House. Slytherin
Category. Theme
Prompt. [First Line] Seeking shelter from the storm was the first of many mistakes that day.
Word Count. 2626
A/N. Much love to Carolare Scarletus for helping me fix tenses 3
oO0Oo
Seeking shelter from the storm was the first of many mistakes that day. He staggered into the shed, his cloak pulled tight in a vain attempt to protect himself from the blinding rain, and when he pushed his sodden hair out of his eyes, he found a chilling sight.
Of course. His family hadn't been the only one to pay a 'social call' to the Manor at Tom Riddle's request. As was his wont, once they had arrived and paid their social dues, Regulus disappeared onto the grounds. He wasn't sure how he felt about the rising Dark Lord, but he wasn't fool enough to fight. Instead, he had focused on staying away until he was forced to decide.
However, if the stances of the men standing before him and the way Tom Riddle held his wand were any indication, he had stumbled upon something, something that would force him to decide… immediately.
Abraxas Malfoy was the first to act. "Get out of here," he snapped, his eyes flashing as he stepped between Regulus and… whatever it was they had been doing. The other men closed ranks behind him, further shielding their activities, and Regulus began to back away, hoping he wouldn't be hexed as he beat a hasty retreat; however, then Tom Riddle spoke.
"What a pleasant surprise," he said, his voice a sibilant hiss in the quiet room. "Regulus Black, son of Orion and Walburga Black."
Regulus nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "That I am."
Rodolphus strode forward. "Address your Lord properly," he snarled.
"I apologize, I was not aware—" Regulus's eyes darted around the room, seeking out just who was with him, searching for his father, but his father was not there. He took a deep breath, then knelt before Riddle. "I am Regulus Black, my Lord."
He didn't dare look up, but he could hear the cool condescension in Riddle's voice. "Rise, Regulus Black. You and your family are not yet one of our number; your faux pas shall be excused."
Regulus slowly lifted his head. "May I leave, my Lord?" he said, his voice perfectly neutral.
Something glinted in Riddle's eyes, something dark, dangerous, and… amused? "No, you may not," he said. "There is a storm outside, and besides — it is high time a Black joined the Inner Circle."
"My Lord— that is too high an honor— my Lord—" Regulus stammered, horrified by the sudden turn the conversation had taken. "I do not deserve—"
Yet Riddle had already turned away. "Abraxas, bring her out."
Her. Regulus's stomach dropped. Bloody hell, there was a woman in here besides Bellatrix Black, who he saw standing beside Tom and baring her teeth in a terrible parody of a grin…
Abraxas dragged a weeping woman forward. Her hair was tangled and matted, her dress was ripped and blood splattered, but her eyes were what made Regulus freeze. In her deep, dark eyes, there whorled fear, loss, hurt, and hopelessness, but at the sight of him, a sudden light lit within them. "Please, ser, please" she garbled, "save me, ser, save me—"
"Quiet, filth." Abraxas must have cast a Silencing charm, because although the woman's mouth was still moving, Regulus could hear nothing. "Incarcerous." Ropes appeared, binding the woman tight, and then Abraxas pushed her towards him. Regulus caught her on instinct. Her bloodied form was flush against him for a second before he pushed her away, but it had been long enough for him to see her wide, desperate, pleading eyes once again.
"What must I do," he said, holding his wand tight in a white-knuckled grip.
"Torture her, of course." Riddle's voice was casual, as though this were as mundane as pulling on a set of robes. "Then kill her."
At the words, she began to thrash in her bonds. Afraid she would hurt herself, Regulus put her in a full-body bind. "Torture her?" he said. "With what?"
"What do you think." Abraxas Malfoy's words were dripping with scorn.
Regulus swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "The Cruciatus."
"Ten points to Slytherin," Riddle said, the same cool touch of condescension in his voice. "Now cast, Regulus. Not all of us here are immortal."
"Of- of course, my Lord." Regulus raised his wand, doing his best to harden his heart. The muggle woman reminded him of a witch from Hogwarts, a pretty half-blood whom he'd once fancied. But if he wanted to survive this afternoon, he would torture her in cold blood. "Crucio."
She jerked, her eyes screwed tight, her mouth gaping in a silent scream, but that was all; she didn't cry, howl, or contort herself into unnatural, impossible position — that is, not until Bellatrix stepped forward and murmured, "Such pain, such beautiful pain… finite."
