Chapter 6: Chapter 5: May 1978 - June 1978
Summary:
Regulus goes to the cave, wins some and loses some.
Notes:
So I basically wrote this entire chapter today which was a good effort really, and great news aswell, I spent the last two days writing chapter 6 so that may be out tomorrow but otherwise Monday at the latest.
This chapter is rather self explantory for the most part, but there are a couple of surprises.
BUT THE NEXT CHAPTER (AS IN THE NEXT POST-PROLOGUE CHAPTER) IS GOING TO BE THE BEST THING OF YOUR LIVES SO BE EXCITED!!!!!!!
Hope you enjoy, I love reading all your comments and I saw the first recommendation of my fic on tiktok today as well which was very exciting.
See you maybe tomorrow, maybe Monday !!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
May 1978 – June 1978
Kreacher stops talking, having finished his tale, and Regulus can barely breathe.
He knew that the Dark Lord wasn't a good person; he's a dark, dark wizard at best, but to bring Kreacher into this and leave him to die?
Kreacher, Regulus' constant companion when Sirius had gone to Hogwarts and his parents were neglecting him. Still loyal when both he and Sirius had gone to Hogwarts and come back during the holidays, where the only time they ever spoke was to fight.
Kreacher, his friend, who he lent to Voldemort only to condemn him to die. Despite the fact that Regulus didn't know what he was sending him to, the parallels he draws between himself and Dumbledore at that, however small they may be, make him want to throw up.
"Kreacher", Regulus says eventually, "Kreacher, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never would have asked had I known –"
"Kreacher was happy to go knowing to do so would make young Master Regulus safe. Kreacher is happy to protect young Master Regulus", he says forcefully, leaving no room for arguments. Even though he almost feels like he's going to cry, Regulus can't help but smile at that.
"Thank you, Kreacher. You have always been a dear friend to me," before taking a deep breath and preparing himself for whatever is going to follow his next sentence.
"I need to do some research, and then after that, I need you to take me to that cave".
Kreacher seems reluctant to allow Regulus to spiral into the locket mystery, but it's not like Regulus needs permission. He simply asks Kreacher to describe the locket, which was gold and radiating dark magic, which doesn't help a lot; he also hadn't been able to touch it or see what it looked like entirely, which further complicates things.
Still, if he's going to do research on a dark object and find answers, then there's no better place to be than the Black Family Library.
Kreacher believes that it's not simply a spell but that there has been a fundamental shift to the physical make-up of the locket, like if the magic was removed, then the locket would be destroyed as well.
This pretty much rules out grey spells, but Regulus had sort of expected that to be the case. The Dark Lord is unlikely to use anything but the darkest of dark magic.
Regulus goes through tome after tome, his stack of discarded books on the table growing higher and higher while Kreacher paces around the library, fretting and trying to dissuade Regulus, who respectfully ignores him.
It's not a modifying spell, that would still leave the locket intact if the spell was removed, and it's not potions related either. It's nothing he learnt at school either; none of that was dark enough besides the concept of the three unforgivables.
Regulus knows firsthand that it's not those either.
Still, he feels like he's getting closer and closer to an answer as he cross-references textbooks that mention dark magic and rituals. There are still an unfortunately large number of things this could be; Regulus never would have gotten this far at Hogwarts, but the Black family is good for something he supposes. He tries various combinations in the library index, and eventually, he tries seeing what results he gets if the ritual leads to the harvesting and preservation of the piece of dark magic in the object that it's confined to like Kreacher had described.
Only one book glows green with a positive result.
Regulus feels his heart beating faster, his breathing becoming slightly uneven as he flicks through the book, getting closer and closer to page 675 where the black ink-written title practically jumps out of the page at him, unmissable, unforgettable, unforgivable.
Horcruxes.
A Horcrux can be used to split a witch or wizard's soul, and while the Horcrux remains intact, the witch or wizard cannot die. The ritual can only be completed following a murder most foul, conducted by the witch or wizard wishing to make the Horcrux. Its destruction can only be brought about through very limited methods.
