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Regulus' mind was filled with a melody. The one Sirius used to sing to him when he was punished by their parents. It hadn’t been like that since he was 10, sleeping in Sirius’ bed, hex wounds no longer burning, a small, content smile on his face.
Back then, he and Sirius would plan their futures together. They decided they would run away and go on marvelous adventures together; money wouldn’t be a problem, because when had it ever been?
They were so naive, so small, so precious. Fragile like a glass vase. Walburga and Orion had broken them long before they realised they were supposed to be a whole object, not a bunch of broken pieces scattered on blood-stained tiles.
Sirius realised first, because of course he did. No matter how hard he tried to convince Regulus of their parents' non-existent sympathy, Regulus would not listen. Regulus had always been the favourite, after all, considering Sirius’ constant rebellion and overall personality.
After Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, he started ignoring his family, even Regulus when he was in a particularly shitty mood. And, as time passed, Sirius was no longer a comfort he could seek out when in need, instead a place of shame.
No matter how much it embarrassed him to admit, Regulus started trusting his family's judgement more than before. So much more that he chose to get that fucking mark branded to his arm forever.
He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been carved into his bone as well, judging by the pain. Then, even when he inhaled his last breath, the whole world could know just how evil he was, supporting that monster.
But, the fact was, he didn’t support him. At least not anymore. That was why, when Kreature apparated into Regulus’ room, nearly unconscious, he had jumped at the opportunity to do something for once instead of constantly playing his part in a cold, calculated game filled with no winners, only cheaters.
So, here he was, humming his little French tune, trying to give himself any source of comfort he had left. The cave was undoubtedly eerie and Regulus started second guessing if this was truly going to be his choice of a grave. Darkness seemed to lurk in shadows, and shadows seemed to lurk in darkness.
It was ironic really, that the place of his birth and death both seemed to feel like one of the storybooks Sirius had read to him when their parents couldn’t hear. Fuck, Sirius. He had never been given the blessing of a goodbye, even a chance to apologise for all the shit he had pulled through the years.
Regulus couldn’t even remember their last encounter let alone every single detail on his brother's face. He needed that. He needed to picture his brother as Regulus left, stringing the most comforting words together, making heartbreakingly perfect sentences, keeping him going till his last thought. Regulus hadn’t realised a tear ran down his cheek until a second and third followed.
He thought of all of his friends. When had he met up with them? Last he talked to Evan and Barty, he had told them to go fuck themselves and promptly left, robes billowing out beneath him.
At least he had told Pandora he was sorry. Regulus had cried that day, Dora swallowing him up with the fabric of her rather large dress. She made it herself in 6th year. She had hoped she would grow taller, but seeing as how she had been the same height since 4th year, Regulus knew there was no hope she would have. Regulus smiled at the memory, using that bit of positive emotion to fuel his movements as he faced it.
The potion that would finalise his fate looked rather unappetising. That could have just been the nerves, at this point it was getting hard to tell.
“Au clair de la Lune
Mon ami Pierrot”
Regulus’ voice was husky and quiet from days of disuse, but singing the lullaby was soothing. It made the reality of his situation less dire. He would be fine.
“Prête-moi ta plume
Pour écrire un mot
Ma chandelle est morte
Je n'ai plus de feu
Ouvre-moi ta porte
Pour l'amour de Dieu”
Images of Sirius through the years passed through his head. He smiled in all of them. He would have been proud of his little Reggie. Regulus hadn’t failed him after all.
The thought made more tears slip through, no matter how unwillingly. If only Sirius could see him now, about to make the greatest or the most moronic decision in his entire seventeen years of life.
“Au clair de la Lune
Pierrot répondit
Je n'ai pas de plume
Je suis dans mon lit”
He reached out and tentatively grabbed the intricately shaped glass bottle, praying to Merlin he wouldn’t drop it in his increasingly shaky hands.
"Va chez la voisine
Je crois qu'elle y est
Car dans sa cuisine
On bat le briquet"
Regulus took the topper off, resulting in a satisfying pop. It echoed through the cave, the stone enveloping him in a cacophony of pops. It was comforting. Regulus slowly brought the bottle to his lips.
The glass was cold from the low temperature in the cave. Regulus let out a shiver. The potion was vile. Once the first drop hit his tongue, Regulus felt an overwhelming wave of anxiety and pain drown him.
He had to finish it. With the last of his strength, he tipped the continents of the bottle into his mouth and swallowed. Breathing was hard to do now, his inhales becoming increasingly shorter and faster. Regulus staggered to the edge of the lake. He dove in.
"Au clair de la Lune
On n'y voit qu'un peu
On cherche la plume
On cherche le feu"
Hands reached to drag him downwards towards the sandy bottom. Regulus didn’t fight. Flashes of light illuminated portions of the souls trapped beneath the water. Their faces were haunted, clearly no longer in their right mind. Their skin was soft; so, so soft. Regulus let them pull him to his certain death. Sirius would be proud…
"En cherchant d'la sorte
Je n'sais c'qu'on trouvera
Mais je sais qu'la porte
Sur eux se ferma"