Chapter Text
Regulus Black had many regrets. So many, in fact, that at a certain point he was sure that his entire heart was made of regrets and deeds undone, of horrible words spitten that he couldn’t take back, of inaction and remorse. But he shoved them down and covered his regret with a cold facade and closed-off eyes, because Blacks did not regret, just as they did not mingle with those lower than the top echelon of society, and just as they did not allow even a centimeter of bad behavior from their children. Regret was for people who could afford such things and Regulus knew he was a Black, and therefore he shouldn't be one of those people who twiddled their thumbs and fretted over each and every decision.
But he simply was and he paid for it dearly. There were a lot of things a Black was supposed to be that he simply wasn't, no matter how hard he tried.
When Regulus heard yelling and glass smashing he only tip toed down the rickety stairs and peered from around the corner. When Walburga used the Cruciatus on Sirius, Regulus only flinched. He watched as she lifted the curse after two rounds of screaming and blood ran from Sirius’ nose, sluggish and stark red against his pale skin. That was the first time their mother had used an Unforgivable on either of them. But it wasn’t the last. Sirius had snarled at her and then, suddenly, he was gone out of the door in a flurry of cursing, dragging his trunk behind him and limping. In a blink of an eye Regulus had lost the chance, the chance to prevent his brother from being hurt, the chance to say sorry, the chance to leave Grimmauld. And Sirius never looked back. Regulus didn’t either.
He said he was glad the blood traitor was gone, glad that he, Regulus Arcturus Black, was the one who burned the muggle-lover from the tapestry. He would sneer when he saw his brother in the hallway even as his heart broke. Because it was easier than admitting that he wished he had just done something for once, protected Sirius for once. Left with him, live somewhere he wasn’t scared, somewhere he could tell someone that he was so sorry for everything he’s said and done.
Because Regulus regretted that day more than anything else. More than accepting the mark when he was sixteen. More than donning a silver mask and black robe. More than swishing his wand and letting a green jet of light hit a little Muggleborn girl because he couldn’t bear to watch her suffer anymore. Maybe if he had gone with Sirius he could have escaped the Dark Lord before becoming too entrenched, maybe they could have reconciled, they could have become brothers again.
But that was the past.
Regulus had stayed. He had burned Sirius Orion Black from the tapestry, but only after his mother used Crucio on him after he failed to raise his wand to the wallpaper. Then she had to use Imperio because Regulus didn’t have the will, the intent to erase that blasted name. He knew Sirius was his brother. They would always be brothers even if one of them ran away, even if Sirius was disowned. Even as Sirius and his beloved marauders would tease and hex Regulus and his friends, they were family through all of it. They were blood.
Regulus wondered if Sirius thought the same, wondered if his elder brother ever regretted not even asking if he wanted to escape as well. If Sirius regretted not looking back one last time before slamming the door and disappearing. When he was at his worst, when his heart felt so heavy with regrets that it hurt, Regulus would pretend that maybe Sirius had as many regrets as him, and maybe the biggest one was leaving his little brother with monsters. In the end, Regulus knew regrets were pointless. They only made the worst of his memories cycle through his head. And memories, the past, it couldn’t be changed. Magic was incredible, it could bend the laws of physics and realities of the world, but it couldn’t twist time that far. If it did then he would have figured it out by now and put it into motion.
So Regulus tried to stop thinking about the regrets that weighed down his heart. It was October 31, 1979 when he decided that he was going to walk to his death and never come back. Regrets didn’t save him as a child, as a Death Eater, as a son, as a brother. They wouldn’t save him as a dead man either.
His heart ached and broke piece by piece as he looked at Sirius’ room one last time, untouched just like the way he had left it. The posters with scantily clad muggle women and rock bands were still there as if they had just been pasted to the walls. Regulus had reinforced the irreversible sticking charm after his brother left to make sure Walburga couldn’t tear down every facet that made the room purely Sirius. The desk was still messy, stained with spilled ink and small messages written with a stolen pen. The curtains were Gryffindor burgundy red and gold, dusty and moth bitten but somehow still vibrant.