And that's it.
That's all the Black library has to offer on the key to winning the war.
Half of Regulus is ecstatic at his progress already, and half of him is terrified about what's to come.
He knows what he's getting himself in for; he knows that he's in too deep now to turn back.
"Kreacher, it's time."
Despite Kreacher's many protests, Regulus is stubborn and steadfast, and eventually, Kreacher promises on the condition that he'll just look.
A necessary lie.
They don't go straight to the cave. Regulus goes to Gringotts, takes a few thousand galleons from his parent's vault, and transfers his heir account under his name, delegating the funds to go to Sirius in the event of his death.
His parents might be annoyed, but it's not like they'll miss the money. His heir vault holds more money than the average wizard makes in his lifetime, but to the Blacks, it's simply petty change.
Regulus also buys a tent which is the very dichotomy of his aristocratic purebloodedness that he shrinks and puts in the mokeskin pouch around his neck.
He doesn't think he'll need it, but there's a chance that Voldemort will figure out he's there, and he may need to hide for a while to figure out a plan; he is technically betraying the Dark Lord after all.
They arrive on the edge of a cliff face that overlooks a stormy ocean, and Regulus wonders if the Dark Lord charmed it himself just to give the whole situation an ominous and foreboding ambience.
Kreacher is already fidgeting nervously, his eyes flitting between Regulus and the cliffside, but as bad as Regulus feels for making him relive his recent trauma, it's not enough to make him abandon his mission. He has to get inside.
"Kreacher, how do I get in?" he asks, trying not to show his frustration as Kreacher hesitates. "I'm not going to order you to do anything, but I need you to help me here."
"The bad wizard used his blood, young Master Regulus", Kreacher says wincing, because sure enough, Regulus slices a deep gash through his palm and rubs it against the rock, which glows green and disappears.
Perfect, thinks Regulus.
Oh dear, thinks Kreacher.
"Now Kreacher, before we go, if you feel uncomfortable or unsafe at any time, you leave at any time, even if that means leaving me here, okay?"
"But young Master –"
"Kreacher, that's an order."
He wrinkles his face up and tries to find a loophole, but ultimately, he sighs, "yes, Young Master Regulus, Kreacher understands."
"Good."
They enter the cave together, and Regulus immediately notices how cold it is. Like this morning when he saw Kreacher dripping wet, he gets an uncomfortable feeling, almost like a premonition, and he swears he can feel the cold seeping into his bones.
It's an old cavern with high ceilings and natural architecture, and Regulus wonders what the significance of this place is or if the Dark Lord just went around all of the caves in Britain trying to find the one he liked best.
He really has no idea which of the two it is, but the latter definitely amuses him.
Upon looking around, there's a small stone pile by the entryway, which is where Regulus and Kreacher are standing at the moment, and then there's a small island about 20 metres away that is surrounded by a lake.
On the island is a basin, it looks to be made of solid gold, and there's a green glow coming from within it. It's similar to the colour of a killing curse, but there's a subtle difference which is one of the only ways Regulus can convince his feet to move closer towards the water.
Most people wouldn't know, the difference is so slight, but Regulus knows intimately what the killing curse looks like. He sees it every time he goes to sleep, after all.
The critical problem Regulus sees is that he can't swim. He never learnt, and Sirius never had anywhere to practice so that he could teach himself and then teach Regulus like he did with pirates and magical creatures and drawing.
But how hard can it be? He knows theoretically what to do; you just move your limbs in a way that makes you float. Some of the spells he cast in first year had more steps than that.
He's willing to try it; he doesn't want to cast magic in the cave lest it alerts the Dark Lord to his presence, so swimming it is.
He steps forward to the edge of the water and wonders what he can see in the water; it almost looks alive. He reaches down to look closer; maybe it's another defence he has to get past, when a hand shoots out, causing Regulus to jolt backwards in shock, swearing profusely, as he watches the hand enter back into the water where the surface of the lake goes still.
