TW: references to child abuse.

It was a horrifying existence, being chained to a madman. It wasn't really an existence at all. His life was no longer his own, it hadn't been from the moment Regulus had kneeled in front of the Dark Lord and taken the Dark Mark as his own. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the little voice he so ruthlessly repressed told him that there was no way to break free, no way to escape the tyrant's clutches.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Death was the ultimate escape, wasn't it? Even Lord Voldemort couldn't follow him into Thanatos' realm.

All he'd wanted was to please his mother. That was all he'd ever wanted since witnessing his brother beneath the lash of a belt for daring to be sorted into Gryffindor. Regulus had been forced to watch as Sirius escaped their dreary life at Number 12 Grimmauld Place and run to his friends, the so-called Marauders, leaving Regulus behind. He was stuck, and there was no light to be seen. In the beginning, he thought that going along with his mother's desires would make everything okay. That he could prove himself to be the better son.

He didn't think that anymore.

At the moment, he was rather of the opinion that Sirius had gotten the better end of the deal. Of course, staring down at an Inferi infested lake with only a house-elf by their side would make any reasonable person resent their lot in life.

The lake was eerily silent. The black, brackish water was so still, it could have been mistaken for carven marble. Nothing but the sound of Regulus' own harsh breathing could be heard. In short, it was the perfect place to hide a piece of one's soul.

"Never does things by halves, does he?" Regulus muttered bitterly, fingering the locket around his throat. He'd taken a harrowing trip into Kreacher's memories to make the replica. It was accurate enough to stand up against passing inspection, but clearly fake upon closer scrutiny.

Clearing his throat, Regulus steeled himself for the task ahead. Oh, he was well aware it was a suicide mission. His odds of getting out of the cave alive were bad, and if he escaped by some miracle, he knew his days were numbered. It was worth it, though, to deal a hopefully devastating blow to a narcissistic madman hanging onto sanity by a thread. Once the locket was destroyed, the Dark Lord would be mortal once more, and what was his life worth in the face of a boon like that?

"Master?" croaked Kreacher.

"Hm? Oh, Kreacher. Right, shall we get this over with?"

"Master shall not regret bringing Kreacher!" the house-elf exclaimed, chest puffed out. "Boat is this way, Master." Kreacher tugged Regulus over to a completely non-descript stretch of rock on the edge of the lake.

Regulus cautiously approached the rim of the rock separating him from the lake. The closer he got, the heavier the air felt and a weight settled over his shoulders. Finally as close as he dared to get, his foot brushed against a hard object and Regulus jumped, stifling a shriek. Right, expect the unexpected, got it.

He cautiously reached down, feeling around with his fingers until he hit cold metal. Smart bastard. Regulus withdrew his wand from its holster and tapped the object, hoping that it was a simple disillusionment charm. Lo and behold, a thick copper chain appeared, tinted green from long exposure to the elements.

Regulus began hauling on the chain, muscles straining against the weight of the water surely filling the boat. Playing Seeker hadn't done much for his upper body strength, all he'd had to do was stay on his broom and catch the Snitch. Even as the agonizing minutes trickled by, a ghost of a smile appeared on Regulus' lips as he reminisced about days gone by. Days when his biggest worry had been what score he'd gotten on his Potions exam.

The prow of a small wooden boat finally broke the water's surface, tiny waves rippling outward. Water fell off the vessel in rivulets, it would seem the interior was not as drowned in water as Regulus had suspected. As the boat glided to a stop against Regulus' feet, he swallowed thickly. There was no turning back from this point on. He couldn't very well leave and go back to a lifetime of groveling, not now.

"Kreacher, you first." he rasped, voice suddenly hoarse. The little elf gamely clambered into the vessel, turning back to look at Regulus with guileless eyes. Casting one last longing look at the cave's exit, he followed suit. As soon as both feet were firmly planted on the deck, the boat lurched into movement, nearly sending Regulus overboard.

