurt him, He doesn’t deserve it, please! Maman! S’il vous plait, arrête, please!” Regulus, just a few days shy of being nine years old, sobbed watching his mother and his brother. His mother stood tall, proud, the picture perfect example of a Black. She turned around, fire in her icy blue eyes.
“Les Blacks ne mendient pas! Crucio.”
And then he was screaming in every language he knew for the memories to stop.
Somewhere, he was vaguely aware of a trembling Kreacher handing him the next cup of potion, and the next, and the next.
And the next.
He was telling Reglus sweet things. Lies, really. About how this cup would solve his problem, about how close he was to the end, about how there was water in this one.
All lies.
Lies, lies, lies.
“I love you, Reggie. I’ll never leave you alone, you’re not getting rid of your older brother that easily”
Lies.
“Si vous prenez la marque, vous serez enfin un Black digne de votre titre.”
Lies.
Regulus didn’t even realise the potion was all gone. All he saw was the water, which would free him from the suffocating thirst and the visions of lies.
Lies, lies, lies.
“Either way, if you were to ever change your mind and decide that you’d like to be helped, ask for my help, and I’ll be there. That’s a promise”
Lies.
Regulus only really started to see again when he felt the cold, slimy hand of an inferius grab him, and started tugging him down into the somehow even colder water. Something clicked. He fought against the beast with all his might, trying to survive the mission he’d planned to die on. Potter’s promise kept on sounding in his head, and eventually he gave in.
With all the power he could muster, he screamed.
“JAMES!”
The potion made Regulus forget that James would never actually hear him.
Lies, lies, lies.
When he opened his mouth again to scream a second time, the cold water filled it.
Regulus could not breathe, as the inferi’s arms dragged him down into colder and darker parts of the lake.