It had been as much of Sirius’ safe place as it had Regulus’. After his brother left, Regulus would often sneak into his room after being cursed by his mother. He would crawl onto the bed draped with a plush red duvet, looking around at the mess his brother had left behind in his haste to escape Grimmauld. The first few times he was even hopeful that Sirius would burst in and yell at him for snooping, or that his brother would jump out of the closet and laugh at the look on his face, proclaiming that it was all a joke and Regulus had been fooled. But that never did happen. Sirius never came back, not when Regulus cried and cried over losing his brother, not when he had been gifted to the Dark Lord, not when he was marked, not when Evan died, not when he had been taken spell damage after a raid without Evan- Barty to fight by his side, and certainly not just because Regulus wanted him to come back.
Regulus sighed and closed the door, sealing it permanently with a few swishes of his wand. He had thought about it years ago, locking it with a few simple runes so he wouldn’t be tempted to seek refuge in the abandoned room. But he couldn’t. Before Sirius went to Hogwarts he used tiptoe to his brother’s room and slip under the covers until the nightmares banished and sleep came to him. After that, when Sirius started to avoid Regulus more, because Slytherins represented everything that Sirius despised, when Regulus was starting to think that his brother had been stolen by the blood traitors and mudbloods he would only seek comfort under dire circumstances. Which meant when Bellatrix was particularly mean at family gatherings or when their mother would yell at him for some benign mistake.
That was quite a long time ago.
He didn’t spend a second in looking at his own bedroom, having already memorized every inch of it. Walls now covered in clippings of the Dark Lord’s conquests instead of photos of his friends. The wooden headboard and drywall had once been smattered with moving pictures of Regulus and Sirius, grinning toddlers with not a care in the world, or family photos of the cousins. It was always all five of them, prim and proper, with Trixie and Sirius trying not to laugh while Cissy elbowed her sister in the side to stop making a fuss. The few treasured photos were tucked in Regulus’ breast pocket, right over his heart.
There were also pictures that had been hidden away under his old mattress, ones he had always been scared of his mother finding and burning to dust. Now they sat with the images of his family, a small consolation that even in death Regulus would not be alone.
The polaroids were taken in confidence, as Barty had stolen the muggle camera from his mother and brought it to Hogwarts, and it was one of their largest shared secrets. They all vowed not to tell anyone, as Evan and Regulus knew that their parents would be livid that they even touched a muggle item, much less cherished it. Each year after they acquired the polaroid they would take a picture just after final exams ended. In all the photos they looked exhausted from revision and hours of late-night studying, but there was always that boyish glee from taking part in their rebellious secret.
Regulus felt the picture burning a hole in his jacket. It was a poorly taken one from second year, blurred and grainy because none of them understood how to work the strange contraption. Barty was smiling widely, blue eyes twinkling even in the still picture and Evan had his arm slung around Regulus, whose lips only had a slight upturn to them, which was practically grinning for his standards. He knew that Barty had the ones from third and fifth year and Evan had hidden the polaroid from fourth year in the bottom of his Hogwarts trunk.
But there were no pictures from sixth year.
At that point Regulus and Evan were marked and Barty was eager to join the Dark Lord, to prove that he wasn’t his fathers son. All of them were too busy with trying to remember the grinning faces of three young boys as the muggle camera flashed and took a photo.
After fifth year everything had changed. A silver mask and black robes had replaced his school clothes, silver and green long forgotten. Bottles of empty firewhiskey and elixirs scattered on the floor replaced butterbeer and sweets. Tomes with curses and scrolls of research replaced the fairytale books and novels that Regulus secretly loved to read.
Before that, Sirius used to come to him after getting hexed so badly he was bleeding and bruised. Regulus used to poorly apply salves and plasters to Sirius’ injuries in that room, hands shaking and tears rolling down his face but determined to take some of his brother’s pain away.
That was a long time ago.
