Chapter Text
“Sir, I exist,” said a man.
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
⸻ ✦ ⸻
At night, the world would fall still. The only reason for the hush was the creatures returning to their dwelling in water, lying in wait like snares for the poor soul who disturbed their sleep.
The Inferi had descended upon the world two decades ago. Regulus could still remember the dread that hung through the Black household when it began. Whispered warnings, mother’s sharp voice behind closed doors. He had been five, maybe six, when he first overheard Walburga speak of grotesque creatures dragging people into the rivers.
At first, he thought they were stories. The sort of horror that a mother would invent to frighten her sons into obedience. It wasn’t until he saw one himself that he understood. He had peeked through the curtains that were meant to stay closed forever. Outside, a young man dragged his feet down the asphalt, limbs twisting unnaturally. His eyes were what struck Regulus most. They were glassy and lifeless, like the dead fish he’d once seen washed up on the Norfolk shore. He remembered how its neck bent as it turned, almost catching sight of him before Walburga’s hand had snapped the curtain shut. She’d punished him for it, of course, but the punishment was a blur. What stayed was the sight of the dead pretending to live.
Now, twenty years later, the dead were not the only ones wandering the world. Regulus lifted a snare from the brush, revealing a hare caught in the metal lasso overnight. It was unsightly, the fur matted in dried blood, but it was enough to feed them another meal. He worked in silence, collecting the catch. The air was heavy with the dew of morning, the sun bleeding up the horizon, but the hare wouldn’t be enough for the four of them. He pressed on toward the other traps, hoping for something more substantial.
Nighttime was their waking hour. Daylight belonged to the Inferi. They were sluggish on land, but relentless if they caught sight of the living. Inferi shambled across the fields until dusk called them back to the river. At night, it was simple: never disturb the water unless you wanted hand after hand reaching outward to grasp and pull until you met their waterlogged fate.
He adjusted the strap of the satchel on his shoulder and moved deeper into the thicket. The rest of their snares were laid out in the clearing ahead. He was hoping for a pheasant or grouse this time. He was not inclined toward the taste of hare, especially given that was all they’d caught the past two weeks. They’d accidentally snared a hedgehog two nights ago, and James had been so distraught by it that Regulus took over his trap-checking duty entirely.
He pushed past the last of the thicket, entering the clearing. Two traps still sat untouched, but one held a larger bounty than a snare should ever capture. A deer lay exhausted in the clearing, caught by the leg with the metal holding it tightly in place. It must’ve struggled a long time, it didn’t even move at the sight of him. The ground had been churned to mud in its attempt to flee, soil carved into troughs by its hooves.
Regulus swiftly went over to assess it. A young deer, no larger than a big dog. It was hardly breathing. He pulled out his hunting knife, the deer needn’t suffer anymore. A quick slice to the neck, and it would be gone. He had positioned himself over the deer, blade ready at its neck, when a sound creaked from the brush ahead.
The deer, in a last moment of clarity, startled and twisted despite the snare. Its legs flailed wildly, one hoof knocking firmly into Regulus’s abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. He staggered back, dropping his knife from the pain, and turned toward the sound. He hoped desperately that it was another deer, scurrying in the underbrush. But then he heard it again, the drag of something moving between the brush.
It slowly emerged. Its clothes clung in tatters that once suggested a uniform. Its skin had gone grey-blue, slick and waterlogged, water seeping from every pore as if covered by a film that would never dry. Droplets fell from its hair and fingertips. An early bird, apparently.
Regulus’s body moved before his mind caught up. He reached for the knife just as the deer thrashed again, tangling him in its kicking legs. The noise and movement instantly attracted the creature, its head turning sharply, locking eyes with him. He grasped his blade, slashing upward, cutting deep into its shoulder, but it didn’t stop. The Inferius pushed forward, cold hands locking around his arm, its weight driving him downward into the mud. Its mouth opened, and the smell of the river poured out, brackish and thick with decay.
Regulus gave a sudden, desperate shove and quickly reached into his satchel. The only effective method against an Inferius was fire. The Inferius lurched toward him again, staggering through the mud as he fumbled for the matches. He struck it with the back of his knife’s hilt, forcing it away, but it was relentless.
The Inferius snapped its jaws, a gnash of blackened teeth that sent him stumbling backward. His feet skidded through the mud and leaves until something cinched tight around his ankle. In all the chaos, he’d forgotten the other traps. His foot caught in a snare, felling him instantly. And the Inferius, it followed. Regulus twisted sharply, forcing his knife upward as the thing bore down. He drove the blade into its chest and pushed with all his strength, but it didn’t matter. It only leaned closer, its mouth gaping wider.
