Regulus carefully placed his last diary entry under a loose floorboard and walked to stand in the doorway of his childhood bedroom. It was cold and neat. Almost impersonal. The curtains were drawn. His bed was perfectly made. Even his desk was cleared of clutter, apart from one lonely pot of quills. It was as if no one had ever lived there at all.
He tried to steady his breathing. He was going to destroy Voldemort’s Horcrux. The soul that kept him from death. The Dark Lord had worked hard to keep his secret from his most loyal servants and hated enemies. Yet, Regulus knew. And now he was going to force the wizard to face his mortality, just as Regulus was facing his own.
Regulus wasn’t naive. He would not survive this. It was a suicide mission. The best outcome would be to steal the Horcrux before he was taken by death’s inevitable grasp. But he wouldn’t get to see the outcome of his contribution to defeating Voldemort. He would not get to see when the Dark Lord met his demise. He would not get to see this war won.
But his death would not be in vain, as Regulus told himself. It was for Sirius, his only brother who he had let slip away. For James, who made his heart ache with a love that could have been. For all the innocent souls that had lost their lives. And for his younger self, that used to pray his last breath would not be taken in the rotting air of Black Manor. He would not let it be in vain.
Regulus wondered briefly if Sirius had felt this way when he ran away from home. It all felt so final. He dismissed the idea. It was unlikely considering Sirius’ departure had been a spontaneous dash to pack a bag. He probably hadn’t felt the weight of his decision like Regulus felt now. Regulus still remembers crying and begging Sirius to stay as their mother screamed from downstairs. He hadn’t.
The only thing Sirius left behind was the crude posters permanently stuck to his walls and a few draws of clothes that he had never worn anyway. Regulus had tried to hate him for that night. But in truth, he could admit he was envious. He would give anything for someone to rescue him as James Potter had done for his brother. Like Sirius had promised he would do for Regulus. But time had made clear that he would never get a James Potter. A person to absolve him of all his mistakes and love him regardless. So instead, he had carried the words of his mother “blood runs thicker than water”. He became her soldier. Her heir. Anything to make her proud. But no matter how much of himself he poured into her plans, it wasn’t enough for her to love. No matter how much of himself he devoted to following her rules, she still stared at him blankly. As if she didn’t know him. As if she had never cared to.
Regulus’ greatest fear was not his mother’s wrath that turned him to stone, or the many unforgivable curses that had been thrown at him, or even Lord Voldemort and the threat of death. Above all else, Regulus feared that Sirius had left home to escape him. That it was his fault his brother hadn’t stayed. Him and his inability to love right. But that fear was the reality, wasn’t it? Sirius had wanted to escape their parents, the Black family legacy, and the death eater path laid out for the both of them. And Regulus, well, Regulus was a part of that. Now the only heir of the Noble House of Black. And a death eater filled with the hateful rhetoric of his ancestry. He was just like them. He was them. He was the thing he promised Sirius he would never grow into.
Maybe Sirius was everything Regulus was too afraid to be. Maybe Regulus had known, even as a child, that only one of them could escape their parent’s destiny. There had to be an heir. And he had always known that Sirius would get out somehow. So the burden fell on Regulus. He had once hoped that he could too, but he had never been good at asking for help. So Regulus became scared to hope. Scared to love. Scared to try. Resigning himself to his fears.
It had never been about ‘good’ and ‘bad’ to Regulus. He hadn’t been brave enough for that. He knew his parents’ blood supremacy meant they were the morally corrupt ones. Logic told Regulus of his father’s crimes. Of his mother’s abuse. However, Regulus had clung to them regardless. Clung to an empire of dirt and ash. He had wanted to believe every word they told him simply because it came out of their mouths.
It had never been about ‘good’ and ‘bad’ to Regulus until he couldn’t look himself in the mirror without seeing evil. Until he couldn’t wash the smell of death from his hands. He was an ocean away from the good he had once seen in the world. And he could no longer justify it.
Sirius had been brave enough to hate their parents as Regulus never could. To see right through their lies. To dismiss them and move on. Now Sirius was fighting on the opposite side. All Regulus wanted to do was reach out to him over the ocean. But he couldn’t. He feared that it would bring Sirius back down the hole he had painstakingly crawled out of. So Regulus had to swallow down his regret. It had been his choice to make and he had chosen wrong. And the consequence was being stuck acting as his family’s puppet. Their “good little boy”. Like a student craving a gold star. Waiting. Always waiting for someone to fucking care. As if he hadn’t pushed away the only person who had cared. If only he had learnt how to scream for help.
