R.A.B

Chapter 10: Penance

"What the bloody hell are you looking at?" Regulus sneered.

Well. Damn.

To say that I was shocked would be quite the understatement. My eyes widened, a chill running down my back as the ghost stared at me with a tear reddened gaze, lips drawn back in bitter despair.

"Don't use that tone with me!" I snapped, crossing my arms in defense. I'd be damned if I was going to be unnerved by a spook. "I wasn't even alive for that little number, thank you."

The apparition stood quickly, rearing back his arm with a fierce growl and launching a book at my head. In the blink of an eye, I threw myself out of the way, almost stumbling to the ground in my haste. When I glanced back up, Regulus' (somewhat moody) form was gone, faded into the foreground. No big surprise there.

"I am such a stupid arse," I muttered, a frown on my face.

Behind me was a shattered mirror on the wall. The ghost had been talking to his own reflection—not me. Nevertheless, I had the sneaking feeling that little 'Reggy' didn't give a rat's bollocks if he hit me or not with is damned. . . .Diary?

I swooped down, snatching up the black book. It had landed open, spine relaxed so that it lay flat. There are no coincidences in this house, are there? This diary didn't even exist when Regulus was that young. It seemed the conniving undead were big on spooky plans.

The passage of writing was toward the end of the diary. The handwriting was sharp and messy, globs of black ink that looked more like a spill than the English language. Still, it was, at least, readable.

I sat down on the bed, studying the page by the afternoon sunlight filtering through the window. Hadn't it been dark a moment ago? It must have been night when Sirius left them.

The entry wasn't dated, but it had to be after Rachel's death, possibly years after depending on how often Regulus wrote in the tiny book. I didn't know, or even care. Once I noticed the line at the top of the page, I forgot all else, falling into that moment in history once again.

My days are, quite literally, numbered. Panic, shear fear rips me apart inside. And yet no one seems to notice. It doesn't matter. I don't matter, and, frankly, whatever my 'friends' and family think of me is meaningless. All that matters is life and death. I, unfortunately, am about to say goodbye to one and greet the other.

My demise is inevitable. Still, it is hard to accept such a fate so easily. The strangest part of this ordeal is that this decision is entirely my own. In a sense, I am committing suicide. Yet, it is worth it, if I can take the Dark Lord down with me.

I'm a fool to write all of this down in this silly little book, a weapon that could easily be picked up and read by any enemy or innocent. I can't stop myself from recording this, though. It eases the pain of knowledge to know that it can be shared, that there is still some proof that I attempted penance for my sins. It also places me out of my dreams, lets me know that I am not mad, that all of this is truly taking place, that I did try. . . .

Voldemort. Yes, I will use his name. I will summon some courage. Voldemort. He wishes to accomplish what wizards throughout the ages have striven to do, to assure himself eternal life. I believe this has always been his goal. He relies on dark powers to get what he wants, and, in doing so, he has became less than human.

He is a ghoul, or at least, he might as well be.

I am not his most trusted servant, yet I have uncovered the Dark Lord's greatest secret. By taking life, he has discovered how to split his soul into pieces. This is an old practice, one almost unheard of. He searches for powerful objects, and inside these he puts part of himself, creating horcruxes.

For so long as one of these horcruxes remains out there, hidden away, no one can kill him. Voldemort is all but invincible, unless the parts of his soul are first destroyed. I discovered one of these objects by accident, using the knowledge an old friend had bestowed upon to fill in the blanks during a mission the Dark Lord sent me on, to help in finding corpses to use in warding a spot very special to him.

I am aware that there are groups who oppose Voldemort, but I dare not tell them what I have discovered. Not only would such information endanger themselves, but all chance of attaining the horcrux would be gone. The chance would be lost, and with it, the lives of people I care for. The Dark Lord would hunt each of them down, like he will, no doubt, hunt me down.

However, he will believe that I am simply a traitor, not a great enemy. How wrong he will be. He is unaware that I have discovered what was in that cave I helped him ward. It is a locket, a powerful object in itself. More importantly, it holds a portion of Voldemort's soul.

The locket of Slytherin is supposed to be indestructible, but this is not so. There is a powerful ritual one can use to break its magic, but it requires, in turn, great sacrifice.

I will retrieve this horcrux and use all that I have to destroy it. I can only hope that this action will begin a chain reaction. One day someone will be able to pick up where I left off, find the other horcruxes, and send Voldemort to Hell.

I will not have such an honor.

Whether I succeed or not, this is goodbye.

Adieu, my diary.

--Regulus A. Black

And there it ended, the rest of the page blank. I leafed through the remainer of the book, but it was empty. My head was so full, heavy and full, but I needed more information. There was none.

He never came back.

"Wrong," I hissed, contradicting myself automatically. "He did come back. The question is, did he come back with the locket?"

I stared out the window, out at the swamp land. Suddenly, it seemed so wild, so dangerous. It felt like decay, like certain death. It was overwhelming, and it pushed me to a level of pessimism that even I hadn't reached before.

"Yes or no, he didn't succeed." I knew it to be true. "He didn't destroy it."

I closed the book, numb.