Author's Note: This chapter's character is not technically a member of the Black family, but he is in a way: Kreacher, their loyal house elf. It's much shorter than the last chapter, but to warn everyone, the following chapters are mostly all going to be short and drabblish. Please review!
Cemeteries of London
"So we rode down to the river where the toiling ghosts spring, for the curses to be broken"
That night haunted his dreams for years. He still felt it was his fault that Master Regulus died. He should have stopped him, taken the potion himself. After all, he was the house elf and Regulus was his master. It wasn't right that Master Regulus had to suffer so much.
The memory of shoving the potion down a crying and protesting Regulus still hurt. Regulus had begged him to stop, and he kept going. Regulus cried, for the first time since he was a child, and called out for the blood traitor. He didn't understand why Regulus wanted that filthy disgrace, but then again, Regulus was out of his mind at that part.
It was his fault that his Master died, the one person that had ever been nice to him, and he hated himself for it. But of course, he was just a house elf and he had to follow orders, even though it hurt so, so much.