A/N: Hey y'all! So, this was written for the Hogwarts Eastern Funfair, for the Ferris Wheel. My prompt: (theme) fear.
Warning: Character death, violence
Word Count: 2893
Thanks to my sister for beta'ing! (Grace, you are amazing!)
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.
Enjoy!
Regulus stared at his reflection in the potion. The goblet he was holding felt cold in his trembling hands. Haunted eyes gazed back up at him. For all his potions knowledge, the youngest Black had no idea what this one would do, though he had an idea of what it was. All he knew was that he had to drink all of it to obtain the prize.
A piece of the Dark Lord's soul.
Regulus would never call himself a good person. He may not be as temperamental as his brother, but at least Sirius was brave enough to take his own stand in this war. Sirius helped people, the people Regulus had hurt. And though he'd never be friends with Muggles, there was something to be said about how he felt torturing fellow witches and wizards. He'd done so out of fear, but was also under the impression that those who came from all-wizard families were quite a bit more magical than those who didn't. The Dark Lord's agenda hadn't seemed all that different from his own. But the young nineteen-year-old hadn't been able to stomach some of the horrors he had seen.
Disturbed and suspicious of the things he'd heard, Regulus had dug deeper. When the Dark Lord has asked for a volunteer for a special mission, he had proudly offered up Kreacher. The house-elf's horrific tale of the ordeal had driven any leftover admiration of the Dark Lord right out of his head. Kreacher had given him the last piece of the puzzle.
If there was one thing Regulus was sure of, it was that no one should live forever.
Now he stood on an island in the middle of a black lake, Kreacher watching him apprehensively, as he prepared to take the potion.
Regulus closed his eyes. He ignored Kreacher's croaked protest and guzzled down the emerald green liquid.
He began to feel slightly dizzy. He thrusted the goblet back into the basin to refill it. He drank and drank, feeling woozier with every mouthful. Finally, after his fourth gobletful, he couldn't take anymore.
Regulus gasped, dropping the goblet. He collapsed onto his knees, the hard rock island digging painfully into his flesh. This didn't register to Regulus; as soon as he swallowed the last drop in the goblet, the discomfort he had been experiencing exploded into excruciating pain. Icy fire ripped through his veins, his fingers spasmed uncontrollably, and his nerves burned intensely.
Just as soon as the pain escalated too much for Regulus to remain conscious, it stopped.
He weakly opened his eyes. Before him was a familiar scene. There he was, standing in the doorway of his old room in Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Down the hall, Sirius was struggling to get his school truck out of his room without waking their parents.
Goosebumps spread along Regulus' arms and neck. He stepped forwards.
"So you're going, then?" The words fell out of his mouth without his permission. They were accusing, angry, but most of all, they were scared. He didn't want to be left alone in this house.
Sirius turned towards him, his long dark hair pulled away from his face. "I can't stay here, Reg. They hate me, and soon they'll try to force me to do something terrible."
Ignoring the uneasiness welling up inside him, Regulus glared angrily at his brother. "So you're abandoning your family? We love you. We want what's best for you."
Sirius' handsome features hardened. "No, Regulus. That's what you don't understand. You choose your family; they're the people you want to be around, who make you feel safe. I don't feel safe here. And if they loved me— and I wish they did— I wouldn't be so desperate to get away from them."
Regulus' ears were ringing. Sirius never admitted weakness; it was one of the few Black traits he hadn't done away with. "You're just confused! This is— it's part of your rebellious phase, you'll go out that door and come running back—"
Sirius shook his head, astonishment written all over his face. "You really don't get it, do you? This isn't a phase. I'm not doing this to be different. I can't live here. They—" He pointed towards the stairwell; their parents' room was on the first level. "—they've chosen a side— the one that tortures and kills children, all for something they can't help. I've chosen the side that protects all people. I won't pick and choose who does and doesn't deserve to live. They'll make you choose soon, Reg. But," The oldest Black looked at him imploringly. "you don't have to choose them. You can come with me— you can send me an owl—"
His brother was running. Sirius was running away from their family, his problems, him. He was supposed to be the brave one. "Why would I want to be anywhere near a disgusting blood-traitor like you?" he all but shouted.
Sirius' expression immediately closed off. "So that's it, then. You really are just like them."
It wasn't the words that got to Regulus. He was fourteen; he still believed that his parents weren't the worst role models. It was the pain, the disappointment in Sirius' grey eyes as he said them. For once, someone had actually thought that he could be more than what he's been told he had to be; that's what knocked the breath from his lungs.
Sirius pushed past him and fumbled his way down the stairs with his truck. He strutted out the door without looking back, refusing to let Regulus see him as weak. He shut the door without looking back, and thus shut out his brother from his life forever.