"Fuck!" Regulus hissed. He quickly sat down to avoid getting up close and personal with whatever fell nightmares the Dark Lord might have filled the lake with.

As the boat sliced through the still waters, an eerie green light made itself known. Regulus squinted, unsure of what the source was. At his side, Kreacher whimpered.

"That be where the Dark Lord put the locket."

"Great. An eerie green light in the middle of a lake in the middle of nowhere. Got to give him points for originality." Regulus gave a tense chuckle. The sound echoed in the cavern, then all was quiet again.

Nothing more was said until the boat bumped up against the edge of an extraordinarily tiny island of carven stone. A square pillar rose from the center, the base seamlessly flowing back into its source. There were only two yards of space around the pillar, and after that, the lake.

Regulus stood and climbed out of the wooden boat, taking care not to let any part of himself touch the water. He hauled Kreacher out once he was on solid ground and the duo apprehensively approached the pillar. Nestled on the flat top was a stone basin, the source of the green light Regulus had seen. Peering over the side, all that Regulus could see was a potion, coloured a sickly emerald.

Knowing better than to touch an unknown substance, Regulus tried to Accio the locket. Nothing happened.

"Worth a shot." muttered Regulus. He hadn't truly thought it would work, but a small part of him had clung to the vain hope that the Dark Lord had forgotten to make the damn thing unable to be summoned. More fool him, the Dark Lord forgot nothing.

There was nothing left for it, he'd have to drink the potion. He refused to make Kreacher do it again, he'd seen what it had done to the elf the first time and it was not an experience he'd wish upon his worst enemy.

Well, perhaps the Dark Lord could benefit from drinking a cauldron full of it.

Regulus dug around in his pocket for the goblet he'd brought with him. It was one of numerous identical ones in a set belonging to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. They even had the crest embossed on the side as well as the motto: Toujours Pur. The petty satisfaction he got out of knowing that one of his mother's favorite glasses would be used in the downfall of her idol was rather enjoyable.

"Kreacher-" Regulus' mouth had suddenly gone dry, "Kreacher, if at some point I can no longer feed myself this potion, you must do it for me until the locket can be retrieved. Do you understand?" Regulus had gone over the plan with Kreacher back at Grimmauld, he just had to be sure the elf would follow through.

"Yes, Master." Kreacher said, head downcast.

"Good." With that, Regulus filled the goblet to the brim and raised his glass in a grim mockery of a toast. "To the Dark Tosser, may you rot in hell."

The first goblet-full sent spasms of pain lancing throughout Regulus' body - a mere shadow of the many Cruciatus spells he'd been subject to under the Dark Lord. The second made his vision go foggy. The third was when the visions started.

Regulus was nine, hiding behind his father's office door and watching his older brother, head bowed, wincing under the lash of their father's belt. Not once did he cry out. Their mother had been furious when the family received Damian Greengrass' letter relating the tale of Sirius' sorting that his son, Cyrus, had taken great pleasure in telling Damian about. Walburga had stalked about the house in a strop for days, screaming at inopportune times about ungrateful sons and Gryffindor foolishness. Orion on the other hand, had remained silent. It was when he didn't have anything to say that Regulus knew to be worried. Sure enough, Orion had taken Sirius aside the minute he returned home for Yule and Regulus had followed, unbidden curiosity urging him along. Orion had berated Sirius in a cold voice, assuring him that this stain upon the House of Black would not be forgotten. Then Regulus heard the 'snick' of a belt buckle being released and nearly ran away. Instead, he remained, feeling that he owed it to Sirius to bear silent witness to his pain and stand in solidarity with his brother, even if he never knew he was there. Even so, Regulus vowed then and there to become a Slytherin. The alternative was too terrifying to contemplate.

Regulus resurfaced from the flashback with a pained gasp. His fingers were painfully clenched around the stone basin, knuckles white. Heaving a rattling breath, he downed the next dose of potion.

