Chapter Text
Regulus Arcturus Black was not a brave man.
That was the real difference between him and his brother. Obviously, there are many superficial differences - muscular vs. slender, leather jacket vs. waistcoat, stubble vs. clean-shaven, etc.
But character is where it counted. And while only one of them could ever maintain a straight posture, it was the other that had a spine.
Regulus had spent many night fantasising about a world where his brother was just a bit more like him. A little more cautious, considerate of what was expected of him, how his actions impacted others. Proudly donning a smooth green, rather than a bold red.
But Regulus had never pondered much about what it would be like if he were a little bit more like his brother. The idea was preposterous. He knew that he wasn't brave, incapable of living in the moment and still managing to survive to the next.
And yet, late in the evening of July 31st, 1979, Regulus was not asleep in his bed, resting in preparation for the birthday celebrations he'd been so carefully planning. Instead, he was in a cave, acting far more rashly than his brother had ever dared.
It had all begun two weeks earlier, when he received what his family viewed to be "the highest honour". Regulus was home alone, scouring the library shelves for a title that he found unfamiliar, when the Dark Lord arrived. Although he was quick to rid the shock from his features, Regulus knew the pleased smirk the other man wore was due to the fear he still radiated.
Speaking in a smooth, deliberate way that made Regulus' skin crawl, he explained that he had a favour to ask. Anticipating the usual request of a donation from House Black (although a stray thought did entertain the idea of Lord Voldemort seeking a birthday invitation), he was surprised to learn that he was actually seeking to borrow Kreacher.
Not one to question the Dark Lord (his tongue was often noted as his greatest asset, and losing it would be absolutely detrimental to Regulus' social life), Regulus quickly summoned the house elf, instructing him to do whatever the Dark Lord asked him, and to return immediately after.
The crack of apparition resounded throughout the room, and Regulus took a moment to even his heart rate.
He continued with his perusal of the library, but as always, the search proved fruitless. Eventually, he relented to browse a much more forbidden selection, and left the room to head upstairs. Although he would usually never even dare walk near Sirius' bedroom, his mother, in her grief over her husband's death, was spending the summer in France, leaving him completely free to do as he pleased.
The decor of his brother's room was atrocious - pictures of muggle girls and motorcycles permanently plastered to the walls, with just about every surface coated in some shade of red or gold. But, still kept hidden under the bed in a leather suitcase, were his collection of muggle books.
He always felt somewhat guilty whenever he selected one, feeling as though he was betraying both his brother in his theft and everyone else he cared about due to what we was stealing. It was why he kept going back to the Black library, constantly hoping to finally find a magical book to maintain his interest instead. But, seeing as this was his fourth visit to the room in the past week, he may as well completely give up the notion.
After a few minutes, Regulus, armed with a copy of Slaughterhouse-Five, retreated to his own bedroom. Despite it being far less personalised than Sirius', comfort always radiates from a place that is strictly yours. Settling into the plush emerald sitting chair by the window, he sipped at the tea Kreacher had set out before he left, as he read and waited for the house elf's return.
Two hours passed, and found Regulus returning the novel, concern rising by the moment. He had already decided that he was pleased about Voldemort making the request of him, unable to determine a reason not to be - until Kreacher arrived home.
Regulus had just sat down to write a letter to his mother when he heard the familiar crack of apparition behind him. Unaware of the house elf's state, Regulus was gentle as he sat down his quill and stood from his seat. But that composure was soon lost as he registered the sight before him.
Kreacher appeared as though the life had been completely sucked out of him. He lasted only a few seconds more on his feet before he collapsed to the floor, head narrowly avoiding cracking against the bedpost.
Regulus rushed to his side, knocking his desk chair to the ground. Kreacher was breathing rapidly, though every breath he drew seemed to pain him. Regulus quickly gathered the small figure into his arms and brought him to the bed.
Grabbing his own water glass from the desk, he casted a wordless aguamenti before bringing it to Kreacher's lips for him to drink. Regulus repeated the process six more times before Kreacher had had enough.
After Kreacher feel asleep, Regulus summoned another house elf to bring him to one of the empty bedrooms to recover. Collecting himself, Regulus resumed the letter he was writing to his mother, expressing his concerns for his friend.
Two days later, she sent him a howler, accusing him of questioning the Dark Lord. Regulus found the idea of doing so terrifying, but the accusation not particularly insulting.
It was shortly after the arrival of his mother's letter that Kreacher awoke. He still appeared severely ill, and required frequent breaks in his speech to drink water, but he was lucid. With a silencing charm cast over the room, Kreacher spoke words that froze the blood in his master's body.
Because the Black family library was perhaps the greatest collection of dark magic literature in the world, and Regulus had read just about every word. So, when he hears a story with a horcrux, he knows he is hearing about a horcrux - hence the bile building in his throat.
Past comments made by the Dark Lord suddenly flooded Regulus' mind. Boasting of his invincibility, promising a never-ending reign. Dumbledore, he said, was nothing but a man, and he was Lord Voldemort.
Kreacher remained quiet as Regulus processed this information, watching as the idea of an immortal Voldemort sunk in. He feared his master being enraged with him for saying anything that felt even remotely critical of the Dark Lord, but with a moment dedicated to practising his breathing exercises, Regulus thanked him profusely for telling him what happened, and told him he'd be back to check on him later.
For the remaining nine days of his life, Regulus practised his breathing exercises dozens of times per day. Had Healer Foley not died the year prior, he would have been the recipient of a truly phenomenal thank-you card. However, seeing as he had, Regulus' writing abilities had to be instead directed towards keeping up appearances with others as he began to actively work against the Dark Lord.
