AN: I don't own anything, I don't make any profit off of this, I just do it for fun. I'm not sure if this is any good, though even if I said it was it would be biased because, well, I wrote it. I would appreciate some feedback but, you know, it's up to you.
Something had changed, whether that something was him or everyone else wasn't quite clear to him. Two months ago he wouldn't have questioned anything that was told to him
"Torture them!"
"They deserve this!"
"You really are the good son, my little king"
Two months ago he had never seen a dead body, never watched as the life faded from the eyes of the latest victim. Somehow, through that ordeal, he had realized where his heart really was, and it wasn't with the man who ordered the torture and murder of anyone who crossed him or just didn't support him. Of course there was more to his revelation than just the Quincy murder, though that was definitely where his doubts were founded.
The week after he became an accessory to murder, the Dark Lord asked for a house elf. He had to reassure them all that he was still just as faithful so he volunteered his lone house elf, who was taken two weeks latter. When broken and weak elf returned and told him of what he had learned he was sickened. Being that he was of such an ancient house he had access to books that were so long out of print that even the most educated scholars had never heard of them. It was in Secrets of the Darkest Art, a book published some three hundred fifty years ago, that he found all the information he needed to solidify his new found resolve.
It was quite possibly the most disturbing thing he ever subjected himself to reading. From it he gathered that a Horcrux was an object that a dark witch or wizard concealed part of their soul in. At first he didn't think that it was that bad, until he got to the next paragraph where it explicitly described how to create one and the benefits of having one. For each Horcrux you made you needed to kill someone without feeling a hint of regret, from this he reasoned that the Dark Lord had to be sadistic, apathetic, and egotistical, for only one who enjoys others pain, has no feeling, and thinks only of themselves could commit such monstrosities. Next he read about how having a Horcrux would ensure you immortality. This told him that there was one thing that the Dark Lord feared; death.
Once he was done with the horrible book he took it out of the grand library in the Noble and most Ancient house he called home and hid it in his room, placing a word of warning written on a piece of parchment and left between the front cover and first page for anyone who dared to pick up the book, under the loose floor board by the window. He thought it was fitting seeing as that was always the coldest place in his room due to the slight draft that always seemed to be cool, even on the warmest day of summer.
It took him a few days to figure out what he was going to do next, for he knew he couldn't continue on as though he didn't know what he had just learned. He knew he had to do something about this, but first he had to tell someone. There was only one person that came to mind, the only person he thought might be able to look past his past and see his real intention, the only person who might be able to comprehend the entire situation. And so he made up his mind on what he would do first; talk to the only person with a chance of understanding this.
As he sat outside a room he had spent a handful of days in during his childhood he wondered how he could have been so blind? Everything was laid out for him, all of the evidence was right there, ripe and waiting to be picked, yet he over looked it in favor of an unrealistic chance to grasp great power that would never actually be his. Since he first started having doubts he had come to form more regrets than a nineteen year old should have. He regretted telling his brother that he was stupid for running away; for calling him a blood-traitor. He regretted taking the Mark; for being disillusioned just like the rest of them. He regretted letting them shove their ideals down his throat; for being so easily fooled and indoctrinated. He regretted letting them kill her; for his stupidity.
The clicking of shoes on the hard marble floors of the ancient castle brought him from his musings back to reality. As the foot falls came closer he stood from the seat he had maintained outside the office for the past ten minutes and waited for the man he intended to speak with to round the corner.
He didn't have to wait long, for ten seconds later the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry himself rounded the corner and, for once, a look of shock graced his wrinkled and distinguished face for a few moments before it was replaced by his usual look of bemused content. The old Headmaster smiled at him and held out his hand
"Mr. Black, to what do I owe this visit? Surly you aren't here to kill me, are you" the younger man looked down in an ashamed manner. Everyone knew that he was one of them; they all thought he was no different from the others who wore the same mark. He wished they didn't look at him that way, like he had killed their son or daughter, for he had never murdered.
