"Kreacher. Wake up."

My hushed voice was like a gunshot in the silent house. Curled up in his kitchen cupboard, my house elf stirred. His big, sunken eyes were glazed with grogginess as he blinked up at me. He seemed bewildered to be disturbed at this hour – and utterly innocent.

I swallowed another wave of guilt. I really didn't want to ask Kreacher to do this, but I needed to get that Horcrux – for my own dignity, for everyone I'd hurt over the years, and for the future of wizardkind. I may have been able to spare the rest of my family from my fate, but Kreacher had the misfortune of being linked to my mission. The image of the poor elf sobbing on the floor flickered through my mind again. My fault. All my fault.

I took a steadying breath. No turning back now. This has to be done.

"I need your help with something."

His dark eyes widened, suddenly alert. "Is something wrong, Master Regulus?"

"Do you remember the place the Dark Lord brought you? I need you to take me there."

Kreacher's mouth fell open. He shuddered and shook his head, making his bat-like ears flap. "Master, Kreacher must not! It is a horrid place, filled with Dark Magic and evil monsters! Kreacher must not go back – and he must not endanger his Master! Master seems distressed. Perhaps Kreacher could make a cup—"

"I don't need tea!" I snapped, frustrated. Kreacher jolted and gaped at me, and I took a moment to reign in my emotions. "What I need is your help," I repeated calmly, letting my urgency show in my eyes. "I know it's dangerous, but I have to do this – and you're the only one who knows how to get there. Please, Kreacher. This is very important."

I knew I could've just ordered him to do it – he couldn't disobey a direct order – but I refused to resort to that unless I absolutely had to. I'd already enlisted him to the Dark Lord's cause once, and his inability to disobey had almost killed him then. I didn't want to put him through something like that again, especially not against his will.

Sadly, I had a grim feeling that this mission would be just as traumatizing for him as the last one.

After a few seconds, Kreacher nodded slightly, and some of the tension left me. Then he suggested, "Should Kreacher tell Mistress we are leaving?"

"No!" I hissed, going rigid again. "I forbid you from telling my mother or the rest of the family anything about this. Unless I tell you otherwise, you are to act like this night never happened." The house elf was staring at me like he was concerned for my sanity, but he nodded slowly. He seemed too scared to speak. A stab of pity softened my tone. "Don't worry," I said soothingly. "I'll be with you this time. I'll protect you."

The elf grimaced. "Kreacher should not bring Master to that dreadful place," he muttered, "but, if that is Master's wish, then Kreacher will go with him – and try to protect him too."

His loyalty and bravery hit me like a punch to the chest. After lying to Mother and being brushed off by Sirius, I'd been trying to come to terms with the idea of a dignified and lonely death. Knowing that I wouldn't be completely alone – that at least Kreacher would know the truth – made it a lot easier to stomach. I blinked back tears and pulled the house elf into a one-armed hug. "Thank you…and I'm really sorry about this."

As I released him, I must have let my mask slip, because the lines on his wrinkled forehead multiplied. "Master Regulus—"

"I'm alright," I lied. "Let's go."

When we arrived, the crashing of ocean waves and the roaring of wind filled my ears. The din was so intense that I felt surprised to have landed on solid ground rather than directly in the sea. I lit my wand and scanned over a shadowy cave the size of the average Hogwarts classroom. In front of me were blank rock walls on all sides. Behind me, carved stone steps led into the tumultuous water.

I shivered. The moonlight rippling off the water couldn't seem to penetrate the cold, dreary cave. Even my wandlight seemed dimmer than usual. I could practically feel the enchantments buzzing in the air around me. "This is the place?" I whispered to Kreacher. The house elf nodded. His thin fingers were clutching my cloak, and his knobby knees were trembling. I stared blankly at him. His frenzied description of this place had been a bit difficult to understand through his tears, but I certainly hadn't imagined it to be so empty. "Where are the Inferi?"

"Deeper," Kreacher croaked without explanation.

Frowning, I scanned over the blank walls. "How do we go deeper?"