Regulus walked down the stairs. He remembered the day Sirius had bounded down the rickety steps, so excitable about going to Hogwarts that even his parents reprimanding didn’t dent his good mood. The next year he had done the same, this time gushing about the wonders of the magical school to Regulus, who was much more nervous. He couldn’t be sorted into anything other than Slytherin, he had told the hat that.
The sentient piece of leather had been displeased, it had said Regulus was a fit for Hufflepuff, kind and loyal, or Ravenclaw, quick-witted and with a thirst for knowledge, even Gryffindor with his strange sort of bravery and sacrifice. The hat had mentioned Regulus could be a Slytherin, sly and cunning, but that the house was not for him. It would lead him down a path that Regulus would not like, one that would not fit a ‘delicate’ soul such as his own. After a few more rounds of pleading Regulus had his way and sat at the table adorned with green and silver.
He had walked up the steps to his room that Christmas break and cried in his bed, wishing that he could make his parents happy just by being who he was, not by being Regulus Arcuturus Black.
Six years later, once Father had died and Mother was unrecognizable, consumed by madness, Regulus had been thrown down those stairs. He had broken his collarbone and cracked his jaw. Kreacher had to help heal him because they didn’t treat Death Eater’s at St. Mungo’s without arresting them soon after.
He came to the last step and peered down the long hallway. Sirius and him used to race to the kitchen when they were young, young enough that Walburga was still in her right mind, only giving them a reminder not to run in the house with a slight smile to her lips. Regulus would talk to the portraits in the hallway here in the year that Sirius left Hogwarts, wanting company from the paintings if nothing else. The portraits didn’t yell at him like Walburga, they only looked at him with a little sadness in their eyes and indulged the young boy. This was the same hallway that his mother had cursed Sirius until he bled. The same hallway where Regulus had watched, wand clenched in his palm but without the strength to do anything.
That wasn’t so long ago.
And Regulus smiled a little as he closed the door, the same door that had closed behind him when he first went to Hogwarts, the same door that he had shut too loudly when he first tried to sneak out, because Sirius always did it and he never got caught, the same door that slammed when his older brother left without Goodbye, without I’m Sorry, without Come With Me, without a second glance, the same door that Regulus Black was closing for the last time because he wasn’t ever coming back to Grimmauld.
Regulus looked down to Kreacher, his last loyal friend, what with Evan dead and gone by an auror’s wand and Barty too enraptured by Bellatrix and the Dark Lord that he might even kill Regulus should he know what treason he was committing, and wondered if he may regret this too. Leaving Kreacher behind after all he had done. Regulus thought so, but he reminded himself that he needed to stop regretting.
“Kreacher, take us to the cave the Dark Lord sent you to,” he said softly.
Kreacher twisted his lips but nodded anyways, “Yes Master Regulus, Kreacher being taking us to the wretched place,”
With a pulling at his stomach they were swept away. The pair reappeared on the side of a jagged cliff, the sea roaring in their ears and the smell of salt in the air. Regulus breathed in deeply, trying to soak in the last pleasant memory he might get. It reminded him of a childish promise, one that Sirius had made before he started to drift away from Regulus, before he found his true family.
“One day we’ll get away from here Reg. No responsibilities, no parents, no rules. We can go anywhere,” he grinned, eyes bright even with the mottled bruise on his cheek.
“Anywhere? Are you sure Siri?”
Regulus was dubious, but there was that aching want to believe his older brother. It only took an assuring nod for the younger to believe him and then Sirius had smiled even wider and stuck out his pinky.
“I swear. We’ll leave everything behind, just you and me. We can go to France, to Spain. Maybe even America,”
Regulus scrunched his nose. He wasn’t thinking that big. As long as Sirius was with him he didn’t care where they went.
“Can we go to the ocean? I’ve never seen the sea before,”
And Sirius had laughed and nodded and Regulus had believed him because Sirius had never done anything wrong, he was strong and brave, he was his brother, he wouldn’t lie.
“Of course Reggie. Together,”
They linked pinkies and promised.
Regulus would find out that promises, just like brothers, were not infallible.
