The dead were cold. They were wet. They felt like slime. They were a lot of things.
But most of all cold. People didn't feel like that, it was a different sort of cold. The type of cold that could never be warmed no matter the amount of charms you layered on top of it. You could sit in front of the furnace and stick your hands right in and all you would have were cold hands that never got warmer.
He didn't remember a lot about dying. He just remembered how cold they were. He could feel them sometimes grabbing his ankles. He could still feel the ghost pains on his chin as that was the first part of him to feel the impact of the ground. Sometimes he looked at his legs and wondered at the fact that no sign was left now.
He could still feel them. Cold long fingers grabbing at his robes. They caught him and dragged him in. It wasn't slow; it was faster than he could imagine. They were hungry. They hadn't said as much but he could feel it. He remembered vividly his shirt riding up, how the ground scraped his stomach. He hadn't had time to feel pain, he walked into this knowingly yet he still grabbed at the floor.
He was so thirsty, he was activity fighting the best he could. But it was so hard to not give in and just drink.
He didn't want to think about what happened next. But that's the thing about thoughts. The more you actively try to not think about something the more you do think about it.
So even if he thought "I don't want to see myself drown," the image of himself appeared. He hadn't really seen himself of course. But it was a weird sort of time where the memory itself was in third person.
He had long since rationalized that it was a sort of coping mechanism. He had a lot of those.
He hadn't spiraled in a long time. He accepted that he had died and come back to life. He willingly died. It was all for a greater cause, he hoped that he would never have to directly face him. It was cowardly in a way.
He could have done so many things. He could have run to his brother, told his parents, he could have leaked the information. But with what he knew and how it would be obvious.
But did he have to die? Regulus often struggles with this concept. He would lay in bed and struggle and struggle.
It was one of those times now where he just didn't know if he did the right thing. This time though he felt comfortable to leave the dorm and run around. As a first year he could never have thought to do that.
He was far too time bound for his own good, but he was also eleven. Regulus couldn't blame himself too much. As it was he was currently avoiding Filch and trying to get to the Astronomy tower. There would be no classes today as the sky was too cloudy.
He always found that confusing, wizards could change the weather if they wanted to yet the laws said no. It was insane to him, what was the point? Muggles? They would believe anything you told them to believe. They tried so hard to make everything make sense.
So far there had been a few close calls with Ms. Skattle, the insane old cat Filch kept around as a guard. How the pest managed to run so fast he had not the faintest clue. He was happy to remember that she dies sometime next year.
The brief distraction she left him was enough. He had stopped panicking a while ago. Now he walked slower and more reserved. He wasn't lost but he felt like it.
He was really tired. He wished he was still dead. He wished he the world didn't weigh on his shoulders. But he had to die. He had to.
There was no excuse he couldn't be coward. Not anymore.
For a life that Sirius could live happy. Where the Potters could stay alive and be a family. Where his father doesn't die from the stress of the lord. His mother doesn't die broken and lonely. Kreacher could be happy. Nellie wouldn't die, she would grow up and have the fifth-teen kids she always talked about. Elena and him could live in peace like she wanted. Everything could be better.
They had to take him down.
Still there plan wasn't perfect. Being alone really was making him think more. Was it possible to take down the lord without fighting him?
It hinged on so many variables that they couldn't directly control. Sirius was so unpredictable! He was so young now, but so was he. How could they mold him into what they need? Would he even still be Sirius?
Sirius was another problem wasn't he? He destroyed their family, he left when he needed him most. They hadn't been the closest, but they were family. Had that met nothing?
So their plan came down to this. Sirius needed to be on their side, simple enough but it was Sirius. Regulus had so many unresolved issues with him, that he would never get resolved. This wasn't his Sirius. This wasn't really his family.
The only person he saw was Elena. But she wasn't Elena Potter she was Daphne Greengrass.
"I'm going crazy." He couldn't believe he actually said it out loud. He wasn't going crazy. He was being dramatic and anxious.
He was stumbling now on the steps. He was almost at the very top. Maybe then he could breathe. He felt as if he had been holding his breath ever since he stepped foot into this castle.
Hogwarts was home. But home wasn't where his heart was. This home was a jail. When he turned around he saw an older Avery smearing blood on the walls. He saw Cassandra Yaxley laying on the floor of the common room gasping for air.
He could still smell fire.
He hated his home.
The tower allows him room to think and breathe.
He stood at the top of the tower and finally he left out a breath. Before the walls felt as if they were closing in but now he wasn't sure. But it was better.
He pushed himself to the very back and leaned against the wall. He felt so many things at once he wasn't sure what was wrong with him.