Nevermore
Disclaimer: I disclaim any disclaimable disclaim-worthy things that may be found in this work of fanfiction.
Regulus sat alone in the cellar kitchen, currently at the head of the long wooden table, elegant hands folded before him as he awaited the reurn of Kreacher. Regulus had waited in the kitchen for Kreacher's return after the other residents of 12 Grimauld Place had retired so as to avoid waking anyone with the house elf's loud arrival, and had waited there for a few hours now. Dark, hooded eyes surveyed the empty table, as though acknowledging many invisible family members, as though to assure some cosmic awareness that as he proceeded with what he hoped to do, he bore the noble house of Black in mind every step of the way. He even dropped a curt nod without realizing what he was doing.
Think. When Kreacher came home, Regulus would have him relay what the Dark Lord had required of the elf; it must have been something the Dark Lord wanted no one to know for him to bring a house elf and not, perhaps, a trusted Death Eater. Ah, but that was daft, the Dark Lord trusted no one. Then he could decide whether Kreacher could aid him in dealing a blow to the Dark Lord, or if Kracher, like the rest of his family, must be kept in the dark from here on out for their own safety.
As if in answer to his calm yet impatient thoughts, a loud crack announced Kreacher's return. Regulus had noted some time ago the fact that it was growing perilously late in hour, but he had not worried; he'd had no doubt that Kreacher would stand before him when Lord Voldemort had done with him.
Regulus felt a smile automatically curve about his lips despite his less than cheerful mood as his head turned to face the elf, slightly untidy but elegant straight black hair sliding across oine hollow cheek bone. At the sight of Kreacher, however, his smile disappeared instantly and he was on his feet, concern etching deep temporary lines in his young face. The Black family elf had never been particularly attractive, but this was terrible, an outrage. Kracher's eyes were distant and haunted, his lips white and quivering. His whole body shook as he approached Regulus, who sunk swiftly into a kneeling position and reached out to support Kreacher. After seeming to check his master's eyes for permission, the elf crumpled in Regulus' arms, shaking and stuttering as he tried to speak. Regulus fished his wand out of a pocket and dried Kreacher's rags in an effort to warm the elf—his skin was like ice. He shuffled closer to the fire in the same action, murmuring, "Kreacher, are you all right?"
"M-m-m-master Regulus," Kracher said, trying to stem the flow of rattling gasps causing such disturbance in his speech.
"Kreacher, what's happened? What did the Dark Lord want of you?" Kracher bit his lip fiercely, clearly desperate not to keep Regulus waiting.
"Take your time," he said kindly, summoning a blanket from a nearby store cupboard and wrapping it around the frigid elf.
"The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a cave, Master Regulus," Kreacher began. Regulus listened as Kreacher told what the Dark Lord had done. As the elf's tale drew to a close, Regulus' thoughts were racing. Before trying to decipher in his mind what the locket could mean, (and he had a couple of ideas already) Regulus spoke swiftly to Kreacher. The Dark Lord musn't know that Kreacher lived. If he had intended Kreacher to die in the lake of Inferi, then he certainly hadn't intended for Regulus to know. And if the Dark Lord knew things had not gone according to his intentions, they would be punished.
"Kreacher, I want you to stay hidden from anyone outside the family, he said, "no, anyone outside the household, even. Don't leave the house. You mustn't tell anyone what happened tonight."
Kreacher nodded and said, "yes, Master Regulus." Regulus nodded in return, satisfied for the moment. "Don't bother cleaning anything tonight," he added, getting to his feet and flicking his wand in the direction of the fireplace to make the flames roar higher. "Wait until you feel better in the morning."
"Thank you, Master Regulus," said Kreacher.
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Regulus sat alone again at the head of the table, this time in the actual dining room. The decor was dark and heavy, the room lit by ornate gold candelabras and draped in black and dark green. He was dressed in some of his finer robes, as though expecting a large number of important company. His intention, really, was to present to this night what was expected of him. This time, however, as he stared down the empty, shining ebony table, he did not see a host of family members, but many copies of himself lining the sides of the table, all watching him with dark, ghostly eyes. They all beheld him as though knowing precisely what was going through his head. He had the plan, but whether to execute it was an entirely different matter.