"Kreacher", Regulus exclaims in shock, "you didn't mention there were fucking inferi in the lake."
"Kreacher did not know what they were called. Kreacher disapparated as soon as he could from the depth of the lake," he replies apologetically, which causes Regulus to sigh again.
"Right, I'm not blaming you, nothing to worry about. There must be another way across then." His eyes find a rusty chain that hovers above the lake and then dips down to the left of them in an alcove of the cave and –
Now that will make things easier.
It's a little boat, it's definitely only made for one wizard, but it's easy enough to fit Kreacher in as well, and finding the rope, Regulus pulls them towards the island, towards the sinister green glow that promises something to come even if they don't know what it will be.
Kreacher keeps glancing nervously over the side of the boat where the inferi are resting dormant, but Regulus is looking straight ahead towards the basin.
"You can go if you're uncomfortable, Kreacher', Regulus reminds him, but Kreacher almost looks offended as he replies, "Kreacher will not abandon young Master Regulus unless it is to save him."
Regulus just lets out a huff of laughter and dismissively says, "don't worry, you won't be dying for me."
Kreacher doesn't reply.
The locket is inside the basin, under a glowing green liquid, the same one that Kreacher had vomited out earlier today, and when Regulus reaches his hand towards the locket, his hand won't get past the potion. It's still a liquid, but it practically becomes solid when it comes into contact with anything.
Despite knowing that it is not the time or place, Regulus can't help but file it away in his brain to research further; it's a new branch of magic that he's never come across.
No combination of vanishing charms or cleaning charms will make it disappear, and when he looks towards Kreacher, who is trembling in fright but is still loyally standing with Regulus, it suddenly clicks in his mind.
There's a reason why Kreacher drank the potion.
It's the only way.
"Kreacher will drink –"
"No", Regulus interrupts. "I will drink the potion, and you will force it down my throat, regardless of any other orders I give you, alright? If I give you any orders after I've had the potion, ignore them. Do you understand?"
"But young Master Regulus –"
"Kreacher, it's an order."
"Yes, young Master Regulus." Kreacher says defeatedly, and before he can talk himself out of it, Regulus grabs the shell lying on the ground next to the basin and begins to drink.
The potion is cold, but it burns his throat as he drinks it.
The first swallow is bearable, the second, third and fourth are uncomfortable, but he's still managing it, and the fifth is where the trembling begins.
Hallucinations begin after the ninth, and Regulus drops the shell he was drinking from, the green of the potion confusing him with the green of his first killing curse. The sound of his screams became inseparable from Sirius' on the drawing-room floor.
He can't think, can't see, can't breathe.
He feels something press against his lips, a distant, echoey "young Master Regulus must keep drinking", and he swallows dutifully.
By the fourteenth swallow, the potion is becoming diluted with his tears.
By the eighteenth, he's begging for someone, something, anything to kill him.
After the twentieth, the basin is empty, and the last sane part of himself grabs the locket from the basin, replaces it with the fake, and puts it in the mokeskin pouch around his neck before he collapses onto the floor.
"– master – go – boat," he hears from far away, but all he can focus on is water. He's so thirsty, he can't ever imagine having wanted anything more.
He crawls towards the water, grazing his hands and knees on the rocks, but he can't feel it over his desperate desire to quench his thirst.
Kreacher tries to hold him back, but Regulus is too strong.
He's three metres from the water,
Two metres,
One metre,
The second he reaches out and touches the lake, four hands reach out of the water, grabbing him by the wrists and pulling him in where he sinks helplessly into their lethal embrace.
All the inferi flock to him at once, fighting for a piece of the prize, and when Regulus opens his eyes, the water isn't clear anymore; it's red.
He's cold, freezing, it's leeching into his bones. The warmth of his blood goes out, and the coldness of the water goes in.