My house elf looked up at me dolefully, like he'd been hoping I wouldn't ask that question. "Master, are you—"

"I'm sure."

Kreacher swallowed and raised a shaky finger. "There. It asks for blood."

I walked over to where he was pointing and traced my fingers along the rocky wall. Magic seemed to cling to my fingertips like static. I thought for a moment. Then I held out my left hand – the same one I'd Splinched earlier – and pointed my wand at my palm. Kreacher yelped in protest: "Master! Kreacher will—"

"Diffindo."

Thankfully, I was experienced with severing spells. The small cut that appeared was nothing more than a child might earn from falling at the playground. A thin line of blood bubbled up from the wound. I pressed my palm to the rock wall, and a shining silver outline of an arch blazed to life. After a second, that section of stone melted into thin air.

Unnatural green light flooded in around me. I tensed, thinking wildly that the Dark Lord must have added some new defenses since he'd brought Kreacher here a few days ago. (I'd seen that particular shade of bright green much too often recently.) When my eyes adjusted, I relaxed a little. The source was not a wand; it was an island in the center of a huge black lake that fit Kreacher's previous description. The eerie light was radiating from a tiny, rocky outcrop – or more accurately, from the basin full of potion that I knew I would find at its center. The dark water surrounding the island was motionless – for now.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the massive grotto to inspect the shoreline. Then I realized that Kreacher wasn't following me. I looked over my shoulder, and my stomach twisted. My house elf was rooted in the archway and shivering uncontrollably. His eyes were fixed with terror on the island, like he was positive he was about to die. I knew exactly how potent that fear could be – only, I had asked to be brought here, and I had more or less accepted the probable outcome. Kreacher hadn't.

"It's alright," I told him, but Kreacher was either too petrified to process my words or not at all convinced by my tone. Putting on a brave face, I walked over to him and crouched in front of him so that I was blocking his view of the island. I gently gripped his thin arms. "You're going to be fine. I won't let anything hurt you. I promise."

His wide eyes met mine, and a fat tear spilled from each one. "Terrible things," he whimpered feverishly. He squeezed his eyes shut and sobbed a little. Chills rippled down my spine as he went on: "Kreacher saw t-terrible, dreadful things – nightmares or v-visions, r-real or fake, Kreacher couldn't tell. Master R-Regulus d-dying. M-mistress mourning. Master Orion s-shouting at Kreacher. Miss B-Bella and Miss Cissy fighting. M-master Arcturus and Master Pollux—" He hiccupped. "And t-the m-monsters—"

"Stop," I implored him in a strained voice. Kreacher clammed up like someone had forced his mouth shut. I winced and amended, "Sorry. You can still talk. Just…try not to think about that right now. I need you to be strong. Can you do that for me?"

Kreacher nodded, but he still wouldn't open his eyes, and he couldn't stop shaking. Anger, disgust, and fear stirred deep in my core. I tried to focus on the first two, but the fear was overpowering. It was begging me to turn around, warning me that I would soon be experiencing my own set of horrible hallucinations – because there was no way I was letting Kreacher go through that again.

It was hard enough to keep my composure as it was. I didn't want to speculate on what I might see or feel drinking that damned potion…and I didn't want to dwell on what might happen after that, either.

"Think about how nice it will be to come home after this," I told him faintly, in what was supposed to be a reassuring (and not at all wistful) voice. "Think about…think about something happy."

Kreacher stared at me like a lost puppy. Understandably, he seemed to be having trouble coming up with a positive thought.

An idea struck me. I closed my eyes and scoured my mind, trying to ignore the cold dampness of the cave and the echoing roar of sea. The usual collection of childhood memories surfaced: laughing with Sirius after we'd just pranked our cousins; curling up next to Mother on the couch as she stroked my hair; receiving an approving smile from Father. I was so much younger then, but I was happy – and we were happy, as a family, at least from what I could tell. The feelings attached to those moments were more poignant than anything else I'd ever felt. They were soothing and warm – a glimpse into a purer, simpler world.

I knew that there was no going back to those days. My rose-colored glasses were long gone. But sometimes, it helped to pretend.