He had the match now, striking it against the box, spark flaring in the gloom as the creature pressed closer. He felt the graze of its teeth brush against his ribs. The fire caught, but not before he felt a flash of pain where the teeth had met skin. The flame raced over the creature’s body in an instant, devouring the oily film that clung to its flesh. It screamed, a guttural hiss of boiling air, and the light from its burning reflected in Regulus’s eyes.
It dropped to the ground, and as it burned, it finally stilled. For a long time, Regulus just lay there, staring up through the tree canopy. He was so foolish. The universe wasn’t ever going to let him feel lucky. The deer wasn’t lucky, caught in the snare. Why should he be?
Twenty years and this was it. He pressed a hand to his side, and it came away slick. Fresh red mingled with the oily residue that clung to every one of them, the stench of the river thick on his skin. His stomach dropped at the sight.
No.
He refused to believe it. Maybe it hadn't broken skin? It clearly had, but maybe it was too shallow? Infection wasn't always guaranteed, so maybe he could survive? He could just pretend long enough for it to not matter? The thoughts overlapped until they stopped making sense.
He sat up, forcing his breath steady. The deer lay a few feet away, still twitching in the last remnants of life. He freed his own ankle from the snare, then pulled his knife from the mud.
“I’ll make it quick,” he murmured.
One clean motion, and that was it. He wrapped his coat tighter around his side, bandaging could wait until he was back. The sun was brightening, and he needed to make it before the Inferi claimed the land again. He gritted his teeth and grabbed the deer by its hind legs. It was heavy. It hurt. He dragged it through the mud toward the camp, and he told himself the pain was only from the hoof to the abdomen, not the bite.
⸻ ✦ ⸻
“Holy shit, Reg!” James exclaimed.
Regulus crossed the gate, dragging the deer in tow. He dropped its hind legs once he crossed inside, exhaling a breath that turned into a groan.
“Better be a good meal,” he said. “The bastard fought me the whole way.”
“Good meal or not, you should’ve been back ages ago!” Sirius snapped, voice sharp with worry and irritation. “It’s already daylight–we thought you’d gone and gotten yourself killed. I was about to drag you back myself.”
“If I hadn’t checked the extra traps,” Regulus said bluntly, brushing mud from his sleeve, “we wouldn’t have more than this measly hare. Just appreciate it.”
Sirius huffed, frustrated but none the wiser. Hunger softened the argument, or at least, distracted them from it. And reckless or not, Regulus had come back alive.
They went inside, the tension dissolving into their quiet routine. While the others began dressing the deer, Regulus muttered something about needing a bath and a change of clothes. The excuse was good enough. The bathroom was dim, the porcelain tub cracked but still usable, filled by hand when rainwater was plentiful. He shut the door and exhaled. The coat came off first, then the shirt, fabric sticking to his side, peeling away with the sting of torn skin.
The wound was ugly, bruising already around the punctures. His breath caught in his throat. It was certainly deep enough. He reached under the sink and pulled out a small bottle of alcohol they saved for scratches and cuts. Sitting in the cold tub, he poured it over his ribs, the resulting burn sharp enough to blur his vision. He bit down on his arm to keep from crying out loud. The liquid ran off his skin, catching the faint light as it slid down the drain. He saw the oily shimmer of the Inferius swirl down with it and let himself believe that maybe this was all it needed, that he was fine. He clung to the thought like a prayer.
He reached for the washcloth, and scrubbed at everything that had transpired. He told himself if he just kept moving, it would wash away what happened before it settled inside him. It didn’t really make him feel better, but what else could he do? People had told stories of survivors, he’d heard them plenty of times before. They were meant to bring hope, lessen fear. But there was never proof, no names, and he’d rather bank on the delusion that he simply wasn’t infected at all.
His hand moved faster, scouring skin already clean. Somewhere between denial and acknowledgement, he laughed. He thought of the poems he used to read as a boy, his only solace when he could still pretend the world had not gone to rot before he’d had the chance to live in it. Looking back, so many of those lines had told him exactly how this would go. His parents had been pulled under years ago, why should he be any different?
One poem surfaced in his mind, an excerpt he’d memorized as a boy but never truly understood. It sounded strange, but he liked the rhythm of it, so he remembered it:
The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die
And he laughed, bitterly. This time it made sense. He understood, because he didn’t have the strength to die. The silence lingered for only a moment, the faint echo of hysteria filling the air. Then, a knock broke through it.
“Reg?” James’s voice was muffled through the wood. “Alright in there?”
Regulus blinked, pulled back into reality with James’s voice. He had been laughing to himself, while absentmindedly scrubbing his skin raw, thinking about old poetry. Truly, what a mess. He sighed, and forced his breath steady.