He got the water he wanted, though,
It's all around him, all within him, and he can't tell which way is up, how he can get out, how he can survive.
I'm not thirsty anymore, he thinks nonsensically.
He's drowning.
All he feels are hands scrabbling at him, ripping away his flesh, the coldness of the water, a warm hand wrapping around his bicep.
A warm hand?
It's not human, but it's not an inferi either. Regulus' drugged and addled mind can't make sense of who it could be until something bright flickers above him, and he's above the water's surface.
The taste of oxygen has never been so sweet.
He's not safe yet though; the inferi are still trying to bring him back underwater while Kreacher is trying to stay afloat for both himself and Regulus at the same time. Eventually, Regulus chokes out, "Kreacher, leave me. Take the locket and go."
Regulus can't save himself; he's torn between choking and drowning in the water and practically hyperventilating when his head is above the surface in his haste for oxygen, and he doesn't know why he never thought of the possibility that he could have died.
He's a Black, he's supposed to be invincible.
This is just another way that he's weak, weak, weak.
"Kreacher, go, save yourself. I order you to go", Regulus chokes out. He's becoming dizzy and lightheaded from the blood loss, feverish from the hypothermia, and he can't tell if his next move is to throw up or stop breathing.
Either way, he's done. He's not going to get out of this cave alive.
He looks upwards, but the cave roof is solid rock, and he finds himself almost disappointed; he can't even look up at the stars and see his brother one last time.
He imagines he's gone back to being six and Sirius is seven, and he's teaching him the constellations on the roof of their house.
Sirius was always easy to spot, the brightest in the sky and Regulus imagines he's here with him as he whispers "Goodbye Sirius," hoping desperately that there's a way that he'll hear it.
He knows it's all in his head, it's probably just the fever, but he swears the cold diminishes slightly as an illusion of a warm embrace from the ghost of his brother wraps around him as he takes his final breath.
"Young Master Regulus told Kreacher to ignore all of his orders after taking the potion", Kreacher says firmly while pulling Regulus above the surface again.
This jolts him violently out of his final thoughts, because, what?
"Kreacher, no, no, no", he bursts out, frantic and frightened, which is only making his hyperventilating worse. "You have to listen to me again, I take that back, you have to save yourself, that's an order Kreacher, go, go, I'm ordering you to go." He's struggling to breathe now; the effort it's taking him to speak and not pass out or die is becoming too much, and his vision is darkening, tunnelling out.
His ears are ringing, but he still hears Kreacher's last words with crystal clarity.
"Kreacher has found his loophole and does not need to follow your orders because you have taken the potion. Kreacher will save young Master Regulus," and he feels a burst of warm house elf magic that whisks him away.
Regulus is barely conscious, barely breathing, and his entire body is numb, but he still feels his chest cave open as the last thing he sees before the magic takes him away is Kreacher being dragged downwards into the lake. His limbs are trembling with fear, and his eyes are wide and frightened, but there's a small satisfied smile on his lips as he watches Regulus disappear, far, far away from the cave.
The inferi pull him under.
He never resurfaces.
Regulus wakes two days later, completely healed. There's no trace of the night in the cave having happened except for the scars on his body and the agony in his heart, and he walks away from his saviour with nothing more than a memory in a vial.
They'll never remember.
Regulus will never forget.
Regulus knew he might not have been able to go home after this, he had prepared for the very possibility, but for some reason, it had never quite occurred to him that it could actually happen. Still, here he is now, having stolen one of Voldemort's artefacts, unable to return.
He's already regretting so much about that night; not taking another wizard with him, not making better orders which would have meant Kreacher could have survived, and not having raided the family library before he left.
He's already wanted by the light, who will send him to Azkaban without trial, and now the dark will brutally murder him once they've found out what he's done.
He doesn't know who to turn to.
No one can help him, and those who might be able to would only put themselves in danger to do so.
No, it's better he's on his own.
His own side.
