Chapter Text
Regulus Black has always loved the water. He loved how peaceful it made him feel, how it allowed him to be weightless, to be free of the multitude of burdens that had plagued him throughout his miserable, admittedly short, life. One of his earliest memories was of going swimming with his older brother, Sirius. He was different from Sirius in that regard, for while Sirius found solace on land, surrounded by people, Regulus preferred the isolation that the ocean provided. He loved its ruthless nature, and its calm, for he felt it mirrored himself, in a way. He spared a brief moment to appreciate the irony that he was now drowning in the very thing he loved so much, before his thoughts took a more melancholy turn, as he realised that everything he had ever loved had hurt him at some point in his life, first Sirius, then James, and now the only thing he thought he was safe to love was added to that list too.
Regulus was pulled out of his thoughts as another pale white hand grasped his arm, razor-sharp nails digging into his skin painfully, dragging him deeper. Each time he managed to break free, another Inferius wrenched him back down, until he was no longer certain he actually wanted to escape, that he deserved to live, even if he were able to, which he were not. The Inferi had a strong grip on him, preventing any escape, and even if they did not, who would possibly come to his aid? He had pushed everyone who may have once cared about him away, and Kreacher was only bound to him out of duty, though he had already ordered him to leave, and did not expect him to return.
As he stared into an Inferius’ sunken, sightless eyes, he morbidly spared a moment to ponder what would become of him after his seemingly inevitable death. Would he become one of these disgusting creatures? Reduced to nothing more than an unfeeling corpse, bewitched to do the Dark Lord’s bidding, part of an army of the dead, to always be ready at his disposal. He could not be certain, yet he knew he did not want this to be all that became of him, for that was exactly what he was trying to avoid, was it not? By betraying everything he had been taught all his life, he was actively refusing to become part of an army in servitude of a monster. It was this thought that made him realise that he wanted to live. He wanted to see Sirius again, despite the distance that had grown between them ever since the sorting hat had called out that one dreadful word from atop his head, all those years ago. He wanted to have a chance to make amends with him, even though he thought his efforts would likely be futile if he ever got a chance. He wanted to repair his relationship with James, fleeting as it had been. To go back there and tell him everything he wished he had said before James had walked away from him for the last time. He wanted to replace the repulsed look that had taken shape on James’ face once Regulus told him he had taken the mark with the one of love that he had so often directed at him before then.
It was this desire that gave him the strength to break free from the Inferi’s icy grip, to push past the burning sensation in his lungs in a desperate attempt to reach the surface. All he could hear was the sound of the water rushing past him. Time seemed to slow as he swam frantically in the direction that he hoped was upwards, for he was so deep down that he could no longer tell which way was towards the surface. It was this realisation that allowed the panic to truly set in, as he realised the gravity of the situation he was in, and the subsequent unlikeliness of his survival. He could feel his body beginning to give out as a chilling, bone-deep exhaustion began to set in. The water was cold enough to burn. In his panic, the water entered Regulus’ unwilling lungs. He felt it clawing at him from the inside, and he coughed, trying to fight it, but it was no use. The water was no longer his friend, no longer a source of comfort, but an unrelenting force that would be his downfall.
Eventually he could no longer outrun the hoard of Inferi infesting the lake, although he had long realised that attempting to do so was futile by that point. As everywhere he looked became filled with the blank, frosted eyes of countless numbers of dead men, women and children, and more and more bony, clawed hand tore at his skin, dragging him down and filling his lungs with water, Regulus thought that this was worse than any nightmare he had ever had. He had heard people tell grieving family members that drowning was a peaceful way to go, and he had believed them, up until now. Perhaps they are right, he thought, perhaps after a certain point drowning is peaceful, but until then, he thought it was one of the worst things he had ever experienced.
As the edges of his vision darkened, and the sharp, knife-like pain in his chest worsened, Regulus found himself hoping for the end. And perhaps that was selfish, but Regulus had always found that he was a selfish person, he was a Slytherin after all, the complete opposite of his “perfect” Gryffindor brother. As Regulus sank ever deeper, he found he did not experience the sense of euphoria that he had so often heard of before death, but rather one of self-loathing. In his mind’s desperate attempt to save itself, he found himself remembering long forgotten memories of his childhood, which only served to remind him of all the ways that he had failed in life, all of the dreams that he had once had, but never accomplished.
Regulus Black loved the water. He never expected it to be his downfall. In a last, pitiful attempt to cling at life, like the pathetic little thing he was, a name clawed its way out of his throat, in a last ditch effort to be saved. Even though he knew, logically, that no one could hear him beneath the surface, his muffled, water-logged screams took the shape of a name he had not dared to utter aloud in years. In his panic, in his weakest moment, it is Sirius he instinctively calls out for, but Sirius does not show. He thinks, mournfully, that deep down, he didn’t expect him to, didn’t expect anyone to, not really. There would be no voices to call his name, no warm hands to pull him up, only cold ones to drag him down. Regulus Black loved the water like the stars loved the sky, but he loved Sirius more, and so he drowned content, in the hope that Sirius would swim where he could not.
As he felt the little air he had leave him for a final time, he knew he would rather die here, in the water he had once called home, than anywhere else. Even as he was drowning, being carved and torn apart in the most painful way imaginable, Regulus Black’s final thought was that he felt safer here than he’d ever felt at number 12, Grimmauld Place.