"Expecto Patronum."

I sighed in relief as my Patronus burst from my wand. The glowing animal brushed up against me and then prowled protectively around Kreacher. My house elf gaped at the Patronus: a huge male lion with a splendid mane. I wondered if he was thinking the same words that my Slytherin friends had teased me with after that astonishing Defense class: that I seemed more like a house cat than a lion, or that I should've been Sorted into Gryffindor. Now, I speculated that the latter held a hint of truth – that the Sorting Hat hadn't been lying all those years ago. Its cryptic words still haunted me:

"Another Black, huh? Let's see here…very clever…very stubborn…a drive for power…and an unusually strong sense of self…yes, of course, you've got all the traits of a fine Slytherin – but Slytherins and Gryffindors aren't all that different, you know. Are you sure you wouldn't like to be in the same House as your brother?"

I'd thought that the Hat had just been toying with my emotions, since I'd been extremely nervous that day, terrified that I wouldn't live up to my family's expectations. I'd begged the Hat to Sort me into Slytherin – which, of course, it had. That was how I'd met most of my comrades whom I'd recently deserted, after all. It tormented me to think how things might have been if I would've told the Hat to do as it pleased. Would it really have Sorted me into Gryffindor? Would Sirius and I have become close again? Would I have been dead by now, targeted and killed by the same people I used to support?

All my fault.

The silver lion flickered, and I refocused my thoughts on my childhood memories. I wasn't sure how long those happy delusions could keep me going, but I figured it didn't matter much. Either way, I was determined to finish this mission – even if I had to drag myself through my own worst nightmares.

My Patronus's presence seemed to have the desired effect of calming Kreacher. The house elf's legs stopped shaking, and he looked more fascinated than frightened. His tried to touch the silver wisps of fur around the lion's neck. I wondered if he subconsciously recognized the memories that were forming it. "How do we get to the island?" I asked him. Kreacher stared at me for another second, like he was still hoping I would change my mind. Then, with a mournful expression, he led me to the edge of the water.

For a few minutes, we walked along the shore – and my lion stayed by our side, silently radiating warmth and hope. At last, Kreacher directed me to an invisible chain that was hovering at my eye level. I took hold of the icy, slimy metal and tugged on it like I was raising a flag. After twenty seconds or so, a small wooden boat surged to the surface at my feet– the only safe method of transport across the lake. It radiated a ghostly green hue that matched the island, and it was only large enough for one person. Clearly, Voldemort had intended this to be a solo mission.

I didn't allow myself to hesitate. I immediately climbed in and settled myself at the center of the boat's mass. As Kreacher moved to join me, the boat seemed to decide that it had reached its occupant limit. It started to drift toward the island like it was being pulled on another invisible chain. "Hurry, Kreacher!" I cried.

Kreacher hastily leaped into the boat. As he landed, one of his bare feet slipped on the wooden rim and sank into the murky water. I caught him by the arm – just as a pale white hand burst from the water and caught him by the leg. Kreacher shrieked, and my stomach lurched into my throat.

"Relashio!"

With a gurgling growl, the humanlike hand withdrew under the surface. Kreacher staggered toward me and latched onto my shirt. The two of us stared, horrorstruck, at the black water, but the threat seemed to have subsided. Nothing else disturbed the vast surface. The boat merely wobbled and then continued on its way.

Kreacher whimpered, and I pulled him closer. "It's alright," I murmured, trying to sound confident despite my racing heart. "I've got you. You're alright."

I abruptly realized that my Patronus had vanished. I tried to summon those positive feelings again, but the images of Kreacher's terrified face and of the white hand around his leg were burned into my mind. I exhaled slowly and lit my wand again. That would have to do.

As our little boat glided toward the green light, Kreacher sat down, pulled his bony legs to his chest, and closed his eyes like he was praying this would be over soon. Pushing down a fresh stab of guilt, I watched the surface of the water like a sentinel. Thankfully, none of the other creatures seemed to want to bother us – but I did glimpse a few floating lifelessly in the water.