He picks up his research notebook, and on the front page, he writes down a list. It only has one clause so far:
The to-do list of Regulus Arcturus Black.
Before I die:
1. Kill Voldemort
He thinks it will be powerful motivation; it's simple, yet effective.
Spite is stronger than his suicidal tendencies after all, and he is nothing but determined to avenge Kreacher's horrific death.
Regulus got enough trauma from the depth of that cave, and he didn't even die.
He wanted to die, still does really. He was ready to die in the cave, even if it's not what he had expected to happen, but instead, Kreacher is dead because of him and Voldemort.
He's not the Dark Lord anymore.
Regulus is never going to bow down to him again.
He's Voldemort, he's an absolute coward, and that is what Regulus will call him until he finds out his real name.
He disguises himself and buys half of the books on warding in Flourish and Blotts and an atlas of Great Britain. Then he simply finds an isolated patch of greenery that he apparates to and sets up his tent.
Then, by reading through the books and using his pre-existing knowledge of warding, he constructs twenty-three layers of wards to hide his position, block his magical signature, and deter both muggles and wizards.
The book only recommends using 3-5 wards for high protection, but Regulus Black walks a fine line between being extra and intense paranoia.
Eventually, he's sitting in his tent, which he has glamourised on a ridiculous scale which likely surprises no one.
From the outside, the tent is only 1 metre high and wide and two metres long.
The inside is easily comparable to a palace.
The tent has six rooms: a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen with a dining table, a sitting room, a library/study room and a dungeon/torture chamber. He doesn't know when it may come in handy and doesn't want to be unprepared.
All the rooms are painted in the same shade of creamy white with a different shade of green for a feature wall in each, except for the dungeon walls, which are dark grey stone.
The bathroom has a literal emerald geode as the sink, and the library is the biggest room of course, which is larger than most people's homes. There are high floor-to-ceiling windows in the sitting room, which allow Regulus to look out, although obviously nobody can see in, and there's even a warded section of the library with a workspace and ingredients cupboard for potion making and experimenting. Naturally, the bedroom ceiling is covered in stars.
He's had a long day, and setting up wards is more tiring than he'd thought, so after ensuring that the wards are still standing and that the vial in the mokeskin pouch around his neck is protected, he sits down and writes again in his journal before going to sleep.
Regulus' journal: 4 June 1978
A lull of water gently erodes the shore and carries the sand away.
To be carried away is to flee from your problems,
But is to flee from your problems bravery or cowardice?
Some never have to decide, for there is no wave to carry them away.
There is simply a tsunami that leaves them buried in their troubles,
Suffocating from the weight of them.
And that is where I lay,
At the bottom of the ocean,
Drowning.
Regulus makes slow progress.
At school, he learnt things quickly, and what he didn't understand, he could learn from a book.
In his tent though, it's just him and the locket, and the more he stares at it, the more frustrated he becomes. This is a bad combination mixed with the grief of Kreacher who died, the grief of his brother who didn't but he lost anyways, and the crippling loneliness that surrounds him constantly.
He doesn't know why he feels lonely. He doesn't even like people.
It shouldn't be so hard, he's Regulus Black, he's better than everyone, so why can't he beat Voldemort?
He and the locket spend half their days having staring matches as Regulus tries to decipher whatever secrets it's hiding, and the locket wins every time.
Regulus casts every spell he knows at it, and nothing makes a dent. He doesn't know what it is; he knows where it came from, it's Slytherin's mark after all, but he doesn't know how that could help him.
This impasse lasts two weeks until Kreacher's voice rings in his ears from the day he appeared in the Black Library.
"-saying it's a family heirloom to protect –"
Family heirloom, family heirloom, family heirloom.
"Holy shit", Regulus whispers to himself, getting progressively louder. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy –"
A new thought abruptly cuts off his excitement, and he practically flops back down on the sofa- the Slytherin line died out centuries ago.
But of course, Voldemort would like to pretend that he's a descendant of the darkest wizard of all time, one of the founders of Hogwarts, an icon of society.