Regulus was fourteen. It was his fourth year, Sirius' sixth. He'd finally managed to get on the Slytherin Quidditch team as Seeker after Montague had graduated. It was the first time Regulus would face Sirius on the field - Sirius had landed a spot as Beater on Gryffindor's team after a particularly spectacular try-out in which he'd managed to give McKinnon a nice goose egg. Regulus had watched from under the bleachers and he had to admit that Sirius took to a broom like a duck to water. Rumor had that McKinnon had gotten him back by jinxing his hair to alternate between silver and green. Sirius had lasted a week before he apologized in the middle of the Great Hall, accepting the resulting jeers with good humour, and Marlene seemed to think Sirius had learned his lesson and reversed the jinx.

The first match of the year always led to heightened tensions and Gryffindor-Slytherin matches were even worse. It was the perfect storm, and while Regulus had tried to ignore the crowd's boos, Prewett had still snatched the golden ball before him. When both teams touched down, Regulus made eye contact with Sirius, only to see his brother sneer at him before walking off the field with Potter. It was then that the last shred of hope he'd clung to of a cordial relationship between them was torn in two.

The trip out from under the potion's influences took longer this time and Regulus' entire body was shaking, every joint screaming in agony. Fine tremors were wracking his hands and Regulus tightened his grip on the goblet, determined to forge ahead. The goblet was shaking, threatening to spill the poisonous green potion, as Regulus attempted to bring it to his mouth. Regulus fell back into the blindingly green void as the last drops of his fifth drink passed his lips.

Regulus was fifteen, trying to salvage something of the summer before his fifth year. He hadn't thought it could get any worse, but that morning he had woken up to the sound of Sirius' dulcet tones ringing throughout the household, Walburga's grating shrieks providing the countermelody. He'd dashed out onto the landing, spotting Sirius in a righteous fury standing on the doorstep, his school trunk behind him. Regulus' heart sank - Sirius was leaving! Walburga was screaming herself hoarse, remonstrating Sirius for his brainless idiocy, while Sirius screamed back about true friends and toxic families. Regulus' appearance on the landing caused Sirius to look up momentarily. A shadow appeared in his eyes briefly and disappeared before Regulus could name it. Regret, perhaps? Regulus knew he was only kidding himself, Sirius had emotionally detached himself from everything Black, and that included Regulus. Finally, Sirius had had enough and he shut up, sheathed his wand in its holster, grabbed the handle of his trunk, and walked off toward the street without a backward glance. The door slammed shut behind him, sealing Regulus in the house, alone.

Regulus fell to his knees, the goblet clattering from his fingers and rolling off toward the lake. He was dimly aware of Kreacher scrambling to catch it, too buried in physical and mental pain to pay much attention.

Sirius…

The next thing he knew, Kreacher was holding the goblet to his mouth once more and Regulus resisted, not wanting to bring more waves of agony upon himself.

"Please, Master Regulus, please! You must drink, you said!"

It was the realization that Kreacher was actually sobbing that did it. He opened his mouth and allowed the poison to drag him back into the churning whirlpool of his mind.

Regulus was sixteen, having had his birthday a mere week ago, and he'd arrived home for Yule, greeted by his parents who informed him in no uncertain terms that it was time for his Marking ceremony. Regulus had glanced to his side, expecting to see Sirius' horror mirroring his own, only to be forcibly reminded of his brother's unceremonious departure from Grimmauld a year prior.

But now, kneeling before a madman who (dare he say it?) closely resembled a snake, he wondered whether he should've joined Sirius in his rejection of all things Black. He ruthlessly repressed the errant thought as the Dark Lord glided forward from his throne. His left arm was seized in a bone crushing grip, the sleeve of his robe roughly thrown back to reveal his bare forearm. The tip of the lunatic's wand dug into his flesh and Regulus fell back on his pureblood mask to keep from wincing. Sibilant hissing emerged from the Dark Lord's mouth and Regulus watched in sick fascination as black ink spread across his skin from where the wand was touching it. The ink writhed and coiled in upon itself, eventually forming into the shape of a skull with a snake emerging from its jaws. The wand was removed from his skin and the snake shivered, unhinging its jaw and plunging two ink black fangs into Regulus' arm. Regulus only saw the Dark Lord's feral grin moments before he began to scream, blinding pain taking over every sense.