"Horcruxes," said the Regulus on his immediate right, as though merely to introduce the topic, which Regulus had discovered after almost a week of research. It said nothing more.
"You are the only one who knows," said a Regulus on his left a few chairs down. "You alone discovered the Dark Lord's secret," it mimicked the note he had written.
"You will be killed if it is known, the knowledge you posess," said another Regulus, picking his teeth in a bored fashion. This shade of himself sounded a lot like Phinneas Nigellus to him. "And you are doomed if he ever even suspects you. You are no Occlumens, and the Dark Lord is the greatest Legilimens ever to exist."
"You oughtn't to know in the first place," said a proud-faced, sneering Regulus that reminded him a lot of his haughty older cousin Bellatrix, "your only duty is to serve the Dark Lord. Have you forgotten that? Are you a blood traitor like your brother?"
"You should find it and destroy it." The voice that pierced the room and his own mind was not that of yet another Regulus. Instead, when Regulus looked down the long table tto the opposite head, his eyes fixed on those of his brother, Sirius Black. The image of his older sibling was as Regulus remebered it, as he had last seen it before Sirius had run away from home, age sixteen, though Sirius' way of holding himself asserted the attitude to trump Regulus' seventeen years. Sirius watched him with bitterness in his eyes, which Regulus tried to return but was unable to due to shcok at the sight of his brother.
"Or are you too much of a coward, idiot?" Sirius added venomously.
All the other Reguluses watched in silence as Regulus and Sirius stared into each other's eyes. He felt his dislike of Sirius pounding against his sudden, unexplainable desire for his brother's advice and approval. Sirius had always been twice the wizard Regulus was, even if he turned out to be a traitor to the noble house of Black.
"Destroy it," said a Regulus.
"Destroy it," said another. A feverish sensation was catching over him.
"Destroy it."
"Destroy it."
"Destroy it."
"Destroy it."
"Destroy it," Regulus mumured, mopping sweat away from his aristocratic brow. He rose to his feet, sparing Sirius a final glance before turning on his heel, knowing that the table had emptied as soon as he'd looked away.
As he walked silently down the halls of Grimauld place, Reuglus thought of Sirius. Ought he to contact his older brother? Perhaps he would be able to offer some insight on how to destroy it. Surely it would not be easy. But, Regulus reasoned with himself, that would only delay him. He would have to wait for Sirius' reply, before seeking the Dark Lord's most treasured posession. And that could take weeks, even months. Sirius had always been stubborn. No, Regulus concluded as he descended the stairs into the kitchen, blinking to clear his head which was sharp, yet cloudy with that feverish feeling that had come over him, it would do no good to write to his estranged brother. Any letter with his name on it would most likely be thrown out unopened by Sirius in any case.
"Kreacher," Regulus called softly as he pushed open the kitchen door. The elf emerged from his den.
"Master Regulus?"
"Take me to the cave where the Dark Lord brought you, please." Regulus could see that Kreacher was not pleased with his orders, but there was no question of arguing with them. Kreacher nodded in silence in the same motion that led his deep bow to Regulus. He sunk onto one knee and offered his arm to Kreacher, who hesitated before clasping spindly fingers about his right forearm, folding sharp creases into his black silk sleeve. Crack.
They stood before a stone wall, bare and devoid of any distinguishing marks. Behind them was a stretch of icy sea. Other wizards would probably have suspected the shriveled house elf of trickery, but Regulus trusted Kreacher.
"At this wall magical blood must be spilt," said Kreacher at this point. "The Dark Lord spilled his own, but Kreacher thinks his would suffice..." his voice trailed off, overlong nails reaching for his own flesh. Regulus reached down and stopped thee elf's hand gently.