The sound of her screams filled the shed. She writhed on the ground, making quiet thuds as she thrashed. As Regulus watched, he felt self-hatred welling up within him. Sirius had been right. Sirius had been right. He should have left when he could. But one glance around the room told him he would never be able to leave, not any longer. His self-hatred swelled within him, and the woman's screams intensified ten-fold.
"Impressive," Abraxas muttered.
Regulus felt the first stirrings of pride at his words before he clamped down on his emotions. He was torturing this woman. She was shrieking, crying, begging for mercy, her eyes wild and pained. Regulus almost moved to end the spell, but then he remembered his audience.
He would have to end this in a different way, then.
"Avada Kedavra," he said quietly. The jet of poisonous green light struck the woman in the chest and she crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. From the floor, her empty eyes stared at him, and for a long second, the room was dead silent.
Then Riddle spoke. "I had not ordered you to stop yet."
"My apologies, my Lord." His words were like sandpaper in his mouth, dry and rough and choking him. "May I go? My parents will be expecting me." He gave a short, shallow bow. He needed to get out of this shed. It was shrinking around him, and all he could see was Bellatrix's hungry smile…
Riddle looked at him for a long moment before he finally answered. "You may."
"Thank you, my Lord." Regulus gave another shallow bow, then pushed his way out of the room. The rain was still pouring from the skies as he set out across the grounds, but he couldn't care less. He couldn't have stood another second in that shed. He could still see the woman's helpless, hopeless expression in his mind's eye, and hear her screams ringing in his ears. She was dead now because of him. Her final moments had been of pain and terror because of him.
Regulus shucked off his cloak, throwing it behind him. Some of her blood had stained it. He couldn't— he couldn't— The wind buffeted him from side to side, and the rain lashed at him, stinging his skin and mixing with the tears that ran down his cheeks. He stood there in the rain, head tilted back, exposing his throat to the sky and begging for forgiveness.
He didn't think he'd get it.
When he was soaked through and shivering, Regulus finally began to make his way back to the manor. His father asked him what had happened, but Regulus only shook his head, refusing to elaborate, and that had been all.
Yet that night, Regulus dreamed of the muggle woman, how her screams had echoed in the shed, and how she had crumpled when he'd ended her. He woke in a cold sweat. He shouldn't have killed her. He shouldn't have tortured her. And above all, he should not have sought shelter from the storm in that bloody shed.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Days passed. Every morning, his father said that the bags under Regulus's eyes had only grown, and that he seemed paler than usual; however, very morning Regulus waved off his concern, saying that he might be catching a mild case of dragon pox, but that he'd be fine. He didn't dare say that he still dreamt of a desperate woman writhing in pain who, after a flash of green light, crumpled and stared up at him with empty, empty eyes.
Weeks passed. Regulus had returned to Hogwarts now, and his Housemates treated him differently. They afforded him a touch more respect, especially in certain circles, and Regulus knew that he bought that respect with blood. It still haunted him, and his dreams were chaotic nightmares filled with death which forced him to spell his curtains shut and silence himself before he slept, lest he wake his entire dorm with his gasping sobs.
Months later, he knew he was past the worst of it. He sometimes managed to gain a full night's rest, but he cannot forget the muggle woman splayed lifelessly on the ground before him. Now, however, at the sight of her empty eyes, he did not feel horror or sorrow. Instead, he felt only cold determination. The Dark Lord had ordered him to kill her: if anyone was to blame, it was the Dark Lord, and so Regulus will try to exact his revenge upon him.
He knew it was a fool's errand, but nonetheless he threw himself into research. Among the upper years, tales of the rising Dark Lord (Tom Riddle, he was a Slytherin, and he slept in those rooms!) were whispered — he is immortal, invincible, darker than even Grindelwald, an orphan of unknown origin, the heir to Slytherin — and Regulus drew upon these rumors to further his quest. After all, at the heart of every myth there sits a nugget of truth.
That was how he discovered was how it all begins to click together — the story of Tom Riddle, a poor boy from Wool's orphanage, who managed to attend Hogwarts. Tom Riddle, who had a trophy for "Special Services" to the school. Brave Tom Riddle, who when faced by the fabled monster of the Chamber, did not cower; he exposed Rubeus Hagrid as poor Myrtle's killer and had him expelled. It was a beautiful tale, but Regulus knew that Tom Riddle spoke Parseltongue, and that Tom Riddle was — is — the heir of Slytherin. They were pretty lies, but they were lies nonetheless.