"No Professor. I-" he looked up, his face void of its usual haughty demeanor "I came hoping to have a conversation of sorts" the old Headmaster quickly said the password to the gargoyles and made a sweeping motion towards the now open archway
"Perhaps we should continue this conversation of sorts in private?" he nodded at his former Headmaster and followed him into the grand office. He hadn't spent that much time in the office during his school days, not nearly as much time as his brother and friends did, but it was still eerily familiar to him. When he walked out of the school the last time he thought that it would be for good; he never imagined he would return here, especially not under these circumstances.
"Now, Regulus, would you care to enlighten me as to the nature of this visit?" Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes seemed to have lost some of their usual spark as he observed them behind his half moon spectacles.
"I assure you its not on his bidding, if that's what you mean" Dumbledore gave a slight chuckle and sat down behind his desk
"That is very reassuring to hear, do sit" he silently summoned a chair to come right behind Regulus and nudge gently at his knees until he took the offered seat.
"I've come of my own free will, I promise sir" Regulus knew that he had to be quite the sight to behold, what with his fidgeting and slightly anemic looking features. Even his mother had started to notice his sickly appearance, he attributed it to a head cold though he knew it was from this whole ordeal.
"Very well, now you said something about a conversation of sorts" Dumbledore alluded to his statement from earlier
"Yes, you see I've come to realize some things and I don't know if I can live with such things eating at my conscience. I thought for quite a while about who I could talk to about it and you seemed like the most logical person, seeing as it would be beneficial to you" Regulus stopped and took a breath before he took a moment to look around the room. Not much had changed, just him, and the eyes he appraised the room with.
"Are you having second thoughts about joining Voldemort's allegiance?" he flinched at the name "Regulus, fearing his name will do nothing but feed into his desire for power. Now answer my question, are you doubting the side you picked?" Regulus closed his eyes. This would be the first time he would confirm his doubts and say them out loud, he wasn't sure if he could handle it. Could he take on everything that came with defying the Dark Lord? Would he be able to handle it? He wasn't sure but he had come this far, there really was no turning back
"Yes, okay? For the past two months I've thought of nothing but how wrong I was with where I put my faith. I can't get the pictures out of my mind; the death-I-I just can't. I can't watch as they steal the livelihood of anyone who dare express their freedom of speech!" Regulus was nearly hyperventilating as he let his doubts flow freely from the confines of his mind through his mouth and to the ears of his former Professor.
While he was contemplating coming to Dumbledore he had envisioned the wise scholar's reaction to his confession. He pictured the man pitying him, pictured him offering him some way out, pictured him helping him deal with the problematic issue of the Dark Lord's Horcrux. He had pictured Dumbledore having him arrested on the spot for even coming to talk to him, pictured himself being tossed in Azkaban, warming a seat next to him for whoever came next. He didn't plan on Dumbledore giving him a disbelieving and skeptical look that clearly said he wasn't going to extend his hand at any time in the near future.
"I don't know how you think I can help you, Regulus, but if you think I will protect you from Voldemort you are surly mistaken" at these words he quickly cleared his mind of any thought of murder or Horcruxes or self pity and let his mind process only what had just been said. Dumbledore wasn't going to help him, not because he couldn't but because he wouldn't
"If you think that the Order is going to offer you any protection because of your sudden change of heart, I'm sorry but you're wrong" Dumbledore added as Regulus remained silent in his chair. It was clear in his words that it wasn't that he was unable to offer protection but that he was knowingly choosing not to.
"Is that what you think? That I came here to grovel at your knees and beg for protection? I DIDN'T COME HERE ASKING FOR PROTECTION!"
"Now, now, Regulus, we can't just hand out our support to any Death Eater that is having trouble sleeping at night because they realized that their Master isn't as holy as they thought. Perhaps if you had something useful for us then I would be inclined to outstretch my hand but that isn't the case" Regulus was fuming at the end of Dumbledore's little speech. How could such a respected man jump to such conclusions and ignore anything that he still had yet to say?
