Round #10
Characters: Regulus (mascot), Sirius, Kreacher, Walburga and Orion
Genre: Angst and tragedy
Words: 2,081
Prompt: Write about the lead up to [your mascot's] death.
Regulus. Because we all agree he is awesome and an underdog – like us.
Until the War Ends
The streets were dark, as though paved with blackness itself. Regulus kept his head down and hands in his pockets.
"What do you want?" Regulus looks up into the scornful, sad eyes of his brother.
"Thank you for coming," said Regulus, he drank in the appearance of Sirius, gaunt and scarred and his hair matted in a way teenage Sirius would have screamed at. He was scowling, but seemed almost unsure in the way he was holding himself with tense shoulders and arms, ready to leap either to or away from Regulus.
Sirius kicked at the ground. "I shouldn't be here," he said ruefully. "I told everyone I was 'infiltrating enemy lines'. They all think I went to the bar."
"Should I be worried?" It wasn't a question that needed an answer really and they both knew it. Regulus always had been the worrier, the one to look out for the two of them and making sure Sirius never really crossed any lines.
His mission failed daily, but he tried.
"I don't see why," said Sirius scornfully. "You and your friends are baying for my blood anyway. I don't see what a few drinks could do to make any difference to you."
Regulus winced. "You're my brother, Sirius. I care."
Sirius didn't answer, but drew his wand instead. He twirled it between his fingers, his face twisting into a scowl. "You have a funny way of showing it."
"We just need to hold out," said Regulus desperately. "Just until the war ends."
"But will it ever?" asked Sirius grimly before turning on his heal and vanishing into the darkness.
"You have done well," a cold hand, heavily laden with rings and silver-piped robes. Regulus barely suppressed the disgusted shiver that ran through him, up along his spine with lightning jolts.
He desperately avoided looking anyone in the eye, as if they could smell his guilt and see his brothers face still imprinted on his irises.
Even as he thanked the Dark Lord for his mission, Regulus had to force his voice to even out instead of jumping up several octaves as it wanted to do.
He thought ruefully that Sirius was rubbing off on him.
Walburga Black, always imposing but even more so that particular day, opened the door. An unusual occurrence – it was normally Kreacher who answered the bell – but he didn't comment on it. Nor on the fact that more faces than he remembered had been blackened from the family tapestry.
He sat on the sofa in the front room used in the evening, across from his parents, holding a cup of tea that was slowly turning cold. Kreacher stumbled into the room, balancing a plate of biscuits in both hands. He bowed low to the ground as he backed away, grinning his toothless grin at Regulus who forced a smile back.
"It has been a while since your last visit," began Orion stiffly. "Your mother was becoming worried."
Regulus pretended he didn't notice the way his father did not refer to himself. The icy, flint-grey gaze of his father's eyes was not one that expressed love.
"I shall not take so long between calls next time," said Regulus reassuringly. "My last… ahem, mission, took rather longer than expected."
Immediately there was understanding.
"Of course," Walburga sat her untouched cup of watery tea on the saucer. She smiled at Regulus. "My precious boy is all grown up now. I just get lonely sometimes." There was no inflection to her words and Orion did not react. Regulus's eyes flitted uncertainly between the two.
"I must leave now," Regulus felt a sharp pain spark through his left arm.
"So soon?"
She sounded so disappointed that Regulus half wanted to sit back, hang the Dark Lord. The other side of him knew that if he wanted to wake up again tomorrow he had to go.
As Regulus pulled up his hood, preparing to Apparate straight from the porch, before any Order members patrolling spotted him, Walburga grabbed his arm. Her eyes were wide.
"Be careful, Regulus," she said.
Regulus swallowed the lump in his throat, nodded and then stepping beyond the wards stood for a moment at where his mother stood, before Apparating.
"We have a traitor among us."
His hissing voice seeped into Regulus dreams.
"Nagini, feed."
And then Regulus woke up screaming.
The owl swooped into the morning light. Regulus watched the sunlight burst through grey clouds like pathways to heaven.
He snorted. Heaven.
Once his coffee, black with no sugar, had cooled to a level where it no longer scorched his tongue to cinders, Regulus took a sip. He gagged.
It tasted like ashes, all gritty and dry and Regulus was terribly aware that this coffee was a metaphor for him. Black.
Regulus grabbed the milk bottle and sugar shaker, pouring both substances into his drink until it overflowed from the mug.
He watched as the darkness disappeared in a whirlpool of white.
"I have a special task for you." His voice is high and cold, but edged with something close to respect. Regulus's heart would have once swelled with the approval, but now he can only pray that the Dark Lord could not smell his doubt. "Dangerous. Something I can only trust to my most loyal servants."
"I will do anything you say, master," said Regulus, forcing as much emotion and devotion as he could muster into his words. "You need only to ask."
"Oh, but I am asking, Regulus," he said. His eyes gleamed, the depths of insanity clearer than ever in the light. "Tell me Regulus, do you have a house-elf?"
Dear Sirius, wrote Regulus.
If you are reading this, then it's already too late. For that fact, I hope you never do read this. I - quite simply – do not want to die. However, I suppose we must go on as if the worst-case scenario has taken place and I have died.
Horcruxes, Sirius, Horcruxes. They are the key to this whole mess. The Dark Lord has six. The first of which I am going after and shall hopefully destroy. Now you must find the rest. You and the rest of the Order.