“I’m fine,” he called back.
“Sounded like–” James cut himself off, hesitating. “Nevermind. Just… we’re cooking soon, wanted to let you know.” After a moment, trying to lighten the tone, “Don’t drown in there, yeah?”
Regulus huffed something not quite a laugh.
“Not planning to.”
Footsteps retreated down the hall, and Regulus leaned forward, watching the last of the water circle the drain. Not planning to, he thought. But plans didn’t mean anything anymore. He stood up from the tub, drying off and bandaging himself, moving through the motions as though it wasn’t him there at all. The mirror caught him: pale, an expression of fear settled in his brows. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly, and reset himself.
Downstairs, Sirius was arguing with Lily about how to salt the venison. Remus was half-dozing in a chair near the stove, having done most of the work in dressing the deer. Firelight warmed the kitchen.
“‘Bout time,” Sirius said, tossing a glance over his shoulder. “Thought you’d accidentally locked yourself in there, or something.”
Regulus made some noise of reply, something that sounded like amusement. He wasn’t sure what he said, but that Sirius seemed satisfied enough with it. He slipped into the rhythm easily, cutting the meat, turning the pan, nodding when spoken to. He just went through the motions. Before he knew it, he was lying in bed.
“Hey, Reg.”
James’s voice was quiet, just loud enough for Regulus to hear. They were lying in the dark, the curtains drawn to give a semblance of night. Regulus could feel his warmth through the blanket.
“Hey, you there?”
He had spoken Regulus’s name a few times before the words untangled themselves and sounded like something Regulus understood.
“Sorry,” Regulus murmured, rubbing his eyes. “Zoned out.”
“You’ve been out of it all evening,” James said, eyes meeting Regulus’s. “Did something happen out there?”
“Just tired,” he said, shaking his head. “Haven’t slept properly in a few nights. And that deer, it really did put up a fight.”
It wasn’t a lie. He’d already been exhausted, and the deer had struck him good.
“Next time it’s between the deer and daylight,” James said quietly, “We don’t need the deer. I’d rather you be careful, okay?”
Regulus didn’t answer.
“Just…” James hesitated, voice softening. “We can’t afford to lose anyone over something like that.” He looked intently. “Especially not you.”
Regulus looked away.
“You worry too much.” he said. It was too easy to lie right now.
James smiled faintly at that, and Regulus closed his eyes, willing himself to drift off. He begged that when he woke, it would all be gone. He’d keep pretending it all didn’t exist until it didn’t. That the universe was playing a cruel joke, just a nightmare, because that, at least, he could survive.
But the universe, he knew now, held no obligation for him. He existed, but the universe would scarcely know, let alone care, if he vanished.
⸻ ✦ ⸻
It’s hard to sleep when you know your time has suddenly become limited.
The room was dark, the curtains drawn, but it felt as though every nerve in his body was awake. He'd spent the past couple hours in a daze, his body rejecting any semblance of what had happened to it. All Regulus wanted and would allow himself was for normalcy to continue.
He wanted to keep checking the traps, salting the pan when they cooked, answering James’s soft questions at night, and telling Sirius to be quiet when he got too loud in the mornings. He wanted to keep being the one who did these things. But it’s hard to keep that pretense when the universe won’t even let him fucking sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt it, the phantom press of blackened teeth at his ribs, the brackish smell of the river in his nostrils. He turned on his side, away from James, pressing a trembling hand against the bandage. The warmth of the bed around him only made the wound feel colder. The chill came from within himself, seeping from the bite.
He counted his breaths–one, two, three. Told himself again, that it was nothing. But the minutes stretched like hours, and he never fell asleep. He just kept drifting in this circle of thoughts, back and forth, the despair and denial. The universe was not giving him a chance to to wake from this cruel nightmare.
After hours of miserably wishing for sleep, the sun was setting. Their day was beginning, the world outside the curtains dimmed into shadow. James stirred beside him. He turned, half-smiling, stretching, and his eyes met Regulus’s. He frowned.
“You didn’t sleep.”
Regulus looked away. His head ached, skin warm, but his bones felt chilled.
“Couldn’t,” He murmured. “Mind wouldn’t stop.”
He dragged the blanket over his face for a moment, groaning into the fabric. When he pushed it off again, James was watching him, and Regulus knew what he saw: dark circles bruised under his eyes, exhaustion etched into his face. He felt like he hadn’t slept in weeks, not hours. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, forcing himself upright. He felt the room turn black around the edges. He steadied himself against the nightstand, his ribs aching under the bandage with a pulsing throb.
“You look pale,” James said, brows furrowed. “You sure you haven’t caught something? A cold, maybe?”