Therefore, Regulus took it upon himself to visit Wool's orphanage. It had long since closed, but he tracked down the matron and had a lovely tea with her. He charmed her with his aristocratic manner and six bottles of gin, and she, in return, told him all he wanted to know. Tom Riddle, she said, her eyes glazed with drink, was a troubled boy. One day, he took two children with him out to a cave, and when they came back, those two were never the same. At her words, Regulus could barely contain his excitement, and once he knew where that cave was located, he cast a gentle Obliviate and left.
Years later, when Regulus had prepared as much he could and knew the end was near, he summoned Kreacher and swore him to secrecy. Together, he and his House Elf apparated to the cave by the sea. The wind was howling and the sea churning when they arrived, but Regulus was undaunted; he fought his way towards the forbidding cliff face and unflinchingly offered the sacrifice.
His blood was dripping down his arm when the mouth of the cave appeared. Kreacher had insisted on healing his young Master, but Regulus hadn't let him. This was his atonement.
After casting about the cave, he found the boat and pushed it into the water, at loth to use too much magic within Riddle's domain. He had scoped out the cave before coming, of course, but one could never be too careful. He motioned Kreacher into the boat, then climbed in as well. "Don't touch the water," he said, his voice quiet.
The boat glided toward the island in the center of the underground lake. In the dim lighting, Regulus could see the outline of a basin sitting atop a stand, and at the sight, a chill went through him. He knew what lay within that basin. Within this cave, protected by blood wards and a lake full of Inferi, sat a horcrux. Before him sat a portion of the Dark Lord's soul.
The boat bumped against the rocky shore. Regulus got out, careful not to touch the water, then helped Kreacher out. The elf looked at him with wide eyes, clearly surprised by the display of affection, but Regulus does not dwell upon his unorthodox actions. By the end of tonight, it wouldn't matter what his mother thought
Within the basin lay a potion. He cast diagnostic spells over it, wondering what it could be, but the results were inconclusive; it is then he spied a goblet sitting on the ground. Drink, it instructed in fine cursive script.
When Kreacher saw him fill the goblet with potion, the House Elf gave a squawk of alarm. "Master Regulus!" he shouted "Do not! Kreacher will drink!"
But Regulus looked him dead in the eye and said clearly, "This is my debt to pay, Kreacher." Then he drank. "You will force me to consume the remainder of the potion. Then, when the basin is empty, you will take the locket and destroy it. Even if you have to leave me behind."
Kreacher protested, but Regulus ignored him. He drank and drank, slowly but steadily draining the basin. So far, there were no adverse effects… and then suddenly, as he was refilling the goblet once again, the muggle woman appeared beside him.
"You killed me," she hissed, and at the sight of her, Regulus's nightmares came flooding back. She had been helpless, desperate, begging — and he'd killed her. She stepped forward and clasped his hands in hers. When she touched him, the goblet filled with blood, and Regulus swallowed hard and began to throw it away; however, she was stronger than him, and she forced it down his throat, sobbing as he chokes around the salty, metallic taste. Then she refilled it, shouting, "Drink!," as she poured it into his mouth.
He fought her, and at one point he succeeded in throwing her off, but in doing so she dropped the goblet over him, staining his robes and hands a deep red. At the feeling of her cold, slimy blood slowly sliding down his skin and mixing with his own blood which was still welling out of his forearm, Regulus shuddered and redoubled his efforts to escape. She succeeded in pouring the last of her congealed lifeblood down his throat, but when she got up and peered into the basin with wide eyes, he stumbled towards the water, only one thought in his mind: get away, wash away, wash away the blood.
He scrubbed at his hands, his nails almost drawing blood, so violent was his desire to get clean. He almost didn't notice the first body floating to the surface. It regarded him with cold, empty eyes, and he threw himself back; however, a cold, clammy hand clasped his ankle, pulling him under. Regulus thrashed, fighting his way back to the surface to take one last desperate breath and hear Kreacher's anguished cry — "Master Regulus!" — before the long-dead bodies dragged him under once more.
As he struggled, fighting cold, empty corpses and knowing that here, he shall die, he was comforted by the knowledge that Kreacher had the horcrux and would destroy it. He may have killed the muggle woman, but perhaps by sacrificing himself to destroy the Dark Lord, he can make amends.