Regulus dipped his quill into the ink and studied the letter closely; then he bit his lip before putting pen to paper again.
Remember, the Dark Lord will start to notice these things are wrong. He will become even more dangerous than usual, keeping them close to his heart. Sirius, I'm telling you, be careful. Research. Let the werewolf figure stuff out before charging in headfirst as I am sure you will try to do.
Your brother,
Regulus Articulus Black
R.A.B
The fire crackled as Regulus rose, gripping the letter between his fingers as though he wanted to rip it to shreds.
He didn't want to die.
Horror overwhelmed his senses entirely as Regulus felt bile rise at the back of his throat. He threw the letter away from him. It fluttered, carried by an invisible wind towards the fire where it caught fire and Regulus watched, stricken, as his lifeline burnt to ashes before him.
"That'll be nineteen stickles," said a weedy man in a nasal voice. He held out a trembling hand to take the money as Regulus counted it into his palm.
Regulus swiped the locket from the counter and exited Borgin and Burkes, a dirty shop full of dark objects and dark memories. He pulled down his hood as it began to rain; it felt it run down the curve of his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt. Water ran in rivulets from his hair.
Blinking against the rain, Regulus stooped through Knockturn Alley.
The sunlight seemed almost alien to Regulus as he stepped into the street. He had avoided it for the obvious reasons of being easily seen with a hood up but now that it was autumn and winter's chill bit at the winds Regulus fit right in with the other passers-by.
It was only a short walk from his house to his parents but Regulus's leg ached so he looked around quickly for anyone glancing his way. No one; everybody was too wrapped up in their own lives to care about his. Then he Disapparated to the front steps of his old home. The house of Black.
Regulus had timed his arrival perfectly. His father would have left for the Ministry only ten minutes before hand and his mother would have left for Irma's house by now. He gripped the hand rail as he climbed the steps and knocked twice with the brass handle on the door. Kreacher answered, his face lighting up when he saw Regulus.
"Young master," he bowed so low that his long nose brushed the ground. "Kreacher is terribly sorry sir, but Kreacher's master and mistress are both out but young master is welcome to wait for them. My mistress should only be gone a short while and Kreacher will serve you tea."
"No thank you," said Regulus, he stepped into the house and dropped his cloak to the floor. Kreacher deflated a little.
"As young master wishes," he squeaked, grabbing Regulus's cloak from the floor and dusting if down before hanging it up on the hat stand. "But then, if Kreacher can be so bold as to ask…"
"Of course." Regulus forced a smile.
Kreacher grinned his wavering toothless grin back at him. "Kreacher can't help wondering what young master Regulus is doing here?"
Screams filled the cave.
The poison was like fire in Regulus's veins, forcing itself through his bloodstream and melting his body inside to out. The screaming faded to a whimpering sound and only then, as Kreacher appeared above him, did Regulus realise it was him making the noise.
Kreacher held out a white shell. "Drink it, young master," he said, low voice cracking as Regulus shuddered away from him. "It'll help."
He prised Regulus's mouth open and then the liquid burst in flames through Regulus's body, tearing him to pieces.
"No, please stop it…" he was crying, sobs wracking his frame and suddenly Kreacher's worried face swam out of his vision.
A woman was shouting for him to stop. Her child lay dead on the floor. She threw herself at him. She joined her son.
Fire danced up around the houses. Shouts and cries filled the air, already saturated with smoke. Centaurs galloped from their forests as the flames caught on the trees.
"No… please… please…"
A pale face loomed over Regulus who cowered, trying his best to look brave. "Eat, Nagini."
Bellatrix's laughter echoed around him, a cruel cackle full of power and hatred and lust for destroying. Regulus felt like he had been punched in the chest as she struck down a girl with pigtails.
Unseeing eyes stared upwards. They pierced Regulus's soul.
"Help," Regulus's eyes darted to Kreacher who held another shell-full of the burning-liquid at his lips. "No! No… please no…"
Kreacher's eyes were filled with tears too as he poured the poison down Regulus's throat, stumbling back to the font to refill the shell.
"We just need to hold out," said Regulus desperately. "Just until the war ends."
"But will it ever?" asked Sirius grimly before turning on his heal and vanishing into the darkness.
"No… just help me… please, Kreacher," through the haze of pain and fear and tears Regulus could just make out Kreacher, kneeling before him and holding something shiny out to him.
Regulus held out a shaking hand and Kreacher dropped the locket into it, something soft but panicked beat within the metal like a vicious heartbeat. Regulus grappled with his coat pocket and gave Kreacher both lockets.
"Put… the fake… in the bowl," Regulus's throat was dry with thirst. "Water…"
"Wait until we get home, young master," said Kreacher desperately. He wrapped an arm under Regulus's shoulders, trying to keep him upright. "Please wait."
The pain had faded to a dulled, throbbing ache, but Regulus fell to the floor, desperate for water, and ignoring Kreacher's tugging at his robes as he thrust his head into the water. Hands grasped Regulus's hair and face, pale and ghostlike as wraiths filled the water around him.
Regulus slipped into the water. It was dark and cold as those frozen, dead hands pulled him down and his robes created extra weight. He was splayed out in the water, limp and lifeless even as his lungs fought for air.
.
Fin