“Master Regulus we must be goings now, before the water rises,” Kreacher croaked and Regulus shook the memory off. It wasn’t the time. Or perhaps it may have been, for a dead man walking. His time was running out, after all.
“Apologies Kreacher. I was lost in thought,”
“Master is always stuck in his head,” the elf muttered, while Regulus smiled and followed Kreacher to the bottom of the cliff. They would have to swim. The waves were loud and crashing but Regulus didn’t falter before dropping into the sea.
The water was frigid and soaked him to the bones, but it was shallow enough that it didn’t threaten to pull him under. He dimly thought that the ocean wasn’t as pleasant as he once thought, no sun behind the clouds, only grey skies and wind that cut through his wet clothing. He wondered if the sea that Sirius and he had promised to go to may have been more inviting.
The entrance to the cave emerged and he swam until it was possible to walk to the stone flooring. Kreacher followed shortly behind, shivering until Regulus cast a quick drying and warming charm. Though even with that spell it was as if the cold permeated through his clothing and settled in his bones. He tried to ignore the faint trembling of his hands and waved his wand to relieve the blackness of their surroundings.
“Lumos,”
His light barely penetrated the darkness of the cave, he could only see a few feet in front of him, his shoes echoing as he took step after step until they were deep enough that the crumbling wall Kreacher described was in front of him, all jagged rocks and cracked stone.
“This is the one Master Regulus, the Dark Lord being using Kreacher's blood for the entrance, yes, if Master would let Kreacher do so agai-”
“No,” the word came out sharp and Regulus sighed, meeting his friend’s glassy eyes.
“No, you should not be used for this. I should not have sent you with Him in the first place,”
He knew, logically, that if he had not offered Kreacher, then he wouldn’t know about the horcruxes at all. But his heart still twisted when he thought of the house elf apparating into his room, shivering and choking. It was only later, once Kreacher had healed and been well enough to speak that Regulus had heard about the cave, the horcruxes, the protections in place so nobody could pilfer it.
A person in their right mind wouldn’t dare to rob the Dark Lord.
Regulus dimly thought that he wasn’t in his right mind at all. Perhaps he hadn’t been for a while. Funny that the Black madness would give him the courage to go against a man who held all the same values of blood purity and cruelness. The same man who had promised to lift the ancient houses above the lesser, dirty blooded wizards.
Regulus shook his head and quickly cut his palm with a slash of his wand, hissing at the pain before dragging the hand over the rock. The effect was almost instantaneous, the wall crumbling away to reveal the entrance. The lumos he had cast was hardly doing much, but he kept his wand high anyway. He could vaguely see a glowing in the distance and his jaw clenched.
Regulus knew what was waiting. He had researched for weeks for what the potion was, if it had any antidote. He had seen how the potion had effected a house elf. He knew that whatever poison it was, it was made to kill a wizard, to kill any intruder who dared to defy the Dark Lord. There was no cure. Kreacher survived because he was an elf, because the Dark Lord had underestimated the powerful magic of his friend.
Regulus knew he wasn’t as lucky.
Yet he still walked forward. As they reached the jagged piece of rock Regulus climbed over the boat and held a hand out for Kreacher. He flicked his wand so his light was floating above the island. It didn’t provide as much comfort as he wanted, what with the eerie green glow of the potion being much brighter.
He sucked in a breath and approached the crystal pillar that held his death and salvation.
“Kreacher. You must make sure I drink the entirety of this potion. If I cannot-”
Regulus swallowed the words stuck in his throat and continued, shivering hands clasped behind him to try and anchor himself.
“If I cannot consume it by my own, if I-if I lose myself, you must force me to drink it all. Retrieve the locket and replace it with the replica. As soon as you do so, you must leave me,” Regulus said the last part as firmly as he could.
“You do not tell the family what has transpired today. Do not speak of the horcrux or the cave, or any of the Dark Lord’s plans. I will not risk placing them in danger. Destroy the horcrux. That is all I ask, my friend,” Regulus wanted to say more, apologize for walking in and embracing his death, leaving Kreacher alone with his psychotic mother. Kreacher had his head lowered but did not try to argue. Regulus could tell the elf wanted to.
