Chapter Text
"I made it..?" Against the walls of an empty room echoed a quiet mumble. The owner of the voice looked around himself in apparent disbelief.
Then, his knees gave out, which resulted in an awkward descent to the floor level. His mind, still in shock, supplied it would be nice if somebody lent him a helping hand at the moment, because he was vaguely aware he was continuously losing blood while he was thinking.
The only problem was that the light faction of the war would have multiple issues with his morals and way of going about problems.
The dark faction already considered him a traitor. End of the story here. Suggestion out the window, the second he started considering it. How did Muggles phrase it again?
He was screwed.
All right, hold on a second. Back up. Pause.
Since when was Regulus Arcturus Black familiar with Muggle sayings?
The wizard in question couldn't bring himself to care, though, because his mind was all over the place at the moment, trying to gather how on Merlin’s beard he had survived. Because currently, he was sprawled across the floor of a magical safehouse he acquired the moment one particular Walburga Black screeched in joy that he would be the youngest Death Eater in the ranks.
The very same boy hoisted himself up to a slumping position against a wall. He panted a bit, squeezing his eyes in pain. Regulus then swallowed a whimper – he really couldn’t afford to acknowledge the pain. It would make the whole situation feel even more real.
Right. He has just betrayed the Dark Lord.
He has just destroyed one of HIS Horcruxes.
Kreacher has just sacrificed himself, having refused to leave his favourite master to die. That way, Regulus was able to destroy the Locket and get away semi-safely. That is, if he didn’t die from bleeding out or magical exhaustion in the next few moments. As if that wasn't enough, he would surely lose his head the moment he peeked out from the safehouse, which was tightly wrapped in the Fidelius Charm.
The safehouse in question, dubbed tenderly The Apartfall (for when the world would surely fall apart), sensed the distress and the lack of magical energy on the one who was powering the wards. Absolutely not selfishly concerned for its own well-being after the untimely death of its primal source of power and entertainment, it washed the young master with a bit of its own magic to prevent all his resources from drying up and killing him in the process.
It must have felt similar to a back pat or something, because the half-conscious figure of Regulus visibly relaxed. It might as well have been a literal pat on the back because the brunet was so spell-high he would have believed anything. Okay, nearly everything – thank you very much. He no longer considered *that abomination* his mother. Nope. Not when he was desperately trying to remember how to mend cursed wounds. He had several scattered across his body, each bleeding more profusely than the other.
Regulus smiled dizzily, the world whirling in his eyes. He looked around the room, trying to find anything helpful. The tapestry was Slytherin green, and well- the whole thing just screamed ‘Slytherin Common Room’ with mahogany furniture and snake ornaments everywhere, because it has always been the boy’s safe space. One might even suggest that anywhere without the members of the Black family would be a safe space for Regulus, and the statement would still hold some truth. Back to the topic at hand – apart from a neat stack of potions he would devour later, he failed to find anything that could help him right now.
The brunette ran a hand through his hair, chuckling bitterly. He refused to die without ever having truly lived for himself. Without hugging Sirius sorry and daring one last smile at his brother. When Sirius ran away to the Potters, their relationship strained so tight it could’ve snapped any moment. But when it came out that Regulus was a pride of the family, their resident Death Eater, that string of brotherly relationship vanished with a bang louder than what a Bombarda Maxima could offer. And Regulus could only hope that there was anything salvageable left.
He pressed a hand to his thigh and winced. Sharp pain shot through his nervous system, burning everything in its wake. Regulus shuddered and tried to steel himself by pulling at whatever scraps were left of his Occlumency shields that he could muster. Hesitating only briefly, he glanced down. At his hand and on the floor. All he could see was red. Blood-stained clothes, a whole-ass lake of blood on the floor. And that was the moment the whole reality crashed into him like a train. Black spots danced in his vision, as if taunting his helplessness.
He was alone. Bleeding out. In a house under a Fidelius of all things – meaning, literally untraceable. The only house elf he had that would not report back immediately to his parents or the Dark Lord sacrificed itself so that he could complete his mission. Well, he did. In the end. But at what stake? Fiendfire’ing the whole-ass cave and barely getting out alive?
Regulus tried to focus. In theory, he could share the password to The Apartfall by a Patronus. But whom could he trust to see him at his lowest? Genuinely help him out and not take advantage of the moment?
He suddenly backtracked. His half-lidded eyes snapped open. Wait a second. Just where was his wand? He looked around haphazardly, trying to locate it despite his increasingly blurred vision.