His vision was blurring. A fuzzy outline appeared before him— Kreacher.
"Master," the house-elf croaked. "Master, please— Master must drink—"
Drinking was important, Regulus recalled. Kreacher had never led him astray, so he took offered goblet and drained its contents.
Regulus' body shook, and he was suddenly somewhere else.
It was dark. He looked around and confusion, taking in the quarter moon in the sky and the soft whispering of the wind in the trees. It was too quiet; a prickle of fear ran down the young Black's spine. Regulus crept forward a couple paces. Then out of nowhere, a jet of red light hurtled towards him. Regulus instinctively ducked the Stunner, and he heard it connect with someone behind him.
He began silently panicking. There were other people here, that much was obvious; but he couldn't see them. He had no idea where the enemy was, or who was fighting by his side.
More spells were cast from behind him, and their light briefly illuminated the space they were in. Branching out on either side of him were men and women in dark cloaks and skull masks. Regulus raised a trembling hands to his own face, and his fingertips met the cool surface of an identical mask. A part of him was calmed— he and the other Death Eaters were working as one, powerful unit— but another part of him remained unsettled. This was a battlefield. The opposing side was fighting to protect someone, and if Sirius had taught him anything, it was that those were the people who fought the hardest.
Unfortunately, it didn't appear as though he had much of a choice. He drew his wand and joined in the battle.
He was, somehow, aware that it was the Order of the Phoenix they were fighting. These men and women had no real formation, but they knew each other well enough to play off of each other's fighting styles, which was an advantage the Death Eaters didn't have.
A ways into the battle, the Death Eaters and Order members broke off into dueling pairs. Regulus, At eighteen, cast many Unforgivable Curses that night. The battle grew fiercer. He was sweating hard under his mask, and his arms and legs were aching. He tripped at one point, his knees scraping against the ground. Just as he was getting up, something soft and heavy fell on top of him, knocking him back down. With great difficulty, Regulus managed to push the weight off of him. He looked down at it and felt sick. There, right in front of him, was the body of a dead man who had obviously been caught in the crossfire. A Hufflepuff from his year.
Regulus gasped and scrambled to his feet, stumbling away from the empty eyes. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest. The concept of war was simple; seeing someone he recognized suddenly lifeless— that was something nothing could have prepared him for. He looked around wildly, looking for a distraction. As he ran around, the terror climbing up his innards and clenching around his heart, he collided with someone. A wand was immediately pressed against his jugular, and the young Death Eater closed his eyes.
He was eighteen. He was eighteen, and scared, and he didn't want to die.
When nothing happened, Regulus opened his eyes a crack. He came face-to-face with his brother.
Sirius reeled back, obviously recognizing the gray eyes behind the mask; his grip on Regulus didn't slacken. His older brother looked conflicted.
"You helped attack innocent people," he hissed.
Had he? Things were getting harder to hold on to. He tried to respond, but all that escaped was a strangled gurgling noise.
"I should kill you, turn you in," Sirius continues, agitated with himself. "but… this won't happen next time, Regulus. Last chance."
A Stunner took his consciousness.
Once again, Kreacher's blurry form appeared before him. Again, Regulus drank.
With every goblet he drank, another terrible memory was forced to the front of his mind; but they weren't memories to Regulus— they were happening right then.
Regulus drank the last gobletful.
He blinked, looking around him. He was standing before his brother once more. Something was wrong, though. Sirius' features were contorted with rage.
"You want me to let you stay with me?" The oldest Black said in disbelief. As he said it, Regulus realized that he did want that, very much so; but his brother's tone made him feel stupid for wishing this.
Regulus felt wrong. Everything that had happened before had felt familiar, like a part that he had played before. This felt as if he been pushed on stage without a script, and was expected to play the lead.
The words slipped out of his mouth anyway. "Sirius, please— I've changed, I'm not with them anymore! I—"
"You let them brand you," the disgraced Black heir interrupted coldly. "You've made your choice."
Regulus has never felt so helpless. "Sirius, please— he'll kill me!"
Sirius' grey eyes were murderous. "So you want me to let you in, and risk my family and friends?"
There were two very important things he was supposed to tell Sirius, and one was about his friends, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what they were. "I'm your brother," he tried desperately.
Sirius lifted his chin. "James Potter is my brother. You lost that title when you joined him."
The door to Sirius' apartment slammed in his face.
So Regulus walked alone down the snowy sidewalk, shaking more from shock than the cold. The darkness seem to cling to him, and the road ahead of him looked bleak and unforgiving. His steps were slow, his mind was numb. He was beyond scared; he was so terrified in fact, that his brain had forced him into a strange state of calm.