But the elf only bowed deeply before speaking once more.
“Does Master Regulus be wishing for the blood traitor to know of this? Master was awfully upset, Kreacher was seeing the letters and notes. Kreacher is willing to be delivering a message to the traitor brother if it would make Master Regulus not so sad,”
Regulus blinked. Ah. He had not been careful enough. Regulus had a fair amount of parchment, all of them signed to Sirius, all of them expressing how Regulus had always loved him, how he had always thought of him as a brother even after that night in 1975. He wasn't sure if he had written them for his own conscience or for Sirius, but in the end they were all thrown in the fire. Apparently not before Kreacher got a good look. He was surprised that Kreacher even asked so politely and referred to his brother with less acid than usual.. After Sirius had gone Kreacher barely spoke of him, and when he did it was full of curses and vitriol for leaving Regulus and their parents. He smiled ruefully and shook his head, eyes off in the distance.
“No, Kreacher. Sirius is still family. He’s still my brother and you cannot, can never, tell him. Especially not him. It’s better if he believes I’ve died a coward’s death. It will be easer for him to move on that way,”
Regulus forced himself to look at the potion. It was a shimmering green, almost translucent if not for how dark the color was, almost emerald in its hue. It might have seemed benign if not for the fact that it emanated a twisted, cursed magic. He wasn’t as sensitive to magic as elves were but even Regulus felt a heaviness weighing on his chest when he stepped up to the podium.
Regulus didn’t think about it for longer. If he did, he might regret walking to his death. He took one last moment to press a hand over his heart, over the photos of more carefree times when he still had friends that were breathing and family that didn’t hate him, when Regulus had thought he might live to an old age instead of willfully walking to his death at eighteen just to take down the murderer he had once followed without a doubt.
He took the chalice and filled it with the liquid, bringing it to his lips and faltering for a moment before swallowing. The first mouthful was cold, bitter, and surprisingly smooth. It was so cold that it made him cough, the coolness spreading to his lungs and stomach. It made his hands tremble but Regulus knew he needed to keep drinking it.
So he downed another, draining the goblet a second time. He could taste the acid crawling its way down his throat. It burned. He almost choked as it slid down his esophagus, the ice turned to roaring fire and lava at the same time. It felt like molten liquid was corroding his throat, his lungs, seeping into his bloodstream and setting every nerve on fire. It wasn’t worse than the Cruciatus curse but it was a close thing. Regulus knew he couldn’t stop, even as his legs threatened to buckle and his vision spotted. He staggered but filled the cup a third time, forcing himself to swallow the vile contents.
Regulus thought he would have at least been able to drain the chalice a few more times before collapsing.
He vaguely heard screaming and then he was on the rock floor. His hip was aching from the fall but it paled in comparison to the knives scratching his throat, the fire consuming his lungs and the acid piercing his stomach. He wanted to vomit, to purge the poison from his body but he couldn’t. It was important, all he knew was that it was important and he had to do this.
There was a voice far away that told him he needed to drink.
So he did.
He wanted to say it burned, that it hurt, but the words couldn’t make their way out of his raw throat. Regulus could feel the lip of the cup being pushed to his lips and tried to turn his head but he didn’t have the strength.
“C’mon Reggie, you’re not that weak are you? It’s not hard, just keep drinking it,”
Regulus could suddenly see more clearly. Sirius was crouching in front of him and rolling his eyes. It looked like they were back in Grimmauld, the hardwood floors and dusty antique carpets pressing against his face. His brother looked aloof, as he always did, waves of dark hair framing his face and grey eyes glinting in the low light. He was wearing his Hogwarts robes properly for once, buttoned correctly and Gryffindor tie standing out against the primly pressed white oxford shirt.
“Sirius?”
Regulus’ eyes were fixated on the red and gold. There was something wrong with how bright the colors were, how neat and not-disheveled Sirius looked. But Regulus didn’t have time to think about that as the cup was nudged against his mouth more insistently.