It was several minutes, an hour, days, he didn't know, before the pain abated and he was left panting on the floor. Attempting to recover some of his dignity, Regulus rose from the floor and bowed to the Dark Lord. He looked to his parents as he retreated, hoping to see some sign of approval and was instead met with blank stares. Bowing his head, he slipped back into the mass of hooded Death Eaters.

His mind released him once more and Regulus hazily came back to reality. He was curled up into a ball, the bitingly cold stone pressed against his cheek. Kreacher kneeled before him, clearly distraught. Regulus hauled himself up to a sitting position, not helped by the incessant shaking of his limbs. Pain made itself known in every limb, every bone, every movement he made.

"Did you get the locket, Kreacher?" Regulus croaked.

"Yes, Master Regulus, Kreacher has it." The elf tearfully replied, and rushed to help Regulus up. Regulus stopped the elf with his hand, for the first time noticing the golden locket that dangled from Kreacher's fingers.

"Excellent," Regulus breathed, "Good, very good. Here, take this one-" Regulus gingerly eased the replica of the locket from around his neck and tossed it to Kreacher. "Put that in the basin.

Clearly reluctant to leave Regulus alone, Kreacher rushed over to the basin and reached up, on his tiptoes, to replace the stolen locket. The fake made a satisfying clink as it hit the bottom of the stone basin and Regulus smiled, the first time he'd done so since entering this godforsaken cave.

"Let's go home, Kreacher."

A now enthusiastic Kreacher helped Regulus up from the floor. On trembling legs, the pair made their way to the boat they'd left on the island's shore. All of Regulus' willpower was focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Two steps away from the boat, Regulus' knees buckled and he collapsed. He put his hands out to slow his fall, cursing his weakened body. His hands touched something wet, and Regulus realized, in horror, that he'd fallen into the lake.

Almost immediately, the surface of the water began to ripple. Regulus hastily scrambled back from the water's edge, but it was too late. Vaguely human-like figures were beginning to rise from the lake. A hand here, a head there.

Inferi,

Regulus wanted to laugh. Wanted to, but couldn't. They'd come this far, only for him to bollocks it up at the last minute. He heavily pulled himself to his feet, pushing the insistent pain to the back of his mind.

"Kreacher. Go." Regulus said calmly, pulling out his wand. The elf still held the locket, there was still a chance Kreacher could leave and find someone to explain to and it could be destroyed. Then his life wouldn't have been sacrificed in vain, for he saw what direction this confrontation was going.

"Kreacher. Go." repeated Regulus when he noticed the elf still hadn't moved. Inferi were appearing in greater numbers now, and slowly advancing toward the island where he stood. His wand was trembling in his hand now, and Regulus knew he wouldn't be putting up much of a fight.

"GODDAMNIT KREACHER, LEAVE, THAT'S AN ORDER!." Regulus shouted as the first Inferius reached the island. He could not afford to look back at Kreacher when facing legions of reanimated skeletons. He batted the first arrival away with a well placed Incarcerous, but he was painfully aware that he was living on borrowed time. There were dozens more coming, perhaps a hundred. The Dark Lord's been busy, he thought wryly.

Kreacher finally popped away, the echo ringing in his ears, and Regulus grimly smiled. He'd done what he came here to do - the Horcrux had been swapped with a fake and the real one was now safe at Grimmauld place.

Regulus lowered his wand. There was no point in fighting, not now. He'd been fighting most of his life. He wouldn't waste his final moments on a fool's hope.

His last thought was of Sirius laughing with Potter and Lupin in the Great Hall. He sounded free, free in a way he had never been, not living in Grimmauld. Regulus whispered a bitter goodbye as he sank beneath the waves.