Chapter Text
Regulus
Chilling my bones, I’m losing my feelings
Feeling alone, can everyone hear me?
Can nobody hear me?
It feels like I’m screaming underwater
You know no one sees me sinking to the bottom
Baby, there’s no use in trying harder
It feels like I’m screaming
It feels like I’m screaming underwater
5th November 1979
To the Dark Lord,
I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that, when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.
R.A.B.
Regulus Arcturus Black had a flair for the dramatics, it seemed.
Snorting derisively to himself as he crumpled the damp note into a ball, parchment soggy against his cold palms, he couldn’t help but laugh at the thoughtlessness of his past self.
Regulus knew he was the type of person to crave praise for his achievements, the bruised ego of a youngest son encompassing his last few scraps of sanity but leaving a note for the most dangerous and inherently feared wizard in the world really was the last nail in the coffin.
Maybe he had lost his mind, after all.
The truth was, Regulus had walked into that cave with his heartbeat rattling the prison of his ribs, dread surging through his bloodstream like a poison injected into his body because he truly had believed that he was going to die.
Of course, he had set into motion a plan of action for his survival, every breath a gulp of hope and every command spoken to Kreacher firm and precise. But Regulus had always prided himself on being a man of unshakeable practicality; someone who accepted that the worst was bound to occur, no matter how many times he prayed otherwise.
Hence the suicide note. Regulus was determined to survive, simply because he didn’t want to let the Dark Lord win which was something he knew would happen if he was stupid enough to let himself be dragged underneath the expanse of slick waves that were an almost sickly green in the eerie light of the cave.
But, if he was to perish (which, though terrifying, was something he wouldn’t have minded, in retrospect), a small part of Regulus believed that it wouldn’t be completely in vain if he detailed his betrayal to Lord Voldemort.
That small part of him was now laughing mockingly because he couldn’t even imagine the repercussions if Regulus had actually left that note in the fake locket, practically painting a target on his back in his selfish need for acknowledgment of his efforts.
Honestly, it had been the creepy thought of the Dark Lord finding his cold, dead body in the cave that had enabled him to realise he wanted to survive. Because, as it turned out, Voldemort was just as dramatic as Regulus with his impenetrable security so was bound to be notified of the measures being breached.
Which meant that leaving a note with his literal fucking initials scrawled at the bottom wasn’t the best plan that Regulus had come up with in his eighteen years in the world.
And so, that was how Regulus ended up hastily snatching the note from the replacement Horcrux, shaking fingers stuffing it into his robes pocket as he dragged himself up from the floor of the cave, boneless and trembling with his throat red raw from screaming at the top of his voice.
The potion had ripped at his body, burning his very insides and Regulus had been conscious of Kreacher’s bony hands forcing the liquid into his quivering mouth as he begged for a release, for Death to envelope him in a cold embrace and put an end to his suffering.
It wasn’t like anyone was going to miss him, anyway.
Tears had blinded his vision as his worst memories had swam before his eyes. Phantoms of Sirius staring at him with hatred deep within his stormy grey irises on the day when he had reluctantly revealed the Dark Mark scarring his left forearm.
Crippling pain paralysing his form as he writhed underneath his mother’s Cruciatus curse. The blank and lifeless eyes of Caradoc Dearborn whom Regulus had been forced to kill as the man in question was pleading at his feet, bound and bruised in Malfoy Manor’s basement.
But he had somehow managed to finish the potion, throat aching and gaze wandering longingly towards the waves licking at the mouth of the cave, water crashing against the rocks ominously.
For a single, heart-stopping moment, Regulus had found himself almost entranced by the water, weak hands scraping against the stone underneath his weak form to crawl towards the only source of hydration. However, before he could even pull himself to the edge, Kreacher’s bony fingers had clasped down on his wrist and realisation had punched through Regulus as if he’d been socked in the stomach.
