Regulus
Regulus feared nothing and no one, not anymore. Possibly not ever.
His fellow death eaters? What were they to the Dark Lord who made them all bow so submissively?
What was the Dark Lord to Albus Dumbledore, the only wizard that the Dark Lord feared and avoided?
And Albus Dumbledore had nothing on Regulus because Regulus knew secrets the old man could only dream of.
Regulus stood in front of the cave with his clever eyes narrowed and his fists clenched in his pockets.
“I will make it out alive,” he told himself. “I will bow to no one, never again.”
Once Regulus pulled off an act so great that God himself must be envious, he would be free.
No Walburga with her harsh words and harsher curses.
No Death Eaters who look down their nose at him.
No Dark Lord to walk on eggshells around.
No Albus Dumbledore to stare so distrustfully at him.
Regulus was a God and he was prepared to prove it.
What were all those people who thought the second born Black was nothing then?
“I will make it out alive,” Regulus said again before stepping forward. “I will be free.”
Regulus was freed, not through his own clever actions, but through the fire of death.