The Inferi were grotesquely fascinating. I stared as we drifted past one that was lying face-up near the surface: a sickly, skeletal humanoid with milky white eyes and claw-like fingernails. As my gaze lingered on the dead man's skull-like face, a disturbing image slammed into my mind's eye: my own face, starved and unseeing, plastered onto this creature's body. The thought made me feel like my lungs were filling with water. I squeezed my eyes shut, banishing the idea. When it felt safe to open them again, I gripped the side of the boat and focused on the green light ahead of me.

Soon. This will all be over soon.

I couldn't decide whether I felt better or worse when our boat thudded against rock. With a jolt, Kreacher broke out of his prayerlike trance. "Come on," I encouraged him, taking his hand and leading him to the white stone basin at the center of the tiny island. Inside, an emerald potion glowed radioactively. On the rim sat a curved shell about the size of my palm. With surprisingly steady hands, I pulled my grandmother's gold locket from my cloak. Then I knelt next to Kreacher so I could look him in the eyes.

"Listen very closely to what I'm about to say. Do you remember the locket that the Dark Lord put in this basin? We're going to take it from here and destroy it. It must be destroyed, no matter what. Do you understand?" Kreacher seemed baffled, but he nodded. "Good. Now, I'm going to drink the potion." His eyes went wide, but I went on before he could argue. "Once you can reach the Dark Lord's locket, I want you to swap it with this one." I pressed the Black heirloom into his trembling hands. "Make sure you don't lose the real locket. Take it home and do everything you can to destroy it – that's an order. We need to succeed in removing it from here, at least…even if that means you have to leave me behind."

Kreacher made a noise like a mouse being stepped on. "Master, Kreacher cannot—"

"You can, and you will," I cut him off sternly, and he squirmed a little. "The locket is the priority. If you have to choose between saving yourself and the locket or saving me, I want you to choose the former."

Kreacher's big eyes were brimming with tears. He looked even more frightened and miserable than when he'd been paralyzed in the archway. At last, he nodded again.

I took a deep breath, stood, and picked up the curved shell. Then I paused, staring into the basin to avoid my house elf's eyes. "I'm going to try to do this on my own, but if I can't drink any more, I'll need you to help me finish it."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kreacher nodding vigorously. "Master is too kind. Kreacher will drink more than half, Kreacher will—"

"That's not what I meant," I interjected wearily. "I'm going to drink the entire thing. But if I start hallucinating and I refuse to keep going, I want you to force me to finish it."

"No!" Kreacher let out a wretched howl. "Please, Master, let Kreacher drink it. Master does not understand—Master m-must not—terrible t-things—burning, h-horrible burning—"

I'd never witnessed my house elf argue so adamantly – and for something so selfless. I closed my eyes tight, wrestling with my emotions. "Enough." His protest tapered off in a clipped whine. "This is how it has to be," I continued, quiet but unyielding. "You told me you would be strong for me. Please don't make me order you again."

Kreacher stifled a sob and gave a funny jerk of his head that was probably supposed to be a nod. "Yes, M-Master," he choked out.

"Do you understand all that you need to do?" I checked, eyeing him intently.

"Kreacher will g-give Master Regulus the p-potion. He will switch the Dark Lord's locket with this one. Then he will t-take the Dark Lord's locket b-back to Grimmauld Place and d-destroy it."

"And if the Inferi attack us? If you have to choose between leaving with the locket or leaving with me?"

Kreacher was staring at me like I was already dead. His lip started to tremble. "Kreacher will leave," he whispered.

Pride, guilt, and dread tied knots in my chest. I mustered a smile for my brave house elf. "Good. Thank you, Kreacher."

I wanted to keep talking – to praise him or reassure him – but my throat tightened. As I looked into Kreacher's sorrowful eyes, I suddenly felt transparent, cold, and empty. I felt no better than the Inferi floating beneath the frigid lake. My heart thumped defiantly, like it had any right to be keeping me alive. Now more than ever, I realized just how beautiful and fragile life was. I felt like I should've been thankful to have survived this long. If I died in this cavern, drowned by the reanimated corpses of people that Voldemort and his followers – those who I'd called friends – had killed, it would not be a tragedy so much as poetic justice. I deserved nothing better than to die at the hands of the victims of my mistaken valor in a desperate shot at redemption. In fact, I probably deserved much worse.