He stopped walking. He had nowhere to turn. The only family that wasn't in league with Voldemort had just thrown him out; all others would kill him for betraying their cause. All there was to do was wait for death— either the Death Eaters would find him, or the cold and hunger would. Despair filled the young man. If he died, his mission will have been pointless; he'd risked everything, thinking he'd have his brother to fall back on. He didn't. His life would end, and no one would know the truth about his death. He closed his eyes.
He would die.
Regulus opened his eyes. Kreacher was standing in front of him once again, but this time he was in focus. The young Black realized that he was still on the island, and once he made that connection, everything came rushing back.
Regulus smacked his lips together. He's never been so thirsty. His head was foggy, and his limbs were heavy with exhaustion. It took a great effort for him to make eye contact with his closest friend.
"Master," Kreacher sobbed, his large ears drooping. "Kreacher has the locket, Master. Kreacher will fill the basin like Master ordered, and then Kreacher will take Master Regulus home."
Regulus didn't know where that was anymore. Stiff and aching, he managed to speak. "Th… thank you, Kreacher."
Kreacher looked at him worriedly for a second longer, then turned back to the basin.
Meanwhile, Regulus' mouth and throat were getting drier. His heart felt pulled apart and flattened; it truly was the Drink of Despair. His gaze drifted to the island's edge. There was danger here. But his need to drink— that was stronger.
Without notifying Kreacher, Regulus began crawling towards the water. He gasped softly, digging his fingers into the soft earth and dragging himself forward. His thirst took over his will— the water was tantalizingly close, but Regulus needed to be closer.
With one last burst of strength, he pulled himself to the water's edge. He plunged his head into the water and gulped. The water, icy but refreshing, slid down his throat, soothing the irritation and clearing his head. He slowly lifted his head, his hair wet and dripping, sticking to his forehead and neck.
He was still frightened and depressed, but now that he was thinking clearly, he could begin to formulate—
Regulus' eyes widened in horror. The lake was dangerous. Within it was—
Two cold, pale, and slimy hands shot out of the murky depths and fastened themselves around Regulus' wrists in a bruising grip. He watched in terror as the rest of the Inferius rose from the water, its skin a milky blue, hair plastered to its face, mouth agape, and eyes white and completely clouded over.
Bile rose to Regulus' mouth and he yanked his arms backwards frantically, trying to break the puppet's grip; it was useless. He kicked wildly and tried to reach his wand, but he couldn't get it from his pocket. Regulus sobbed and screamed as the Inferius dragged him into the water. More Inferi emerged and grabbed his limbs. Still Regulus fought; he couldn't give up, he'd come too far.
The noise had alerted Kreacher. He turned around, the locket dangling from his long fingers, his large eyes widening in horror.
"Master Regulus!" he screamed. "Master—"
"Kreacher!" bellowed Regulus, struggling to get these last important words to the house-elf before his head was submerged. "Destroy the locket, Kreacher! You must destroy it! And never, never tell my family about it. Only tell someone if you're sure they want to destroy it— remember that, Krea—"
Water rushed into his mouth, cutting off the rest of his sentence. He gasped in surprise, and the water tunneled down his throat and into his lungs, burning like icy fire, as he choked and struggled to to get to the surface. He stared up through the dark green water at Kreacher's distorted reflection. His grey eyes locked onto Kreacher's, and he mouthed one word to his faithful servant: go.
Kreacher— who was, in truth, much more than a servant, and greater than a friend— looked heartbroken. The two didn't break eye contact as Kreacher Disapparated, the crack muffled by the great expanse of water between them.
And Regulus was left alone.
He shuddered and his muscles spasmed, screaming for oxygen. He was terrified, and panicking, but there was no one to save him. There was no one to pull him to safety, no one to calm him or comfort him.
He was nineteen. He was nineteen, and had seen more than most grown wizards did in a lifetime. He had done terrible things. He was wiser now, but that didn't matter; he would never be able to use that wisdom, or pass it on. He'd hoped that this could redeem him, but no one would know the truth of his demise, save for Kreacher. He'd be labeled a coward, a traitor, a meaningless casualty. He didn't want to be put upon a pedestal; he wanted Sirius to that, in the end, Regulus knew he was wrong.
His vision was darkening. He had lost control of his body. Every cell was threatening to burst, and all Regulus was aware of was his fear.
He didn't want to die.
But now he knew; no one should play God. No man should be immortal, and none had the right to choose who lived and who died.
His time was running out.
There was so much he'd leave unfinished. So many words left unspoken, so many things left undone. His one comfort was that the Dark Lord was one step closer to sharing his fate. He hoped there was an afterlife. There was someone he wanted to see again, to explain, and to apologize.
Regulus Black closed his eyes, and he knew no more.