"And you think you're just so holy, don't you? You know what? You're precious little Order isn't as secretive or safe as you think. He knows every single member in your little troupe, knows all of your plans. You've got a traitor in your midst"
"You're bluffing" Dumbledore stated. Regulus gave a harsh laugh and looked at the dignified professor with rage burning deep in his eyes
"Go ahead, take that chance. But you want to know something, something pretty hilarious? Huh, do you?" he knew that he had to look like a mad man but it was all irrelevant now, Dumbledore wasn't going to help him and he was already going to burn in Hell for everything he had done.
"Of course, I do love a good laugh" Regulus stood up from his seat and took a step towards the door all the while maintaining eye contact with Dumbledore
"You're just like him. You both love playing God so much that you lose sight of the victim. This war isn't about what's right and what's wrong, it's a pissing match. You're losing just as much as he is, perhaps more even, and everyone looks to you to resolve this, because you're the all holy Albus Dumbledore. But in some twisted way you are just as bad as he is. Everyone that sees past the disillusionment he casts over his followers knows that he's a sociopath but you, you con them all into thinking they have a chance, yet you look past anything that might not be quite as perfect as you want it to be, anything that doesn't have straight edges and a definite area. I'm sorry that I can't provide you with the names of every damn Death Eater in his service, that I don't have enough pull in his ranks to matter much to you, but how could you possibly know that I don't have anything more valuable? That's right, you don't.
"So I hope you have fun playing God, but one day it's going to catch up to you and I know I won't be around to see it, but someone will" Regulus threw one last contemptuous glance at the man that, up until just minutes ago, he had regarded as wise and level headed.
He turned quickly and walked out of the Headmaster's office, not even bothering to see how Dumbledore reacted to his speech. Once he was out of the office he ran out of the school and continued to run at a brisk pace until he was off the grounds. The moment his feet were out he apparated back to Number 12 Grimmuald Place. He walked through the sitting room where his mother was sipping tea
"Oh, Regulus dear, I was worried" she said in a slightly exasperated voice
"Yeah well I'm fine" he said
"Bella came by looking for you, I told her you were out. You really should call her and see what she wanted dear" through her tone he knew that she was just curious, as she always was
"I'll do it later" he said
"Alright, are you going up to your room?"
"Yes, mother" his tone was cool, discouraging any further conversation, though he knew that if she was in a chatty mood it wouldn't matter if his tone was as cold as the south pole during a snow storm.
"Very well, good night" she had already returned her attention to the copy of the Prophet she had been reading but he murmured a quick 'night' before continuing though the room until he came to the staircase and, taking the stairs two at a time, quickly ascended up to his room. At that moment he didn't care about his mother or anyone else who had crammed ideas about 'pure blood supremacy' down his throat. He didn't care because he was screwed.
He had two options: one, go back to the Dark Lord, where he would most likely be subjected to a bout of Legilimency and then murdered, after being tortured of course, for his treachery. Or two, take this into his own hands and die on his own terms.
Well, option two seemed the most appealing so he quickly formulated a plan.
Kreacher had told him about the gold locket the Dark Lord had placed in the basin, he found a locket similar to it. He wrote a simple note, intended for the Dark Lord, and folded it up and stuck it in the locket. At this point he knew he was going to die, he needed to write everything down so that if someone looked hard enough they would find it, so he grabbed his old journal that Sirius had given him as a birthday present what seemed like a thousand years ago and began writing. It took him six hours to write down everything that needed to be said, explain how he was going to die, and leave a note to whoever it was that found it (leaving a separate one for each person he thought was likely to find it). In the end it filled almost three fourths of the book, including a letter to his mother, father, a stranger who stumbled upon it, and Sirius, in the off chance that he were to return to the house. He hid in under the floor board with the copy of the Secrets of the Darkest Art he had put there a few weeks ago.