But Merlin, I didn't want to die.

Before I could linger on those thoughts, I dipped the shell into the potion and began to drink.

The first few scoops were almost bearable. The emerald liquid seemed to light my insides on fire as it trickled down my throat, stronger than the most potent Firewhiskey. With every new shell full of potion, the burning sensation shifted from jarring and uncomfortable to suffocating and incredibly painful. Even worse were the familiar images that sprung into my mind – but I'd been dealing with those living nightmares for the past week. I could handle not-so-subtle reminders.

Unfortunately, as I'd suspected, it got much worse.

By the fourth drink – about a third of the way done – my legs gave out. That awful burning, stabbing pain seemed to be draining my energy as well as my will. Kreacher hurried over to me, and his trembling hands clutched my arm. I tried to control my shaky gasps, but my throat felt dry and cracked, and my heart was beating wildly.

"Master," Kreacher pleaded. I mustered the strength to look up at him. His face was blurred in red and green, making me think deliriously of Christmas. Behind him, the dark cave was filled with millions of glowing eyes – an army of accusing glares. "Your fault," chanted a chorus of voices. "All your fault."

I really hoped that was part of the illusion.

"Master, y-you must k-keep g-going," Kreacher said, fumbling with the shell that I'd dropped.

I squeezed my eyes shut and dug my fingernails into the gritty dirt. In that moment, the prospect of drinking more of that horrible substance seemed worse than the idea of jumping into the lake. "Wait," I begged. Kreacher froze, and I suddenly realized the glorious flaw in my plan. Kreacher had to obey me. He wouldn't give me more of the potion if I told him not to. I could tell him to Apparate out of here with me, and he would have no choice but to obey. With a simple command, this could all be over.

"Coward," whispered one of the voices in my head. I couldn't tell if it was Sirius's or my own.

"Kreacher," I said faintly, barely able to concentrate on anything but the images swarming in my mind.

"Y-Yes, Master?"

"Until the potion is gone…don't do anything I tell you to do…unless it's to give me more of it."

Kreacher sniffled quietly and hurried to the basin to refill the shell.

With the next drink, the visions sharpened and intensified, along with the burning. I saw the horde of Inferi rising up from the water and dragging me under. I was dying – I couldn't breathe. "No!" I gasped. "Stop, please. I'm sorry. Don't…don't kill me!"

"It's alright, M-Master," Kreacher sobbed. "You must…you must…"

Soon, I could no longer see Kreacher at all, and I could no longer process his muffled sobs and desperate murmurs of encouragement. I was at the mercy of the potion.

I was ten years old, arguing with Sirius. "I wish you never born!" He screamed at me. Stricken, I yelled and charged him. We rolled on the floor, clawing and punching each other, until I heard Mother shrieking and felt her sharp fingernails in my arm. She told us we were both grounded for the week and sent us to clean the attic together. We worked in bitter silence, until finally I decided I'd better apologize, if only to clear the air. I'd barely opened my mouth when Sirius snapped, "Don't talk to me. Don't ever talk to me again. I don't like you, and you don't like me, so just don't talk to me, alright?"

The scene shifted. I was eleven, walking numbly to the stool in the center of the Great Hall. The Sorting Hat's teasing words ricocheted like bullets in my brain: "Slytherins and Gryffindors aren't all that different, you know."

"I am not a Gryffindor!" I argued.

"Oh, but I think you are," the Hat said cheerily. "GRYFFINDOR!"

I jolted awake in bed, abruptly eighteen again. I blinked in confusion at the red and gold banners on my walls. This is Sirius's room. Wait…wasn't I in the cave? Is this an illusion too? Or was that a nightmare? Did I fall asleep in Sirius's bed?