There it was, thank James for giving him a lifeline. A ready excuse, nice and easy, handed to him without suspicion.
“Maybe,” Regulus said, forcing a small shrug. “I’ll be fine.”
James studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Just… take it easy tonight.”
Regulus managed a thin smile. “I’ll try.”
There was no way in hell he was going to manage that, but again, lying came easier than the truth right now. He could deal with the aches and throbbing under the bandage. What he couldn’t live with was the look he’d see in their eyes if they knew.
They gathered in the yard, a lantern sitting hanging on the wire post illuminated the group. Lily reviewed the checklist in her hand, voice steady as she went down the list: Supplies, traps, perimeter check, the usual.
“Regulus, you’re with James tonight,” she said, not looking up from the paper. “Supply run. We’re low on anything that isn’t venison.”
Lucky him.
A supply run would keep him away from the others long enough to steady himself again. James already believed the pallor and fatigue were just a cold, and that was a misunderstanding he wasn’t going to correct. So he fell into step beside James, and they disappeared into the night.
“I’d like to check out that two-story house this time,” James murmured, voice cautiously low. “Something tells me it’ll have some good stuff.”
Regulus hummed in reply, following James’s lead. They reached the outskirts of the hamlet within the hour. James raised the lantern, scanning the street ahead.
“Sheds and pantries first, the usual plan.”
Regulus nodded. “Right.”
There were too many houses to scout in one night, so they’d take the hamlet in sections. One cluster of houses at a time. If they struck gold in a pantry, they’d be done early. If not, they’d spend most of the night prying open doors and cupboards.
James had his sights on the two-story house near the square. Its fancy brickwork and shutters promised old money.
“Bet the bastards stocked good tins,” he said, before veering toward it.
Regulus turned towards the smaller home beside it. The front door didn’t budge. He made his way around the back. It was locked too. It looked like the wood had softened from years of damp, and he caught the glint of a hatchet, rusted but still sturdy enough, leaning on the siding of the house. He lifted it, feeling the jolt of his ribs as he swung. The hatchet struck the frame with a crack that ran up his arm and into his chest. Pain flared, bright and nauseating, but the door splintered on the second hit. He stumbled as it gave away, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth.
The smell inside was thick and stale, dust covering every inch of the space ahead. He steadied himself on the doorway, one hand white-knuckling the rusted hatchet. His vision swam for a moment, but he pushed through it, stepping inside. At least, he thought he did. There was the sound of the floor creaking beneath him, the weight of his boots on old wood. Then, without warning, water. Suddenly, the sensation of overwet soil as his boots sank into the muddy ground behind the house. He blinked, the air colder suddenly. The smell was no longer that of dust, but of something damp.
“Reg?”
His head jerked up, shapes coming into focus. The house was gone, he was outside. When? He turned in a slow circle, disoriented. The lantern light was gone. He must have set it down somewhere… but where? He remembered stepping inside, the door handle under his hand as he pushed the splintered wood open. He started to look for supplies, so why was he here?
“Reg!” James called again, louder this time. His voice cut through the fog.
“I’m here,” Regulus replied. His voice didn't sound like his own.
James pushed through the brush, lantern in hand. “What the hell. Love, I come out after grabbing that house’s haul and you’re nowhere to be found!”
“I must’ve… just needed air,” Regulus said, voice slow, dazed.
“Air?” James echoed, half-laughing, half-unsettled. “You scared the life out of me, Regulus. You just… walked away. Didn’t even take the lantern.”
“I’m fine.”
James didn’t look convinced.
“Right,” he said slowly, still watching Regulus. His face was tense with unease. “Except you look like bloody hell, white as a sheet. You’ve been running yourself ragged lately. Come on, let’s get you home. Whatever this is–exhaustion, bug, whatever–you need rest, yeah?”
Regulus nodded faintly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Rest.”
James sighed and stepped closer, placing his hand against Regulus’s shoulder to steer him back toward the path. “Come on then, easy does it.”
Regulus followed. It was easy enough to move when someone else decided the direction. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure he’d direct himself, not with the forest blurring at the edges.
“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” James continued, voice gentle. “You think I don’t see it? You never stop. Always the first one up, last to sit down, and now you’re as sick as a dog…”
“I just–” Regulus’s voice trailed, barely audible. “I don’t want them to see, don’t want anyone worrying.”
“You’re strong,” James said, hand tightening on his shoulder. “But you don’t need to overdo it, you’ve got nothing to prove here. You’re allowed to be sick.”
Regulus gave a small shake of his head. “I’m not.”
James slowed their pace, just slightly. “Well, you are–strong and sick–whichever you’re trying to argue that for, but that’s okay.”