Regulus felt a tear roll down his cheek and he let it. He had forgotten what it felt like to cry. He hadn’t felt the stab of hurt in months. He became so familiar with it that he had become numb to it. Learned to adapt to the routine. After all, that was what he had done his whole life. By age five Regulus knew exactly how to best avoid his father’s hits. He knew the sound of his mother’s footsteps by heart. Or what the tone of her yelling voice meant. He had grown accustomed to the idea of his life as wasted. But now the gravity of that sentiment came back in full force. A reminder that he still felt it all.
When Sirius returned home after his first year Regulus had begged him to recount every detail in reverence. After describing the marauders he teased Regulus for being jealous. Regulus had, of course, denied it. But so what if he was jealous? He felt like it was well within his rights. Sirius had three best friends. Friends that helped him deposit the brunt of his parent’s disappointment. He was allowed to be free. All Regulus had was himself and a room of cobwebs. It’s not as if he hadn’t tried to be someone’s friend. But even then he was mean. He pushed people away. Or they simply left.
Sometimes he would look around and think about the fact he had carried the pain of existence on his own. It was equally reassuring as it was devastating. He was comfortable by himself. Had grown accustomed to the sound of his own voice echoing in silent rooms. It was easier to control. So it disappointed him that he craved love like the oxygen flowing in his lungs. It was too human. He wasn’t supposed to be human. He had never felt human. And yet he was gasping for air. It was very fucking inconvenient.
Loving was difficult for him. Like removing a knife from a wound. Extracting the words from his soul left him bleeding. Love was a lesson that others seemed to have learned in childhood. Something you can either be good or bad at. It came naturally to everyone else, while he was falling behind. Without Sirius, he had almost forgotten what it even meant. To love and that love to be given in equal force. It was alien. He didn’t know how or where to even begin. It was like he was a machine that had lost the ability to function but was still going through the motions.
Love was the good china. The plates that gather dust in display cabinets. Regulus knew it was rotting away by being there, but he couldn’t risk ruining it through use. So he reserved it. He hoarded it selfishly until people became tired of painfully teasing it out of him.
Maybe that’s why he was so drawn to James, who was the opposite. James could be friends with the entire world and still have more love to give. Love for him was like riding a bike.
If Regulus’ love was sharp and slow, like a dagger drawn too late, James’ love was like a wave that rippled until everyone had splashed in its warm depths. As constant and generous as the sun’s warmth. And maybe it was pathetic, but Regulus relished the occasions when it reached him. The moments where James would look up across the great hall to meet Regulus’ gaze and smile or wave. The moments he playfully teased Regulus about quidditch or they shared a look at something Sirius said. He collected those moments like a crow hoarding shiny trinkets. They were his and his alone. And if he were jealous of others for receiving the same treatment he would never admit it. But it happened less and less until one day James met his eyes and looked away. The point of no return. That was after word had gotten out that Regulus had received the dark mark.
Regulus hadn’t known the purpose of the dark mark ceremony until the last minute. His parents had hosted dinner, inviting their relatives and friends. Regulus hadn’t recognised many of the people, but they scared him. He knew they were death eaters. They watched him with leering eyes and discussed acts that made his skin crawl. His mother had told him it was an honour to receive the symbol of the Dark Lord. But she didn’t give him the choice in the end. He was held in place by a body-binding curse as the spell was performed. Regulus had screamed and cried but the people only laughed.
The mark had cut deep. It seemed to go beyond his flesh and steep into the very cracks of his soul. It polluted him. He looked down at his bare arm now. The dark ink contrasted his milky pale skin. It had faded and bled since it was first applied, however, the sight still made Regulus swallow harshly. He wanted to scream that they didn’t own him. But he was afraid that he didn’t own himself either.
He had hoped that after that night he would be left alone. And for a while he had. Until a year later during another death eater meeting. Bella had brought in a muggle family, bound and gaged. Regulus avoided watching as she played with their bodies like toys after dinner. Cruel and manic in her torture, as Regulus had been forced to witness before. After growing tired of the cruciatus curse, she killed the mother and father, cackling hysterically. She raised her wand to kill the son, but then faced Regulus grinning. His stomach plummeted as she told him it was his turn. At least thirty blood-thirsty eyes were on him. Regulus raised his wand with shaking hands. The boy suspended above the table appeared to be no older than him. His eyes were wide and glistening from silent tears. Regulus uttered the unforgivable and suddenly the boy’s gaze became unfocused, joining his parents. The lifeless body hung above like a bad omen. It was a swift and clean kill, no blood spilt, prolonged agony or screaming. If it weren’t for the wand still pointing at the boy, Regulus would assume he was still alive. But he couldn’t mistake the settling feeling that the room had gained another corpse, this time because of him.