If it were not for Kreacher, Regulus most likely would have died of starvation long before the Inferi's cruel grasp made its way to his dehydrated throat. He spent his time cooped up in the library, ripping every relevant book he could think of off of the shelves, desperate to be completely confirmed in his suspicions. He only ever stopped to write letters to his mother, his friends, and the Selwyn girl he was set to marry at the end of the summer.
His mind was rattled, body shaking constantly. Regulus believed wholeheartedly in what he was doing, and that terrified him. He had always had his own beliefs, of course, but this was the first time he ever acted upon them. Regardless of the days of research he was enduring, this was still the most impulsive thing he had ever done.
It occurred to him, at one point, to write to his brother. To divulge the Dark Lord's plan for immortality, to ask for his help. The idea of being reunited with Sirius enchanted him greatly, but the thought was soon soured by the memory of his brother wandlessly performing incendio to letters from their parents, which he had explicitly learned to do just so. Regulus' face heated, feeling silly for even entertaining the fantasy he had long ago given up.
It was on the 30th, that Regulus felt confident enough to begin creating the fake locket. He had found an image of the locket in a biography on Salazar Slytherin, and began to transfigure a random necklace he had found in the attic.
The 31st of July is what found him making his final goodbyes to the world, though none but Kreacher were aware of that. Regulus, based on what Kreacher had told him, knew that he was not going to make it out of the cave alive. And maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or perhaps an ingrained apathy towards himself as an individual, but Regulus found he was quite alright with that.
For the first time in days, Regulus left 12 Grimmauld Place and made his way outside. He walked up the familiar street, gaze falling over the various homes and families. Though they never saw him, his bedroom window offered a perfect view of their lives - which had been a great comfort to him over the years.
He passed a group of children, playing games and eating cake. The birthday girl - Natalie - was running around, laughing, as her older brother chased after her. She'd been born shortly after Sirius' departure, causing Regulus to nearly start crying when her older brother eagerly ran up to him one day to talk about his new baby sister.
He continued on his walk, letting the memories wash over him in calm waves. Just about everything reminded him of Sirius, but for once his heart didn't feel like it was being strangled. He just felt warmth, the knowledge that for once he was doing something that would make his brother proud.
Regulus eventually arrived at a park. Lacking any amenities that might attract visitors, Regulus was completely alone. No playground equipment, benches, not even a clear trail to walk upon - just, as Sirius had once stated, "a fuck ton of trees".
He drifted through the long, unkempt grass (the park without even a caretaker), and made his way to a small clearing. He shed his cloak and laid it upon the ground before sitting on it. Regulus lent back for a moment, enjoying the sunshine, before pulling out his brother's worn, dog-eared copy of Romeo and Juliet from his bag, and began to read.
As he made his way through each scene, memories of Sirius' one-man performance of the play a near-decade prior fluttered through his mind. As he read, Regulus sipped his tea and ate from the box of biscuits the house-elves had prepared for him, feeling utterly content with life for perhaps the first time ever.
It was just past seven when he arrived home that evening. The house-elves prepared what could be best described as a feast for his final meal - whether it was to help him enjoy his final hours or to entice him to live another day with all he'll be missing, was unclear.
They then prepared him a bath, with various potions mixed in to soothe him. Candles lit the room and the pleasant aroma of his amortentia enveloped his senses. He began to scrub himself clean, ridding his body of the invisible dirt and grime that had coated him throughout his entire life.
When he looked at his reflection in the mirror, Regulus was struck by the sudden resemblance he bore to his brother. He could never pinpoint it before, how features so similar appeared so different. But now under his own piercing gaze, he saw it. Confidence, and an unwavering self-assurance in himself and in the actions he was about to embark.
Dressed in his favourite robes, Regulus summoned Kreacher to his room. He allowed him to release a few more protestations, before commanding him to take him to the cave.
The ease he had felt throughout the entire day had yet to waver. Even as he entered the cave, and registered the cruel sight he knew would be the last he'd ever view, he never once faltered. The confidence he had always faked now felt genuine, and the sensation was elating.
Despite this, there was still an odd numbness to his being. His heart was fighting to pound right out of his chest, and his hands were shaking violently - but neither really bothered him at all. His current state was a jumble of contradictions, but he couldn't spend even a moment to care.
As he rode the boat to the centre island, he watched the hands of his pocket watch tick towards midnight. His friends were set to arrive at Grimmauld at eight the next morning - the idea of having something to celebrate for once too enticing not to go all out for. How will they react to his death? Will they ever learn the reason? Would they still care for him afterwards?
He tucked the watch away as he stepped out of the boat, three minutes remaining until his birthday. Regulus, with a justifiably distraught Kreacher at his side, made his way to the basin. The Drink of Despair, if he was correct in his research. He stared at the liquid for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in just a little bit more. Regardless, he drew the fake locket from his robes, and, after confirming Kreacher remembered his task, began to drink the vile potion.
Before that moment, Regulus would have been confident in stating that the most physically painful thing he would ever have to endure is his mother's cruciatus. But as the potion made its way into his body, a rampant, wild fire burning through him, drying up ever ounce of liquid within, he was proven very wrong.
Downing the last drop, Regulus was barely aware of Kreacher switching the horcrux with the dupe. It was if he was under the influence of the Imperius curse, the goal of water being the only thing on his mind.
A small part of his brain was screaming, crying at him to get away, to stop his crawl towards the lake. But he was desperate, in more pain than could ever be described.
He reached the shore at 11:59:50. The first Inferi grabbed hold of him barely a second later. Soon, dozens of hands were clawing at his small frame, piercing through the skin and tearing. His tortured screams shattered his own eardrums, continuing even as he was pulled under the water.
For once in his life, Regulus Arcturus Black was not a coward, and unable to live long enough to regret it.
Or at least, he shouldn't have.
But then, at the exact stroke of midnight, he woke up.