Regulus didn’t reply, it wasn’t worth clarifying. He heard the line from that poem echo in his skull, faint and insistent. He wasn’t strong enough. And with every step, his legs felt heavier than the last. He focused on James’s hand gripping the lantern, the light swaying with every step. It was a comforting lilt of flickering light in the dark–like a star. Something to follow, and nothing to think. By the time they reached the fence that bordered their farmhouse, Regulus’s vision was black at the edges.
“Nearly there,” James said, in a low coaxing tone. “You can pass out, sleep for a week. Whatever you need, when we get inside.”
Regulus gave the gentlest nod, voice too quiet to carry. “Sounds nice.”
⸻ ✦ ⸻
Regulus barely remembered collapsing onto the bed. When he woke, the light had begun to peek through the curtains. It was dawn, maybe. He sat up slowly, pressing a hand to his ribs. The ache was still there beneath the bandage, but the fever was gone. Maybe he’d fought it off after all? He clung to that fragile idea yet again. He stood, noticing then that his boots had been removed, coat half undone. James, no doubt, tried to help him when he’d been half-dead with fatigue. He changed quietly into a clean set of clothes and headed downstairs.
“Look who’s finally alive,” James said lightly, but the tone still carried worry beneath it. “You scared me last night. You were burning up. And you just slept…what, sixteen hours straight?”
“Must’ve needed it.” Regulus replied simply.
“You sure that you should be up already?” James asked, brow creased. He started towards Regulus, looking him up and down. “The others know, they’re expecting you to rest. We can handle it tonight.” He reached out, brushing Regulus’s forehead out of instinct, then drew back surprised. “No fever–” He exhaled, tension in his shoulders easing. “That’s good. Great, actually. But how are you feeling? You should still rest.”
“I’m fine,” Regulus waved a dismissive hand. “Think I’d feel better moving around, actually.”
There was no fever now, but that chill in his bones hadn’t left. It didn’t make him shiver, but it settled deep inside. He wondered if it was just the shock of running too hot for too long. If he kept moving, his body should balance itself out.
James still looked unconvinced. “Lily doesn’t have anything for you today,” he said. “You can walk around, tag along if you want, but no heavy work. If you start feeling off again, straight back to bed–got it?”
“Fine,” Regulus said.
He followed him out, determined to keep his rhythm of normalcy. Lily, Sirius, and Remus were already gathered in the yard when they stepped outside. He caught Sirius’s attention immediately, his brother striding straight toward him.
“No,” Sirius said, pointing back at the door, “Back to bed.”
Regulus stopped short. “Good morning to you, too.” he deadpanned.
(Even though it was technically night, they’d taken to calling it morning, the start of their waking hours.)
“Don’t,” Sirius snapped. “James barely hauled you back here. You were burning alive.”
“I feel fine,” Regulus said evenly. “Better, actually.”
“Still pale,” Remus added with a teasing lilt. “But that’s not exactly new.”
“See?” Regulus said, a small smile tugging at his mouth at the fact banter was saving his arse right now. “Better.”
Sirius didn’t laugh. “You’re more than pale right now. You’re white as a ghost. Hell, look at yourself.”
Regulus refused to back down.
“I said I’m fine,” he repeated, voice sharpening. “I don’t need another lecture. I’m not fragile.”
“Enough,” Lily said softly, but her tone carried enough authority to cut through the air. “You really shouldn’t be out long, Reg. Just… take it slow. Let your body catch up, you clearly hit a limit this week.”
Regulus gave a shallow nod, letting the argument drop. “I’ll take it slow,” he murmured. “I just... rather not lay in bed longer.”
“Then follow Remus today,” Lily said, decisive. “He’s on the perimeter, so you can stay close to home. Alright?”
Regulus nodded, and that seemed to placate everyone for now. Sirius lingered his eyes on him a moment longer, James, too, searching for something to deny the outing, before turning away.
Despite the denial and dread about the bite, some time alone with Remus offered something close to purpose for Regulus. A reason to think forward instead of spiraling inward. Whatever chances he had were practically zero, he knew that. Just… ignorance was starting to feel worse than death itself. He just couldn’t keep pretending while his body betrayed him, wandering feverish in the night, trances he couldn’t remember, and that feeling of a chill creeping deeper into his bones. He couldn’t spend whatever time he had left choosing not to know. Not when the not-knowing was already starting to unmake him.
But Remus kept records: notes, sketches, meticulous lists of what he’d learned over the years. If anyone might have something that could help him through this, it was him. Still, the thought twisted in his chest, what could he even ask without revealing too much? Remus had commented already on his pallor, though it was framed as a joke instead of concern. But what if it hadn’t been? What if he was already suspicious? Would he notice the subtle way Regulus kept his coat drawn close, the slight favoring of his side? Would he see straight through his thin pretense of control right to the bite itself?
