When I wrote this it was Christmas, I swear. The idea just got a hold of me and I couldn't let go. Hope you enjoy!
The air was cold on London's streets. Frost covered the windows, and the sky was black, the stars unable to be seen.
Regulus nursed his drink carefully. He sat in the back of some Muggle pub he'd found in the city. Here, in Muggle London, his name meant nothing and no one could find him. Anyways, Muggle alcohol was stronger than wizard's for some reason, that Regulus might've understood if he'd ever cared about muggles before. He just wanted to drink in silence. It wasn't like anyone would want his company anyway.
Regulus
"Oh, flobberworms…" he whispered, as he realised that he didn't think to bring any muggle money.
He put his coat on and quickly finished his drink, and tried to leave subtly since he couldn't pay. The pub was filled with muggles, obviously, singing Muggle Christmas songs in anticipation for the celebration the next day.
The wind blew in his face. He was alone in the city. He was out alone more and more since Father died. Mother loomed over Grimmauld more than she ever had before, and he was the only available victim to her frustrations. He did not have many duties as a Death Eater, he suspected they knew he was wavering.
It didn't matter. It would all be over in a couple days, when he'd go to steal the key to the Dark Lord's mortality.
He entered the house as quietly as he could, opening the door slowly so that it could not creak.
"Regulus," he heard his mother's voice.
He tensed and looked over to where the voice had come from.
"Mother," he said to the portrait.
She looked like Mother had in her better days. She'd paid to have it touched up every now and then. When the magical painter would come around the rest of the family would be banned from the living room. The painter always looked to have greatly suffered when he left. He'd stopped being asked to come after Sirius left.
He rushed upstairs and to his room quickly before she or his real Mother could start on another tirade. His broth-Sirius' room was locked as usual. Mother had wanted to convert it, but the sticking charms Sirius had put on his immature posters of barely clothed women were permanent. He turned from his former-brother's room and shut the door behind him, leaving any thought of Mother or him behind it.
Regulus
He changed into his night clothes, and slid into bed. Then he heard a crack.
"Master Regulus must have dinner, even if he does not want to eat with Mistress."
Regulus went out of his bed and looked at the food Kreacher had prepared for him and put on his desk. He'd stopped eating with Mother after Father passed, and Kreacher had let him, of course. He understood the multitude of feelings Regulus had after his Father's death.
"Thank you, Kreacher," he said.
"Master Regulus will eat," Kreacher said, sternly.
"Yes," Regulus replied, and with another crack Kreacher was gone.
Regulus ate the food by candlelight. Kreacher had lit it before he left, not wanting his master to eat in darkness. It was a sandwich of some kind, he honestly did not have the mental capacity to care. He would most likely be dead in a couple days, he did not have the mental space to worry about sandwich flavors.
Regulus
The candle went out and Regulus looked around the room. It appeared empty, but Regulus knew enough about magic to not wholly trust his senses.
"Is anyone there?" he asked.
Regulus
Was this how he died? Had the Dark Lord been made aware of his plans? If he had been, he was sure his death would be painful and lengthy. He was certain, and he didn't want to think about how he knew that with such certainty.
"Make this quick, please. I don't want you to wake my mother," he said, weakly into the darkness.
The frost spread from the windows to the walls. The clippings of articles mentioning the Dark Lord he'd put up in his youth stiffenning under the ice.
"Don't worry, Regulus, your mother can't hear us."
He recognized that voice, but it was impossible for its owner to be there.
"Uncle Alphard?"
He turned around to see his translucent Uncle. He was a ghost then, which was not uncommon in the magical world, but what shocked Regulus were the chains attached to his wrists and ankles. They seemed infinite. Regulus couldn't look anywhere in the room without seeing the chains. He staggered back.
"You must be wondering what I'm doing here."
Regulus nodded fervently.
The ghost chuckled, and the chains jangled softly.
"I'm here to save you, my boy."
"What?" Regulus' face scrunched up and his uncle laughed again.
"Do you know what these chains are?" Alphard said, in a warm tone that he'd always used with the children. "They're my regrets-I forged them in life by living like a coward. I already see them-they're going to take you too, and I don't need to add another knotch to these chains."
Regulus stared at him in confusion. He didn't matter in the grand scheme of the war, the best thing he could do was die for the cause.
"Wh-how are you doing this?"
"The realms of the dead and the living are close the day before Christmas. I've used this opportunity to save you."
"I don't need saving. I don't have any idea what you could be saving me from."
"I think you do know you need saving, Regulus," he said with a small smile. Regulus recognised it. It was the one he always wore when he chided him.
"Can't you be kind to me now?" Regulus pleaded. "I'll be joining you soon, I believe, can you please give me comfort?"
Alphard's face became pained. He tried to reach out to Regulus, and the chains around him clinked, then he realised that he couldn't touch him and his hand went back to his side.
"You'll be visited by three spirits. The first will come at midnight."
"If you have something to tell me why not tell me now? Why have these spirits visit?" he said, his aggravation growing. "And if they must visit, why not have all the spirits visit me together to save time?"
"I'm afraid that these things take time," Alphard said then disappeared before Regulus' very eyes. Took no longer than a blink.
Learn.
Regulus crawled into his bed. He thought of calling Kreacher, but he was eighteen: he didn't need someone to comfort him after nightmares or whatever that was. Surely it was nothing, maybe he really had drunk too much at the pub. It must be that.
What did Uncle Alphard know anyway? Regulus wasn't a coward like he was, in just a couple days he was going to do something great for the other side, much greater than what Dumbledore and his army had ever contributed to the war.
Of course Regulus had regrets, but that was why it was good in a way that he died. He didn't deserve to live with the things he'd let happen, the things he'd supported, wanted, watched.
The Grandfather clock downstairs began to ring, and he counted the chimes. One, Two, Three-why was he counting them? He didn't believe the apparition. He didn't believe the spectre his mind had conjured because of the drink he'd decided to put in his body-Ten, Eleven. One more hour, until the supposed spirit arrived.
He sat in his bed shaking for the remainder of the hour. He thought of what Uncle Alphard or whatever that had been had said. He didn't need saving! The hour passed slowly, and Regulus could swear that he heard the ticking from the Grandfather clock downstairs.
Then it began to ring again. One, Two. He held his breath as the clock chimed. Nothing would happen… Five, Six-he was almost sure. Eight, Nine. He was being irrational. Eleven, Twelve.
After a few moments, he let out a startled laugh. Nothing happened. It was all in his head after all, just a bad dream.
"Was it really, cousin?"