My throat was still prickling, and my heart was thundering in my chest. I rushed downstairs to the sitting room, where I found Mother standing in front of the family tree tapestry with her eyes full of tears. I tensed when I saw not one but two charred names underneath hers. No. That can't be…

My mother's gaze turned hostile when she noticed me in the doorway. I cringed and staggered backward as she screamed: "YOU DARE SET FOOT IN THIS HOUSE AGAIN? YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO THIS FAMILY! OUT! OUT! SHAME OF MY FLESH – GET OUT!"

As I stumbled downstairs in blind panic, Mother's voice blended with a different set of screams. Sirius. Recklessly, I dashed into the kitchen and nearly collided with my father. "Don't hurt him," I begged, holding onto the front of his cloak. "Please, Father, don't…"

My father's cold gray eyes turned on me. "Crucio."

I screamed. The spell seared like unquenchable fire. It surged through my veins and melted my skin. "Stop!" I cried desperately, but the pain didn't cease. My father's face morphed into Bellatrix's, her dark eyes gleaming with glee. Then Voldemort's snakelike red eyes took their place. His high-pitched laugh echoed all around me. Hundreds swarmed around him – Death Eaters, old friends, my family, the silvery corpses of strangers – all watching me suffer. Their cruel stares pressed in on me, suffocating me. "Your fault," they whispered. "You deserve this."

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I knew was horrible, searing pain.

"Kill me!" I begged, unable to bear it any longer. My vengeful audience continued to stare, and Voldemort only laughed. My desperate gaze drifted to Sirius, just another face in the crowd. "Help me," I beseeched him. "Please…I'm sorry…don't make me…I can't…I can't do this…please…"

With disturbingly empty eyes, Sirius raised his wand. Then everything went green...and then black.

Slowly, very slowly, the excruciating pain lessened.

"Master Regulus!"

Kreacher's voice floated to me from far away, a lifeline pulling me up from the abyss. Suddenly, I could breathe again. The chilly air clawed at my blistering throat. When I opened my eyes, I could barely see anything, but I could distantly hear the ocean. The cave. The green light had mostly faded – because I'd consumed it, I supposed. I couldn't process much more than that.

At last, my house elf's worried face swam into view. "Master! Are you—"

"Water," I whispered. Most of the fiery pain had left me, but my throat still burned like I'd swallowed a handful of hot desert sand.

For some reason, Kreacher shook his head frantically. "K-Kreacher m-m-must not..."

"Please, Kreacher," I rasped, positive that I would soon die of thirst. "Bring…me…water."

If I had been able to understand his reservation, I would've been horrified at what I'd just done.

My house elf twitched awkwardly as the ancient magic took hold. Then he staggered out of my view. I closed my eyes, trying to purge my mind of the horrific visions. I felt more exhausted than ever before, mentally and physically. I tried to push myself off the ground, but my limbs were like lead, and my body was a dead weight. My dry throat throbbed painfully.

Kreacher hastily stumbled toward me and poured a shell full of water into my mouth. Startled, I coughed a little, but the icy liquid worked wonders. As the burning in my throat faded, my mind cleared slightly, and the crushing weight on my chest eased. With great effort, I rolled onto my side. I still felt like I'd just run a marathon in my sleep and then woken up to do it for real, but the fatigue wasn't as oppressive as before.

My mind cleared a little more when Kreacher screamed.

For a split second, I stared numbly as three pale white bodies dragged my struggling house elf toward the black water. Then my frightened eyes found his, and I came to my senses. I raised my wand and gasped, "Relashio!"

As the three Inferi released Kreacher and fell back into the water, five more crawled onto the island behind them. "Master!" Kreacher yelped. He ran toward me, but two more monsters intercepted him. As I cast another Revulsion Jinx, icy fingers closed around my wrist. Without thinking, I looked over my shoulder – straight into the grimy face of an undead woman. Fear kicked me in the stomach. I tried to twist free, but my energy was dwindling at an alarming rate, and the Inferi were stronger than I'd expected. Three more hands closed around me: two on my shirt, and one on my hair.