He followed Remus to the perimeter, where they began the slow meander to check the fences, ensuring no breaches or areas of concern. They walked in silence for a while.
“Remus,” he said finally, breaking the silence. “How much do you really know about it? The infection process, I mean.”
Remus didn’t stop working, just flicked his gaze toward him briefly. “Enough to wish I didn’t, why?”
“Just…” Regulus adjusted his stance, feigning casualness. “Been thinking too much, had a nightmare about it some time ago, stuck with me.” He lied through his teeth. “Not something I bothered to stress over,” he continued, “until my subconscious thought to plague me with it, so if you could humor me? Wondering whether the reality is as bad as my mind imagined it.”
“Right,” Remus said. “Well, I’m hardly an expert, but if you imagined something more brutal than what I’ve got in my notes, I’m thinking you need therapy.” he teased.
Regulus gave a hollow laugh. “You’re probably right.”
“Honestly, though,” Remus continued, voice sobering. “Haven’t had many instances talking with the infected before they’re gone. Oblivious, I mean.”
Great start.
“Didn’t expect anything less,” Regulus replied dryly. He swallowed, voice struggling to stay even. “So what… like sudden dementia?”
“Sort of, actually.”
“Lovely.”
Remus huffed a breath. “I think it might be mercy, in a way. Once the mind starts to go, they don’t have to watch the rest happen.” His expression shifted, and he stood still. “I remember it with my mother,” he said quietly. “The way it sapped her from herself, turned her into a shell of a woman. She’d beg me to set her alight when she was lucid… then cry for water the next minute. Burning… freezing… it was all the same in the end. And a few days later…” He exhaled, a faint shake of his head. “Stopped feeling either.”
“I… I’m sorry,” Regulus replied.
He hadn’t meant to dredge that up. He especially hated the thought that, in some twisted way, he might be becoming one of those memories himself. He glanced toward the farmhouse, searching for a steady breath.
“Maybe it’s better if I just read what you’ve got written down,” he said, voice quieter. “Your notes, could I snag them for a bit? Might be easier that way, put the nightmares in my head beside the facts, separate the two a bit.” He shrugged. “Besides, don’t tell Lily but I think she was right. Could do more rest…”
“Not exactly restful reading material,” Remus started, looking at Regulus with a careful expression. “But sure. On my desk. Second notebook from the left. Enjoy the nightmare fuel.”
Regulus nodded.
“And do get some rest,” Remus added.
“Will do,” Regulus replied quickly.
God. He hoped this brief conversation wasn’t enough for Remus to put the pieces together... it probably was. Now he needed to find out what Remus knew. Every word, every observation, because if he could understand it, he could manage it… maybe. The notebook was right where Remus had described, second from the left. It was threadbare, worn from use, filled with scribbled notes and depictions.
It dated back, starting with a first encounter: Hope, Remus’s mother. Regulus understood it, the comfort in documenting logic and evidence. Except, this evidence was not comfortable, not when it placed where he was in the timeline. He’d had the fever, his body likely was trying to fight it, but had given up on a systematic response. That was why the chill overtook him now, at least, that was what Remus theorized.
He turned the pages, feeling his throat go dry at the facts. But he wasn’t going to dare think about water. Even if just to clear his throat of tension, he knew what that would entail. In the notes, it was all water. Even a harmless glass of water to quench a human craving would worsen the infection, and eventually, that was all he’d be thinking about.
His hands shook, and he went further, looking for more. He skimmed past the pages detailing how to kill, those ones told what he already knew, that fire burned them up quickly. They also held no self-preservation if a flame stood in the way of water. They’d walk into water lit with burning oil if they had to, they craved the water so instinctively.
Fire was the only thing he could find close to a desperate solution in Remus’s journal. Problem was, fire would kill him. Unfortunately, that was something humans could not survive either. But fire is what saves him, it kills him. Water drowns him, but if burning, water would save him? Water turns him... so, fire protects him? The thoughts were scrambled but a thread of logic pervaded that Regulus desperately clung to.
He slammed the book shut, his mind buzzing with the words. He paced and opened it up again, staring at the notes. He started writing in the margins, adding desperate theories, hoping Remus wouldn’t mind after everything. The candle burned next to him, and before he knew it, it was almost burnt to the metal stand. He’d drifted, his last note half finished. He had ideas, but what good were they if he was already losing it?
“Not yet,” he said, frantic. “Not now.”