Nothing but a sea of red. Even the patterns on the carpet were hardly visible at this point.
He laughed bitterly, his eyes darting around. Panic settled deep in his bones. Could he even cast a Patronus wandlessly in this state?
Regulus knew he needed to do something. So he raised his hand, grunting in effort. Gave it a shaky wave, more or less imitating the wand movement.
“Expecto- p- patronum...” He slurred, his head lolling back from the effort it took. His hand shook, so he dropped it to his side. His magical core protested, but managed to squeeze out a white mist that swirled around almost joyfully.
Regulus stared at the shape almost hopefully. "Non-corporeal better than nothing." He muttered, his voice raspy.
He pondered whom he could send it to.
His best friend, Sev? But Sev was difficult to dissect, sometimes supporting the Dark Lord wholeheartedly, sometimes backing away cautiously as if regretting all his life choices. The truth that he wasn’t sure if his own best friend would put him above some political agenda stung. Well, he couldn’t really afford to lose any more.. liquids from his body, tear glands included, so he pushed his thoughts into a different direction.
Cissy? She’d always had his back. But she was courting that bastard Lucius, who most certainly had a Dark Mark already, so he wasn’t certain she would prioritise him over not crossing the Dark Lord.
A few more people flashed in his mind, but his trust issues promptly pushed each suggestion aside thanks to heavy scrutiny.
By the time he started considering Sirius, deeply hoping his stubborn brother (who he was certain hated him now) wouldn’t mind saving his life all that much, his magical core gave out. The pitiful mist that was supposed to resemble his Patronus flickered away. Regulus did not notice that yet, as a cold wave washed over him, and an overwhelming feeling of deep emptiness swirled around and settled deep in his bones. He shut his eyes, suddenly really dizzy, the world blurring at the edges. Having no more strength to support himself, he slid down the wall, leaving behind a messy trail of blood on the tapestry.
“Fuck my life.” He groaned, trying to gather his thoughts and focus on the space in front of him. He decided to send the Patronus to Sirius and just hope for the best. But when he looked around, empty space stared back at him. Regulus could've sworn he saw the shadows laugh at his misery and painfully depleted magical core.
When he tried again, the Patronus did not appear. He raised an eyebrow. He wasn't weak. On the contrary, he had pretty big magical resources, but it seemed the Dark Magic he used in the cave came to bite him back in the ass like a double-edged sword it was.
“Expecto patronum” – he muttered yet again, his voice wavering this time.
Nothing.
The cold and quiet place seemed almost taunting in its tranquillity. Regulus couldn’t believe it. Was he to die now? Really? By bleeding out? Before graduation?
A nervous chuckle escaped him. He then had to squeeze his eyes shut as sharp pain shot through his abdomen at the motion.
Without a way to close the wounds, taking the blood replenishers that were lying on the table was absolutely pointless. It would be like trying to fill a tub with a gaping hole in the bottom. The whole situation was absurdly ironic in its nature. He would’ve scoffed or taken pity at the character’s misery if he were reading a book, but, well, currently, he was the one on the verge of death. That train of thought was interrupted when Regulus suddenly got more lightheaded.
He cracked his eyes half-open and sighed. Shivering, he stared absentmindedly into the space in front of him. The world swirled around a little. He frowned. When did it get so cold? Oh, wait. A strong scent of something metallic hit his nose. Was that blood? He felt something warm and wet on his fingertips. Yeah, that was familiar. That was blood. He briefly wondered if it was his blood he could see in peripheral vision. Ah, yeah. He suddenly remembered that it indeed was his. He chuckled bitterly, half accepting his fate. There was a faint shimmer of hope deep inside that told him it’d be fine, though. He gave in to it because he really had nothing else to lose.
“Anyone.. he- help.” He rasped, his voice apparently not cooperating. Though what part of his body was? Nonetheless, the effort seemed futile, as no one would be able to hear him. Right?
Regulus mused that he would do anything for a chance to change his life. He’d taken it for granted before, and he promised that if he somehow got away with this, he would appreciate it more.
Well, for the Deity that was observing his strings of fate tangle and untangle up to this point, that seemed to seal the deal. Lady Fate raised her eyebrow, humming in thought. "Oh, so you expect a protector?" Her lips curved into a smirk. "Then a protector you shall receive." She leaned a bit forward in her gold throne and huffed a laugh, as if that very concept amused her. The Deity raised her hand, light-purple skin shimmering faintly. Once she wiggled her fingers a bit, a rainbow-coloured mist danced around for a moment and vanished promptly with a barely audible crack.