"No, Kreacher, I will," Regulus said, drawing his wand. "Most probably it must be a wizard's blood, and most likely pure at that." The Dark Lord surely would have made certain only a pureblood wizard would be able to pass. A muttered incantation (for he had not fully mastered nonverbal spells) drew two thin red lines down and across his bared left forearm, forming an X over the Dark Mark branded there. There. It would be known, if he were ever found, that he had died renouncing the Dark Lord. A grimace of pain twisted his features and he flicked some of the streaming blood to the wall. As it hissed and moved aside, a few drops of essence of Dittany closed the wound, leaving behind a pearly X over the Mark.
He and Kreacher walked on after the elf had uttered a warning about the lake filled with dead hands. Regulus' lit wand confirmed that it was indeed full of Inferi. The shaky, feverish state that had posessed him as he'd planned his own death based on what Kreacher had told him had lifted. He felt utterly calm, filled merely with a quiet, stony sense of purpose.
"Reach, Master Regulus, for an invisible chain," said Kreacher as they came to a stop, "when Kreacher was here before, the Dark Lord did so, then made Kreacher hold the boat steady for him."
So Regulus felt around in the dank cold air, and felt a chain under his fingers, already starting to rust the slightest bit. Grabbing tight, Regulus only had to give on firm tug and a boat came into view shortly after the chain did. Without instruction Kreacher held it steady for Regulus to climb in—he could not be allowed to fall in and be drowned and eaten by Inferi before the insured destruction of the horcrux—then clambered in after.
They moved soundlessly across the lake, Kreacher's eyes watching the Inferi beneath the water with a combination of fear and disdain. When they reached the island, first Kreacher climbed out, then held the boat steady as Regulus did the same.
"Kreacher, said Regulus, drawing the gold locket with the note inside that had felt heavy in his pocket all the way here, "I want—"
"Does Master Regulus wish Kreacher to drink the potion?" Kreacher asked. The elf looked fearful, apprehensive, but as always completely willing to bend to his Master's will.
"No, Kreacher, I am going to drink it," said Regulus firmly. "I want you to feed me the potion, no matter what I say about it in the process." As Kreacher let out a squeak Regulus added, "and that is an order, Kreacher, from the only heir to the noble and most ancient house of Black," for he knew that this would remind Kreacher of the importance of his word. Never mind that Sirius was actually the heir; that did not matter. "Then, when the basin is empty, you will place this locket," he pressed the locket he had brought into Kreacher's hand," into the basin, and take the one the Dark Lord placed there. You will get in the boat and go away from here without me. You will return to the house and destroy the locket you take from the basin, and most importantly you will tell none of the family what happens here. Do you understand?" Kreacher hesitated, and Regulus could see tears streaming down his eyes, then, very slowly, he nodded, and spoke the words, "yes, Master Regulus." The elf looked stricken.
Regulus stepped forward, holding the silver goblet with the Black family crest on it that he had brought along with him.
"I'll do the first gobletful, Kreacher," he said, standing before the basin, looking into its pearly depths. Almost like the crystal balls he'd never been able to see anything in at Hogwarts. He reached in, scooping a portion of the dreadful poison into the shining goblet. Regulus raised his goblet in silent salute to Kreacher, who had endured so much at the Black family's bidding, and drank.
The instant it touched his tongue, it radiated pain like fire through his body, and he swiftly gulped the rest at the same time with every bit of will he posessed, choking. As it spilled down his throat the pain intensified, and he barely noticed the goblet fall with a sharp clatter of metal on stone from his hands. His vision clouded over and he fell to his knees, coughing and leaning one hand against the basin's column to support his weight. His insides screamed and burned as though he were under the Cruciatus curse, and at first he thought his vision was clearing, but what he saw instead was the hallway in #12 Grimauld Place. Mother's vengeful screams filled the house, and before Regulus' very eyes an angry Sirius (he'd always been angry...), sixteen years old, storming down the hall, a suitacse levitating behind him. The hateful expression on Sirius' face as he looked over his shoulder at them was even more vivid than Regulus thought he remembered. Kreacher's disgusted grumblings and Father's angry words joined Mother's screams as Sirius turned away again, stomping down the stairs.