He hated himself for it. Hated wearing the skin on his bones. He felt perpetually dirty. More than anything he wished he could swap places with the boy. To be the one buried six feet under.
But he was just a kid. A product of violence. Shaped by generations of hurt. He couldn’t remove it; the blood on his hands and the mark on his arm. Lord knows he had tried. He had scrubbed at the skin until it was red and raw. But he remained ashamed. Ashamed of it all.
The dark mark had been the beginning of the end for Regulus. The sign that after treading water for an eternity, he had finally gone under. It meant the last time he would speak to Sirius. The last time Sirius tried for him. Sirius gave up on checking on his brother. Regulus had set fire to the last bridge leading to safety.
After drying his eyes, Regulus swept his gaze around the bedroom one last time. He wondered briefly whether his room would be preserved like Sirius’. It felt haunted. As if death had already taken him.
When other people saw Regulus’ bedroom, they immediately assumed that his favourite colour was green. The rug under his feet was the colour of pine forests. The bedding was in shades of hunter-green. Even the wallpaper was emerald. It was a tribute to Slytherin house. A direct contrast to Sirius’ old bedroom across the hall filled with reds, golds and various Gryffindor memorabilia he had left. However, this assumption was wrong. Regulus loved the serenity of deep blue. The colour of the ocean’s depths and the sky after sunset but before the stars come out.
It was in those things that the expanse of time calmed him, rather than reminding him that the pain would never end. He was a mere speck of dust on the carpet of the universe. A star in a sky of millions. Humanity would continue to evolve and each generation would care a little less. Move on to bigger things. Waves would continue to crash onto rocks. New wars would be created and won. But that didn’t mean it was all meaningless. Because this war would change the path of time. Would change the future for all the people he used to know and the generations that would proceed them. So it was worth fighting for. To break the cycle of abuse. To stop the never-ending spiral into darkness. To carve a world he wished he knew.
Regulus didn’t care to be remembered. He didn’t care that his name would be erased from his family tree or that his effort would be skipped over in history books. He didn’t care that he would fade into the background of this war. It was enough to be fighting again. To believe in something again. To regain himself.
He closed his bedroom door behind him carefully. The only thing he carried with him was an identical copy of Slytherin’s locket with a note folded carefully inside and his wand.
Regulus made his way downstairs, cautious not to tread on any of the floorboards that would creak. Over the years, Regulus and Sirius had learnt the exact route to get out of the house without making a sound. It was that route that Regulus traced now.
Downstairs it was pitch black. But even in the daytime, sunlight never reached this side of the house.
Regulus raised his wand, “Lumos,” he whispered.
Kreacher was waiting in the kitchen for Regulus. The house elf had always annoyed Sirius, but Regulus understood him to be just as trapped as himself. In return for Regulus’ respect, Kreacher had become an ally. He had told Regulus of the Dark Lord’s secret and was willing to help him now.
Regulus was afraid to admit that he had listened to Kreacher’s story and thought of it as an outlet. Death was the coward’s way out, he knew that. But it was also revenge for taking away his boyhood. It was an attempt to finally do something right by the people he loved. It wasn’t for Dumbledore or his foolish concept of good. Regulus hated Dumbledore for taking away his favourite people. For reducing them to expendable soldiers. To numbers in the fight to defeat the Dark Lord.
Kreature was visibly afraid, which encouraged Regulus to be stronger for the both of them. He gave the house elf what he hoped was a reassuring nod before turning to the entrance.
This was his last sword to draw.
It was like stepping out of the shade to let the sun soak his skin. He had been trying to run from himself. Run from this war and its consequences. He was still a scared child. Yet at eighteen, Regulus Black had finally come to terms with the end. And now he was standing on the edge of the cliff navigating his jump.
Regulus remembered when simple things used to make his heart race like it was now. Sneaking food into Sirius’ room after a particularly awful fight with their mother. Having a crush on a boy that didn’t notice him. Accidentally brushing hands with said boy. Trying to learn anything and everything about the boy from Sirius. Always that boy. Always James.
His feelings for James had started the first time they had met. He had immediately realised that the way Sirius had glowed while rambling about his best friend had not been unfounded. Sirius had met up with Regulus the day after the sorting with his friends in tow. James had beamed as he introduced himself. He looked at Regulus as though he was worth something. Regulus had never experienced that before. James Potter was someone who appeared excited just to know him. That he didn’t have to prove himself to first. It was rare growing up in a house where respect was a currency, not a right. Sirius’ other friends were nice enough, but James was magnetic. And Regulus was hopeless to stop himself from being drawn into his orbit.
