Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything concerning him belongs to the wonderful J. K. Rowling.
blasphemy
He was only eighteen years old and he knew he was about to die. It hadn't been a hard decision. It hadn't really been his decision. He knew what would happen and he knew no one would ever know and he didn't mind. He had never really been unhappy – but on the other hand had he never really been happy either – and he told himself he didn't fear death.
But he did. Of course he did – there was nothing after death, he was sure of it and that scared him more than anything (maybe it was because death was the only thing the Dark Lord feared that Regulus learned to fear it too, but Sirius had never seemed to fear death at all. He was brave and would face death boldly and with his head held high, Regulus was sure of that too and thought Sirius would die with no regrets and I die with so much guilt in my heart, he thought and stared at the water which reflected the stone ceiling and the cave was so cold. I'm not brave, he whispered softly, more to himself than to Kreacher. Not to Kreacher, not to the cave and not to the dead bodies but to himself - and to Sirius. And to everyone else he knew).
(There are different kinds of bravery, said his Headmaster once and he would say it again).
Yet, he welcomed death. Death would be the end of everything. He was sure he wouldn't survive this war even if he'd survive this. He wondered who would have killed him. If it'd be Sirius or one of his friends. Perhaps Remus Lupin or James Potter, but Regulus didn't really think so. Or perhaps Bella. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd be the one to kill him. She'd probably be happy to, if it was on the Dark Lord's orders. She would do anything for him and nothing for Regulus, he knew. Perhaps Severus, because he hated Regulus just as much as he hated his brother and he always showed it uncommonly well.
(The water was even colder than the actual cave and he'd much rather die laughing – just like his brother would but he knew he would never die the same death as Sirius, because he and Sirius were nothing alike anymore and it wasn't even drowning; it was being torn apart by cold hands in cold water and he knew this must be the worst way to go).
It felt like an eternity as he sat watching the smooth surface of the water and his head felt like it was about to about to explode. He smiled. The Dark Lord was not going to be defeated because of one Horcrux less but Regulus had done what he could do and he smiled before he drank the dreaded potion.
It didn't take that long and he was weak and knew what waited and in that weak state he welcomed it more than before. It seemed only fair to let him die now. He needed to die because the pain and thoughts and things he saw in his head was making life less worth living.
"Go home, Kreacher," were the last words he uttered and he sighed, smiling slightly at the irony of life – and death.
(Betrayal? No, no, this was something more – this was something finer, something greater and something so much worse).
He was only eighteen years old and his life has been too short to actually enjoy. Too filled with pain and misery and with too little love. He was eighteen years old and hadn't even kissed a girl, but he didn't care. Those things seemed so feeble, so unimportant when he thought of everything else. Of Sirius, of the Dark Lord, of everyone else's lives. He knew there are too many things he would miss, things he'd wish he'd experienced but that cannot be helped. That didn't really matter.
He did not beg for death. That would beneath Sirius and he didn't want his brother to beat him at dying. If Regulus had to go first, he hoped Sirius would die a boring death – like sitting in front of the fireplace at the age of eighty-four. That would mean he'd survived the war. That would mean Regulus had died for something. Anything.