He stood up, and went to the bathroom. He needed to look at himself and get a stern grip on his mind. He quickly realized that looking in the mirror didn’t help. He was so pale now, his skin near translucent. His lips were drained of color, almost blue on the corners now. His eyes looked like they’d settled a bit, slightly gaunt, dehydrated. And he started to feel that too, but he could not–would not–start thinking about water.
And he hadn’t thought about it in all the daze since the bite. He hadn’t changed the bandage since it was first applied. He unbuttoned his coat and pulled the shirt underneath. The fabric was stiff, darkened on all sides, dried blood on all edges. His hands shook, as he slowly peeled it away. Beneath, the wound wasn’t red anymore, the flesh surrounding had turned a sickly blue-grey. The bite marks themselves looked glossed over, the same oil sheen that had been washed away the first night had returned. The veins that spidered from the center were dark and unnatural, reaching toward his ribs, stomach, and back. His vision tilted and his stomach lurched. He caught himself against the sink.
“No. No, no, no…” he whispered, before the hysteria returned. A deep laugh from inside him came strangled and ugly. “You’re fine. It’s–this is fine.”
He didn’t notice the footsteps, hadn’t processed the lapse in time. He didn’t realize the night had passed yet again. He just reached for the bottle of alcohol, desperate, as if cleaning the wound again would somehow erase it all. Suddenly, a knock broke through the silence.
“Reg, you good?” James’s voice called softly through the wood.
Regulus startled, the bottle slipping from his fingers and shattering across the floor.
“Regulus–?”
The handle rattled, then the door shook with a heavy thud. James shouldered the door until the hinges gave way. The smell of old blood and alcohol hit him, then the smell of the brackish rot. Regulus was crumpled beside the sink, hand pressed to his ribs, the bandage half-peeled away. The wound was visible in the dim light, gleaming wet and unnatural. James froze in the doorway.
“Regulus,” his voice cracked. “No–”
“You shouldn’t–” Regulus murmured. “You shouldn’t have come in.”
James took a step forward, stammering over his words. “Shouldn’t–? You–you were–are–”
The sound of feet pummeled up the stairs.
“James!” Sirius’s voice tore through the air. “What the hell was that?”
He reached the landing just as James turned, half-blocking the doorway.
“Stay back.”
It was too late, Sirius had already caught sight. Lily and Remus were behind him, faces gone pale in the low light. Regulus was slumped on the tile, wound visible to everyone before him.
“Didn’t want you to see,” Regulus repeated, hardly audible.
Sirius’s face twisted, anger flashing sharp over his face. “What the fuck–what… what is this?” He stepped closer, voice rising. “That’s a fucking bite, isn’t it? How?” His voice cracked, disbelieving. “How could you? You got bit and didn’t say anything?”
“I couldn’t.” Regulus said quietly. He pressed a hand to his face. “Because you’d all look at me like you are now.”
He didn’t remember much of what followed. Maybe that wasn’t because of the infection, his own mind shutting down and refusing to cope. There was shouting, crying, chaos... that he could remember. Sirius stormed out. Lily said something that sounded like his name, over and over, as though she could call him back to himself. James stayed beside him, at least. He didn’t say much, sat beside him and helped him to his feet when the others couldn’t. He led him back to bed like before, when it had only been recognized as a fever. He tucked the blankets up around Regulus’s chest, smoothing it in small motions, to comfort Regulus or himself, he wasn’t sure.
Outside, the light had changed, morning was coming. James eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep at his side. Regulus had feigned sleep for James's sake. They knew now… all of them. And Regulus, he had a wild and incredulous idea. One that would either kill him outright or desperately save him. Whether it was delusion or clarity, he didn’t care anymore. What did he have to lose? He slipped out from beneath the blanket, careful not to wake James, pulling on his coat and boots.
Downstairs, he gathered what he needed: flint, matches, oil, and his crossbow. He wasn’t going to make it to the water unarmed. He hesitated for a moment, stepping into the daylight felt wrong. The warmth on his skin made his chest ache. It was almost enough to pervade the bone-deep chill. No wonder the dead wanted it for themselves.
He crossed the field, through the gate and toward the marsh. Already, he could feel the unnerving awareness of where to go. If it were night, he knew it would have dragged him there without resistance. He shook his head and continued on, passing the brush and traps that resulted in his demise. A hare lay caught in one again, still struggling. He didn’t stop for it, just kept going.
Further ahead, an Inferius moved in the reeds. Its gaze slid past him like he was nothing. Then another. None of them reacted, didn’t even turn their heads. He realized, with a sick twist of awe, that they already saw him as one of their own. He laughed, the hysteria had become his factory setting, the only way his mind could process what was left. Because nothing, nothing, was more fucked up than realizing you were already half-dead.