"Incendio!"

The Inferi hissed and released me as blue fire briefly flickered around me. As I directed the fire at Kreacher's attackers, several more monsters lunged at me, pinning me to the rocky ground and grabbing at my wand. At that point, the slimy fingernails clawing at my hand made it more than a little difficult to cast spells.

Kreacher sobbed as the mob of ten or so Inferi began to pull me toward the edge. I could hardly see him through the mass of pale bodies; there must have been at least thirty huddled on the tiny island now, and more were still coming. About five of them had occupied themselves with Kreacher. My brave house elf thrashed and bit and screamed, but nothing he did could shake off the monsters as they carried him to the water.

As he struggled, I noticed a glint of gold and green in his right hand – the Horcrux. He'd already switched the lockets.

Even as freezing water rushed around my legs, a flame roared to life in me. It wasn't burning or painful this time. It was reassuring, determined, and proud. We'd nearly succeeded in our mission. We'd retrieved a piece of Voldemort's soul. All that needed to be done now was to take it away from this dreadful place and destroy it.

And if I had to be a casualty, then so be it.

"Go, Kreacher! Destroy the locket!" I ordered with as much strength as I could muster. Kreacher howled and continued to thrash, but I knew by the tears dripping from his face that he'd heard me. He watched helplessly as the Inferi dragged me further into the water. "Thank you," I added quietly, fighting tears of my own.

Kreacher sobbed again, but he couldn't disobey any longer. With an echoing CRACK, he was gone.

My feeling of pride at our accomplishment was short-lived. Hardly a second after I watched Kreacher disappear, water surged over my head. The cold was somehow more jarring than the lack of oxygen. As the mob of the undead slowly pulled me deeper, I forced my body to relax despite my pounding heart.

What are you doing? Keep fighting! The drum in my chest seemed to plead with me.

Why bother? My mind shot back calmly. This is what we wanted.

Terror gripped my heart, making it thump even harder. No, it isn't, it whimpered childishly.

The fear of death threatened to shatter me. I didn't want to die – especially not like this. I didn't want to become one of Voldemort's undead minions, cursed to remain here for eternity or until the reanimating enchantment was broken, whichever came first. I could only hope my consciousness, my soul, or whatever it was that made me "me" wouldn't be trapped inside my rotting corpse.

Then again, how could I know what awaited the thing that makes me "me" – or if that thing even existed? Was I just looking for comfort in silly stories, when all that really awaited me was unknown?

I squeezed my eyes shut, clinging to what little remained of my composure. I could feel my tears mixing with the merciless water. I wondered vaguely if the Inferi clinging to me could sense my despair, or if they could still feel human emotions. I doubted it. Still, as my vision blurred, I tried to imagine them as compassionate creatures, turning around and depositing me on the shore, murmuring that I'd already suffered enough.

Sadly, I didn't think I'd be so lucky.

Shivers racked my body – either from cold, fear, or system shock. Judging by my heavy limbs and my clouded mind, I was going to pass out shortly. As I prayed for death to take me, I remembered how my hallucinations had ended. The thought was strangely calming. Even in my worst nightmares, when I knew nothing but pain and remorse, I'd instinctively turned to my brother for help – and, to my great relief, he'd killed me. I thought that summed up our relationship quite well. As I gazed at the distant surface of the water, I almost smiled through my tears.

Some things never change.

I wondered briefly how Sirius would react if he could see me now. Either way, I was glad that no one but Kreacher had witnessed this night. Before, I'd dreaded the thought of dying alone. But as my lungs filled with water and the undead carried me ever deeper, I saw the mercy in it. This wasn't something I wanted the people who cared about me to witness. It was better this way.

I am Regulus Arcturus Black, I thought as my body turned numb. I am a Slytherin, the brother of a Gryffindor, and a Death Eater gone rogue. I died fighting against Lord Voldemort.

As my consciousness slipped away, I felt the weight on my chest lifting at last. Maybe my loved ones would never know what I'd done or why I'd done it, but I knew – and I'd succeeded.

In the end, that was all that mattered.