A/N: For the 19,000 prompts challenge (no peace for the wicked)
Regulus knows that this is a suicide mission. If he doesn't die destroying the locket, the Dark Lord will surely kill him once his betrayal is discovered.
It should bother him, knowing that he's going to die.
Somehow, it doesn't.
Maybe he deserves death. There is too much blood on his young hands. Innocent blood. Blood that should not have been shed for a cause that he's never truly believed in.
Perhaps this will be his absolution- peace at last in eternal sleep, a chance to finally escape the ghosts in his head.
..
The potion burns, but the physical pain is more tolerable than the mental. Visions dance before his eyes, and the lines between reality and thought blur.
Sirius, bags packed, leaving home for the final time. Regulus, desperate and afraid, begging him to stay.
The elf spoons more into Regulus' mouth, gently coaxing him to drink. Regulus can barely hear him.
His father, dark-faced and angry, screaming at his mother. His mother, proud and furious, gripping her wand, ready to attack. Regulus, small and trembling, crouching beneath the table in the sitting room.
"Master must drink. Master has said so."
Regulus swallows, his stomach retching. He can barely feel the liquid sliding down his throat.
Bellatrix, cold and smiling, patting his cheek, whispering that he's such a good boy. A nameless Muggle girl, dead, sightless eyes still staring up at him, wide with horror.
Another swallow, another ghost. Again and again and again until Regulus is screaming.
And then it's over.
"Go," he rasps. "Return home. Do not speak of this to anyone."
And then he's alone, crouching by the water, trembling and desperate.
A laugh escapes his raw throat. He had wanted peace. But he does not deserve it. Not after what he's done.