As he put the journal in he noticed a picture tucked half way under the ancient tome and covered nearly completely in a layer of dust. He picked it up and brushed the dust off. It was a picture he immediately recognized as one of the few happy ones from his childhood. In the picture stood a five year old Regulus and seven year old Sirius, both with frosting and cake on their faces from the now destroyed cake that had been baked in celebration of Sirius's seventh birthday. Back then Sirius didn't fight with their mum at every turn, he didn't insult the entire family at every opportunity he got, he still cared about Regulus. Back then they were so innocent, so oblivious to the war brewing just beyond their front door. Ignorance is bliss, they say.
Before summoning Kreacher he realized that the only person he wanted to make proud wasn't his mother, who always held him to the highest prestige, or his father, who always encouraged him, or his cousins, who adored him because of his compliance with his parents ideals, but his brother. He had always looked up to Sirius, even when his parents told him how bad he was and that he shouldn't ever aspire to be like 'that blood traitor' or when Sirius and his friends were cruel to him. Sirius was his big brother, no matter what his mother or the tapestry said, and that was more binding than any friendship or servitude ever could be. He wanted this last act, this last thing he would ever do on earth, to make his only brother proud to claim him, but most of all make Sirius forgive him for all of the terrible things he had done.
He was so scatter brained that he wasn't sure if anything he was doing made any sense but at this point he was pretty sure that if he lost his resolve then he would never be able to build it up again. It was now or never, and he wasn't about to let Bellatrix torture him to death.
"Kreacher!" he called and the elf appeared with a crack
"Master called Kreacher"
"Yes, I need you to take me to the cave the Dark Lord brought you to" the elf's bug eyes grew wide in terror
"Oh no, Master, that cave is filled with dead things, evil things, master could be killed!"
"I know, but I need you to take me there Kreacher, that's an order" the elf nodded sadly and took Regulus's hand before taking them both to the cave.
They were silent as they made their way over to the rocky island, though Kreacher seemed to become more and more terrified as they neared. He knew that Kreacher thought he was going to make him drink from the basin again, that he was going to subject the elf to that torture for the second time. Once they were on the island Regulus took a calming breath and removed the locket from his pocket.
"Now Kreacher, I need you to feed me the potion, no matter how much I beg you to stop you need to make me drink it all"
"Master should not drink the potion! It burns, it makes Kreacher see terrible things, master should not drink the potion! Master should make Kreacher drink the potion!" Regulus stooped down and put his hands on Kreacher's shoulders
"Listen to me, I need you to feed me every drop of that potion and when its gone you are going to take the locket out of the basin and replace it with this one" he placed his locket in Kreacher's hands "Once you've done that you have to leave me here and go home. You can't tell my mother or father what I've done, it'll hurt them too much. I need you to destroy the real locket, I don't know how but you need to destroy it."
"Yes master" Kreacher said through his sobs
"Good, now let's get started"
He cried at every gulp of the horrible liquid, begged for Kreacher to stop, but the elf was good to his command and made sure that Regulus drank it all. He apologized at every cupful and kept Regulus away from the waters edge.
It almost looked like Regulus was going to live, until Kreacher turned his back to replace the Dark Lord's locket with Regulus's. One moment Regulus was slumped on the rock begging for water the next he was being pulled beneath the water's surface by the inferi.
His screams filled the entire cave as their nails bit into his flesh and dragged him to his death. Even through the pain he could make out Kreacher's slight form disappearing from the cave, the loud pop as he disapparated home; just as he had ordered. If he was crying he couldn't tell because there was water covering every inch of his body.
He was dying, they were drowning him, and no one was there to save him. This was the fate he had created for himself when he took the Dark Mark, he knew that now. He still had more regrets than he thought was normal but suddenly that didn't matter.
Nothing mattered. Because he was going to die, actually he was as good as dead, and no one cared; they were all too busy playing God to notice one insignificant light being snuffed out as they plotted their next move.