How did I never notice what a pretentious prick he is? Regulus wonders.
He's back to square one now.
No new leads.
Just another staring contest he can't win, Regulus versus the locket.
Regulus: 0
The locket: 87
Huffing out a great sigh of frustration, he throws the locket at the wall in a fit of rage, which hits one of the textbooks, making it fall on the floor. Regulus sighs again and goes to pick it up, his eyes flicking carelessly at the page the book has fallen open to.
- Genealogy of a wizard can be easily traced through magical signatures in a way that muggles are unable to replicate. Blood is the most common source of a magical signature; however, other sources include wands, familial magic, and objects enchanted by the witch or wizard whose family tree you are hoping to trace –
Enchanted objects.
Enchanted objects.
Regulus looks towards the locket lying innocently on the floor and reaches out with trembling hands.
It's covered in dark magic, Regulus has always known this, but it's not just dark magic.
It's Voldemort's dark magic.
It's Voldemort's enchanted object.
Still trembling, praying for a breakthrough, praying for even the slightest chance of a lead and hoping he doesn't need to try and find enough spite within himself to stay alive after yet another disappointment, he grabs a piece of paper, lies the locket next to it and casts the spell.
Words appear almost immediately on the parchment in emerald green ink.
First heir of the Slytherin family line:
Salazar Salvatore Slytherin
31 October 934 – 2 January 1026
Most recent generations of the family line:
Tom Riddle Senior
14 January 1905 – 12 May 1944
Merope Pleione Riddle (née Gaunt)
11 May 1907 – 31 December 1926
Tom Marvolo Riddle
31 December 1926 –
Regulus can't help it. He laughs incredulously and leaves himself breathless.
He's done it.
Well, he hasn't found the tool to kill Voldemort yet, he doesn't know how to destroy the Horcrux after all, but he's had his first breakthrough.
He's learnt that Voldemort is the heir of Slytherin, despite having a different last name, and he's got both his mother's and father's family names which he can research for clues and any other potential heirlooms, and –
No.
No fucking way.
Regulus never realised how much hypocrisy was in the world until now. How it doesn't matter what side of the war someone is on, it doesn't matter what they're fighting for, there's no honesty, integrity or self-righteousness.
Because Regulus has known almost every wizarding family tree since he was six, he knows most family trees better than the actual members of it. He knows the Slytherin name, he knows the Gaunt name, but he's never heard of the name Riddle before.
And it's not because he's ignorant or he missed his studies.
Not at all.
It's because Voldemort, the Voldemort who is getting rid of muggles and literally murdering anyone who isn't a pureblood in the name of blood purity, is a hypocrite.
He's a hypocrite.
He's a fraud.
He's a fucking half-blood.
And that moment there, on the 25 June 1978, his seventeenth birthday, Regulus loses every ounce of faith he ever had for the cause.
His plan was always to sabotage Dumbledore somehow by proving to him he could be more than the Black everyone expected him to be and to pull down every piece of the mask he hides behind, but now Voldemort is on that list too.
How will the world react when they find out there's a half-blood with a muggle name leading the world to blood purity?
There's no way in hell that Regulus is joining the light side, but for the first time, he realises that that doesn't mean his only other option is to choose to remain on the dark side.
There's something he's never really done before, never thought of doing, never even realised was an option until now.
Himself.
He can choose himself.
And so he does, officially making himself the sole member of the third side of the war.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle, you better watch your back", he mutters before looking at the locket like it can hear him.
"I'm coming for you."
Notes:
Poor Reggie :((((
Will he ever get a break? Possibly not because he's Regulus Black.
My favourite line is "he's not thirsty anymore" and I wrote that and just thought oh poor poor Reggie :(((((((
Also if you read through that thinking hmmm bit of a plot hole, she skipped over that real fast, all will be revealed later!! (Although there is a chance we're talking about different parts of the fic and I did entirely butcher the chapter lmao)