By the time he reached the pond, the air was thick with the smell of oil and death. The surface shimmered with an oily film, remnants of past burnings mixed with the natural film the Inferi exuded.
His theory wasn’t exactly sound, just a desperate attempt to balance opposites. Fire kills him, water kills him. Fire kills Inferi, water saves him. Fire might cleanse him, water might restore him, or drown him. Either way, something would end.
He poured the oil into the shallows of the water and stepped in. The surface rippled with the shimmer of oil, his heart pounding at the sight. His nose wrinkled at the stench. The pull of the water grew stronger, dragging him forward. He struck the match and took one final breath... and dropped it.
Fire caught instantly, racing across the slick surface. The heat flared up his side, exactly where the wound lay on his skin. The pain roared white-hot. He stumbled forward, gasping, and in the panic, plunged beneath the surface. The burn raced across his body, brief and consuming, before the fire vanished from him with the cold embrace of water. For a moment, he felt a reprieve, but the Inferius hunger quickly stirred. The infection begged him to breathe, to drink the water in, but him–the human part of him–begged for air. His lungs screamed. He reached for the surface and broke through the flame, desperate for a breath. Instead, all he inhaled was fire. His throat, lungs, everything burned. It sent him reeling, the world folding in on itself as everything went black.
⸻ ✦ ⸻
“Reg!”
His name echoed in his skull, distorted and waterlogged. The sound tangled with the lapping of water, the hiss of steam. Somewhere beyond the haze, a hand gripped his shoulder. James had found him. Later, Regulus would learn how. When the others realized he was gone, Remus had found the notes, that frantic scrawl in the margins of his notebook. A map of delusion masquerading as logic, but it led them here all the same.
Now, James was half in the water himself, boots sinking into mud as water lapped his knees and fire spat smoke where it lingered. Regulus lay half-submerged, one arm slack in the water, the other clawed into the bank. His fingers were streaked with mud as though he’d dragged himself halfway out before collapsing.
“Get him out of there!” Sirius shouted, voice cracking. He had his crossbow raised, eyes darting toward the treeline for movement. “If any Inferi are close–”
“I’m trying–” James snapped, breathing heavily as he waded in further. The heat of the still burning water bit at his skin, but he continued. He crouched, gripping under Regulus’s arms, trying to lift dead weight. “Come on, Reg–”
“He… He hasn’t turned, has he?” Lily asked, voice uncertain.
“Too soon, probably,” Remus said, tense. “But he was in the water… James, be careful.”
“I don’t care,” James hissed through gritted teeth, pulling harder until Regulus's upper half cleared the water. “Help me!”
Remus stepped forward, seizing Regulus’s other arm, and together they dragged him free of the mud, collapsing onto the bank with James half under him. Lily hovered close, torn between stepping in and staying back. Sirius kept darting his eyes between his brother and the treeline. Someone needed to keep watch, even if it was agony to look away.
“Oh god, he’s not–” Lily whispered.
Regulus’s head hung forward, limp and colorless. His chest didn’t rise. He had been half-submerged for who knew how long before they’d found him. For a long unbearable moment they stared, waiting.
James shook him once. “Regulus… Love–” his voice broke. “Come on, Reg.”
He started to lay him down, and Regulus convulsed. A violent cough tore from his throat. He lurched forward, sputtering, choking as brackish water poured from his mouth and down his chin. It was an awful, gut wrenching sound. Lily gasped, James held tight, while Remus dropped to a knee beside him. Sirius faltered where he stood guard, lowering his weapon, eyes wide.
“Breathe, damn it–” James urged.
Regulus shuddered before dragging in a harsh ragged breath. It rattled in his chest, and his eyes cracked open, just barely. Glassy and disoriented, but alive. No one could speak, until Sirius broke the silence.
“Bloody hell, he was dead. He was dead.” He repeated.
James stared down at Regulus. He looked dead. He had been dead. But now, somehow, he was breathing in his lap. He took in all of him, his gaze tracing him over. The burns crawled across his neck, arms, and ribs in wide mottled patches. The wound at his side was visible, his shirt burned half away. It was no longer raw, but cauterized, the oily sheen still clung, but the flesh had sealed over tight and shiny like old scar tissue.
Regulus blinked up at him, unfocused. His lips twitched, words failing him. At that moment, James his eyes. They’d taken on a sheen in them, faint and iridescent, catching the light wrong. It wasn’t the lifeless glaze of an Inferius, but it was close enough to make James’s stomach turn. It had still claimed him… just not all of him.
“What…” James breathed, voice trembling. “What the hell did you do?”
Regulus blinked slowly, finding his voice, rough and barely audible.
“I… I don’t know.” He rasped. “I just–I didn’t want to die.”