“Yeah you oaf, now you need to finish the potion. Always need dear savior Siri to help you out? Keep it down, you know mother will have a fit if you spill on her carpet,” he said, though this time the tone was less playful and his smile had an edge to it. Regulus tried to flinched away but Sirius grasped his jaw.
“Do as I say now, boy,”
Sirius morphed into his mother, expression twisted with rage and madness, forcing the acid down his throat even as he feels tears dripping down his face. The years since Orion’s death had not been kind to her, any of the sanity and composure he had after Sirius left had disappeared and it all showed in her face as she stared back at him.
“Just because your good-for-nothing brother left you as Lord does not mean you can disobey me. If you finish the potion you will redeem yourself. Your father and I will be very proud, just drink it, Regulus, that’s it, that’s my son,”
She smiles and Regulus can’t help but feel like his skin is crawling and he’s shaking. Why did she have to leave him too? When did his mother stop smiling at him when he bounded down the stairs? When did she start looking at him with disgust and using curses to make sure the spare was in line?
He only wanted to live up to Sirius. He did what they asked, he pledged his life to a mad man and forfeited his freedom for them. He branded himself for them. He stayed with murderers and torturers because he knew what would happen to his family if he hid and fled.
They didn’t care. Regulus had said to himself over and over that pleasing his family never did anything except make them despise him and his eagerness more. But Walburga had more softness to her face as Regulus choked down the liquid and she brushed away the sweat slicked curls that had fallen into his face.
Then the small comfort was replaced by trying to cough up whatever his mother had forced down his throat. But he couldn’t let any spill. Sirius said that mother would be angry at him and she had looked happy with him for once so he just needed to keep drinking even if it burned and hurt and made his eyes water and his vision blur.
“Why such a long face Artie? Cheer up! Maybe you can join me! Awfully lonely all on my own, really. Moody did a number on my face, didn’t pull any punches on a kid, did he?”
Evan.
Except it wasn’t Evan, at least not how Regulus remembered him. His skin was slashed and torn, his grey-green eyes dead and devoid of life. A cut bisected his lip and cut through his eye socket. When he grinned it tore further, blood oozing from his mouth.
They were in the woods behind Aunt Druella’s house, all traces of the rickety and ancient Grimmauld left behind. Instead there were miles and miles of birch trees that stretched as far as the eye could see. Regulus had first been there with Evan when he was a small child, playing hide and seek with the older cousins. Evan and him had gotten lost in the thick wooded forest and it took all night to find their way back to the Manor. Regulus had been scolded instead of Evan, even as the latter tried to plead that Bellatrix had tricked them into playing the game and getting lost. Madam Rosier was displeased that her nephew even tried to speak back to her. Regulus saw her eyes light up and then Evan was whisked away, but he looked satisfied that at least Regulus wasn’t being yelled at anymore. Nobody ever tried to protect him like that except Sirius.
But a few years passed and Sirius was gone. He didn’t have Siri to protect him anymore.
Regulus had visited after his brother left him. He and Evan had gotten drunk on his uncle’s expensive liquor stash and bounded through the woods, shooting off spells that were too dangerous to cast when enebriated but they didn’t care. They were fourteen and invincible, yelling and howling into the woods like they were the only people in the world. Regulus losing Sirius hadn’t hurt as much when he had his other brother by his side.
He remembered that last time too. Regulus hadn’t been there. But Evan was. At leas that’s where they found the corpse. It wasn’t a simple Avada Kedavra, it was a cutting curse that made sure Evan suffered and bled out while pleading for help. He had tried to apparate back to his home, back to the woods, the woods where he and Regulus would sneak out to hide during dreadful family gatherings, where they would share a stolen cigarette and giggle about crushes, their safe place where it didn’t matter that their families hated them, didn’t matter that the Dark Lord was their master and they were chained servants. Because they were invincible, Rosier and Black, Evan and Regulus, Ev and Reggie, Van and Artie.
Evan had died before he got any help.
He was only seventeen.