Sometimes Regulus wondered if he had made James up. He was too good to exist in this selfish world. Maybe he was just a figment of Regulus’ desperate imagination.
James Potter crashed into him. It was sudden and he would forever be dizzy with the sensation. But it left his body worn and bruised. Like something ice cold subjected to the heat; he craved the warmth of James, but it stung. It made him feel like he could erupt from feelings and numb all over simultaneously. Because it could never be.
James was the blinding sun and Regulus was just a pin-prick of a star. One already burnt out that light hadn’t travelled fast enough to reveal. Dust floating around in the universe, waiting to become something more.
But James’ gaze never wavered from Lily Evans. It made sense, really. She was beautiful, loyal, intelligent, and a fierce fighter, just like James. She could glow just as bright as him. A flower blooming under the sun’s rays. Twin summer days. They complimented each other that way. She reigned him in and he made her see the joy in this cruel world. Everyone knew they would become high school sweethearts. He would lay out his hand and she would protest but eventually collapse in his arms. Like the end of a movie.
And so Regulus vowed to store his feelings where they would not see the daylight. Learned to build his walls even when James’ smile made him weak. He was good at carrying hurt. He was good at keeping secrets. After all, it was in his DNA.
Lily had only once spoken to him. In his fourth year, she had kicked him and Barty out of an abandoned classroom during her nightly prefect routine. She had been kind but firm. Barty had complained and protested but Regulus had remained silent as he slipped past. He hadn’t spoken, even though Barty had ranted about the idiocy of prefects and curfews all the way back to their dormitory. Regulus was too busy wondering whether Lily appreciated James as he did.
Now Barty was gone. It was only a matter of time before he is found dead. There were no saved lives in war, only hollow survivors. It had to end.
This last act would be forgotten. He would be forgotten. Like he had been forgotten by Barty. Like he had been forgotten by his brother. Like he had been forgotten by everyone who had ever mattered.
On his more sentimental days, Regulus used to write Sirius letters that he would never send. He stored them under his mattress. It reminded him of when they were younger and would gossip about the dull guests brought into the Black household. Regulus liked to imagine telling Sirius about his crush and Sirius teasing him about it. Maybe offering advice.
Regulus wondered if Sirius even knew that he was queer. Even cared enough to notice. Sirius had once come out to Regulus. The two had snuck out to visit a candy shop in town and he had watched as Sirius eyed the muggle boy working the cash register. Afterwards, Sirius confessed to Regulus that he liked boys. Regulus had warned him to be careful but Sirius never was. His mother had called it recklessness but Regulus had always thought his brother was the bravest person he knew. Regulus knew that at some point Sirius had fallen in love with the Lupin boy he was friends with. It hurt that Sirius’ friends knew him better than him, but Regulus couldn’t stay bitter. It was what Sirius deserved; love and light and joy.
Sirius was someone else, but Regulus, Regulus was still right here. Watching his brother from the sidelines. Wishing him the best. He would carry all the heartbreak and abuse if it mean Sirius was left alone.
To avoid waking his parents as they apparated, Regulus led Kreater outside. Regulus softly closed the back door behind them and wandered into the night. The cool wind hit him like a bullet but he didn’t flinch or shiver.
Light pollution in the London neighbourhood meant that only a few stars littered the night sky, but it didn’t matter to Regulus. He only had eyes for one; the brightest of the dog constellation. Like the sea rolling onto the shore, Sirius was always there. Regulus hoped they could reunite one day. He imagined them meeting in another lifetime. One after the war. One after Sirius had lived a long and content life of laughter and love.
“I hope you can forgive me,” he whispered to the sky. The star seemed to glisten in response.
There was a small part of Regulus that was reluctant to go even though it felt right. He was in the universe’s hands now. Following the gentle current of the stream. Yet he was scared he was accidentally leaving something behind. Maybe that is the paradox of life, it’s never over until it’s over too soon. Regulus was Orpheus leaving the underworld. He had been running towards the light for as long as he had known himself, yet now he was here all he could do was look back the way he came.
Regulus held onto the house elf as they apparated with a loud ‘crack!’
The sky enveloped him in an inky blackness bigger than time itself. Regulus didn’t know it yet, but at that moment the universe accepted him like his mother never could. And as number thirteen of Grimmuld Place woke the next morning and his bed was found empty, Regulus was already in a place among the stars.