"Don't go!" Regulus cried, and as he did so he realized that he hadn't done that when it had really happened. Each moment was another stabbing of agony as he felt, as though far, far away, more potion tipping down his throat. Anguish he's almost forgotten rose in waves, crashing over him as he chased after his brother. He was fourteen. "You can't go! You can't go, you idiot! Just because you think different, just because you're too afraid to take action for the good of all wizardkind...you can't leave us all! You can't leave me! Things'll get better they will! You don't walk out on family, you moron! Stop! Please stop! Sirius!" But Sirius ignored him, could not hear him, and from far, far away, Kreacher's voice, the real Kreacher, uttering woeful apologies and cries of sympathy...
He had collapsed against the rocky little island, breathing as though he had run a marathon and sobbing pathetically, hating this all the more because the salty tears meant even more dehydration, and he was deathly thirsty. His eyes, which were squeezed shut, began to ease open. Kreacher stopped crying "Master Regulus," at this sight, relieved, at least, that Regulus had made it this far.
"Go on, Kreacher," Regulus croaked, looking with a burning longing past Kreacher to the dark water beyond that would be the death of him, "and take the goblet with you. Father musn't notice it missing." In the corner of his eye saw saw Kreacher reaching into the basin, heard the clink of a new one replacing the Dark Lord's, then watched, dying of thirst, utilizing every ounce of restraint he'd never used on almost anything else from diving for that water before Kreacher left the island. Kreacher gave Regulus one pleading look before climbing into the boat...
Regulus was no longer paying attention to Kreacher, for his thirst would be held back no longer. Crawling forward on his hands and knees, he scooped great gulps of "life-giving" water into his mouth, wishing wtih every bit of his being that his thirst be quenched, getting his shoulder-length black hair wet. But as his pathetically weakened body began to feel a little better, though no stronger, pale things moving beneath the dark water caught his gaze. Regulus thuoght to reach for his wand as dead hands emerged from the water, as pale, lifeless faces rose from the depths to the surface, but it would do no good. He could barely lift a wand in this state, let alone articulate a spell. And what would protect him from Inferi? They made to clutch at his arms, but Regulus was barely able to use his weight to fall backward onto his back in a feeble effort to escape, so they latched onto his legs and began to pull him that way. His dark eyes landed on Kreacher, who was watching in horror as the Inferi claimed more and more of his body every second. Regulus had no strength to struggle, and merely drew a huge last breath and shut his eyes as a cry of "Master Regulus!" rent the air and his head slipped under.
The Inferi were all around him now, he could feel them pressing in on him sickeningly. He felt dead nails tearing at his skin, drawing blood. So it wouldn't matter that he'd Xed out the Mark after all, he was just going to be one of those bloody masses in the pictures in Defense Against the Dark Arts... Pain made him want to cry out, but Regulus kept it shut to preserve the stale air in his lungs. But icy hands were at his mouth, his jaws wrenched open. Water rushed in and he coughed, losing percious air. As Regulus tried to close his mouth, frozen teeth pressed against his lips, an Inferius seeming to try and suck out all the air it could. The feeling was disgusting, utterly repulsive. All the while he was being dragged deeper and deeper with no will no keep his eyes close any longer, and now he could see how far down he was already. But his vision was begining to cloud, his brain and body screaming silently for oxygen, head pounding, he needed air... Desperation filled him. He fought, but his muscles had long since passed incapacity at this point. No Kreacher, what are you doing, following Master's suicidal orders? Save me! But there was nothing Kreacher could do for him now, he knew, any more than he, Regulus, could save himself. Though fear and anguish pounded in him, Regulus knew his fate was to lie torn to pieces with these Inferi at the bottom of the dead lake.
And as his vision became completely shrouded from lack of oxygen, Regulus thought, with a bit of his brother's defiance, There, Sirius, who are you calling a coward? before all was lost to nothingness.