“Evan, stop, I can’t- I can’t-”
The burning was back again, making it hard to breathe, but his best friend only smiled with dull eyes and pressed the cup to his mouth.
“You can, Reg. Stop being a baby, I won’t coddle you again. I thought you learned that in sixth year? No more crawling into my bed for nighttime stories,”
The white woods had transformed into the Slytherin dorms, all green drapes and damp stone walls. Blonde curls turned straw brown, limply hanging over blue eyes.
Barty looked exasperated as he brushed the back of his hand over Regulus’ feverish cheek. He relaxed into the motion, letting himself forget the burning and the trembling that was racking his body.
But Barty needed him to drain the chalice too. Barty always needed him to do something, whether it was helping him get away with cheating on Slughorn’s exam or helping him escape from the aurors before they caught his trail and arrested both of them. All gentleness was gone as he tipped Regulus’ head back and poured the liquid into his gullet. The potion caught in his throat and Regulus tried to cough it out, but Barty covered his mouth and nose so he was forced to swallow.
“There, there. Almost forgot how whiny you always were,” he smiled, all teeth and none of the boyish charm that had drawn Regulus to him in the first place. His heart cracked and he let out a sob.
The scene changed again and again and Regulus couldn’t keep track.
Barty was smiling at him but then Narcissa held the chalice, coaxing him to swallow the potion because she wouldn’t have a weakling be her son’s Godfather, no, that wouldn’t do. Lucius nodded from the corner like he was doing the right thing and Lucius always treated him like an adult even when he was a small child and he was there when Regulus sobbed from the pain of the Mark and he looked proud so Regulus swallowed the suffering and hurt and drained the goblet.
Then Andromeda was there, all soft brown curls and encouraging smiles as she tipped the potion down his throat. Regulus hadn’t seen her since she left Hogwarts but she said that he was so grown-up now, he was so brave, brave little king and he just needed to keep the potion down.
Dark rooms and cold floors and suddenly he heard Bellatrix cackling and she flicked her wand and Regulus was trembling because it hurt so much he could barely think, he didn’t know why he was in so much pain, but maybe if he drank the potion she would stop, but Bella, always Bella now, not Trixie anymore, Bella never showed mercy so she didn’t.
And Severus was watching, he was always watching, always clinging to the edges of the room to observe. But this time he was crouching over Regulus, blank face slightly pinched in concern, the slight emotion was the most anyone could rouse from Sev. He shook his head, greasy hair swishing and beetle eyes looking disproving. He had always told Regulus not to mix potions together but he said that this one would make the hurt go away, it would make everything better, and Regulus trusted him so he swallowed.
“See Reggie, not so hard was it? Your brother wouldn’t lie to you, I told you it was easy. Now you need to come with us,”
Sirius stood at the water’s edge. His robes were wet and dripping with sea water but he looked unbothered. There was a tentative smile on his face as he extended his hand.
“You’re thirsty, aren’t you? It’ll be alright, I promise,”
“You promise Siri?”
Brothers and promises were broken things to Regulus. But Regulus wanted to trust Sirius, he had to. If he didn’t trust Sirius then he didn’t know what to do.
“Always,”
Regulus staggered to his feet, almost tripping before finding his balance. It was like a newborn foal, all stumbling and gangly limbs, but Sirius kept smiling and beckoning him forwards. Regulus’ throat was parched and his mouth felt raw and tasted like iron.
Distantly he thought there was a noise louder than the roaring in his ears, like someone was telling him to stop, to not enter the water, that something would happen if he did. But then Sirius’ voice was loud in his ears and Regulus forgot why he had faltered.
“Eyes on me Reg. You’re safe here. We always said we’d go to the ocean, yeah?”
Regulus turned to his brother, grey eyes glinting and lips turned up. Sirius didn’t have any bruises or cuts on his face. He looked happy. He looked peaceful.
“Just the two of us,”
Sirius nodded and held out his pinky. Regulus could feel the waves pulling him away, clawing at him. He smiled and locked their fingers.
“Together,”
Always.