“Master Regulus said Kreacher must not let him drink the water,” Kreacher had insisted firmly, eyes shining with determination and Regulus had collapsed into his house elf’s arms, allowing the sobs of relief to rack through his body before he had stumbled to his feet, teetering off balance but still somewhat strong enough to dispose of the note into his pocket.
“Take me home, Kreacher,” he had rasped, cheeks damp from tears and limbs shaking uncontrollably.
It had taken days for him to recover. Upon returning to 12 Grimmauld Place, Regulus had proceeded to throw up all over the porch, thanking the heavens that Walburga was absent, staying with his dying father in a private ward of St Mungo’s.
Then it had been a slow traipse to his bedroom, where Regulus had collapsed into bed and not moved until the weekend, when the reality of his situation had woken him from his half-conscious state with a thudding heart and a pool of dread gathering in his stomach.
He’d done it. He had defied his master, the man he had been forced to serve since he was sixteen, and he currently had the heavy weight of a Horcrux in his bedside drawer.
Holy shit.
“I’ve done it,” Regulus had muttered in slight disbelief, hands pushing his unwashed curls off his face, climbing out of bed to regain some slither of humanity that he had been so close to letting slip out of his grasp.
Once he had felt relatively okay, Regulus had burnt the note with a quick flick of his wand, watching the parchment curl into black tendrils and a heap of ash on his desk with a flash of satisfaction in his grey eyes.
That brought him to now, a suitcase packed by his feet and a lump inhabiting his throat.
Because Regulus Black was many things but he wasn’t stupid.
He had felt the power of the Dark Lord’s security around that cave, had known better than to underestimate that the wizard wouldn’t have some sort of alarm to inform him when the barriers had been infiltrated.
And Regulus was aware of the danger he was in, the suspicious finger that would surely be pointed in his direction because his house elf was the only one who knew of the cave’s location and what it had previously protected. It wouldn’t take too long for Lord Voldemort to put two and two together and hunt Regulus down, ensuring a more painful death than the one he would’ve suffered in the cave.
So, Regulus was going to take a leaf out of his brother’s book and run away.
Except he was much better than Sirius because he wasn’t going to hide away in a household of another family, pretending to be one of them. France seemed like an ideal place for him to flee to, safe in his knowledge of the language to get by and possibly blend into the Muggle world.
Just to reconvene, until Regulus could work out how to destroy the literal piece of Voldemort’s soul he was just casually carrying around like a bloody souvenir.
Regulus wasn’t a Seer - he didn’t know how long this war was going to drag on for. But it wasn’t like anyone would notice if he just disappeared into thin air.
Let them think that he died, let them mourn him because it wasn’t like Regulus had actually existed since being branded. The very last part of himself that he had been clinging onto, in the wake of Sirius’ abandonment, had been lost over the Christmas holidays before his sixteenth birthday. When he had been forced to step up to his duties, the duties that were in further demand after Sirius had brought shame upon their family.
It had all been about what he was required to do. No one had bothered to ask what Regulus wanted.
Luck of the draw only draws the unlucky, after all. And Regulus had been too far gone to dream of begging with the universe to throw him a gracious dice or grant him the ace he needed to get out of the living hell he had found himself thrown into. It was time that he made his own decisions, his own choices and left everyone else behind in the dust.
He was sick of screaming underwater and sinking to the bottom, watching everyone else continue living whilst he struggled for breath. Regulus just wanted to break the surface of his restrictive life for once, to take a gasp of relief and do the right thing for a change. If that meant he had to leave everyone wondering what happened to him, then so be it.
Maybe if he disappeared, they’d all realise they should’ve cared a little more, asked after his wellbeing when the very life had drained from his eyes.
Maybe Sirius would be sorry he had left him behind, maybe Barty and Evan would regret prioritising the cause over their friendship, maybe, just maybe, someone would think about Regulus Black’s feelings for longer than a split second.
Regulus hoped so.