Regulus was happier than he’d seen him in what felt like forever, and whether that was because he was actually okay now or just due to the alcohol, Amycus couldn’t quite tell. His boyfriend was grinning drunkenly up at him but he couldn’t quite muster up anything more than a small smile which felt forced, and so he quickly dropped it, biting his lip.
“Hey, Reg,” he said softly, letting his gaze linger on the empty glasses on the table in front of him before meeting Regulus’ gaze again. “I’m…fine, thanks. What about you? Are you…okay?”
“I, uh….” Amycus bit his lip again and shook his head, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his best efforts. “I didn’t think alcohol was your cup of tea, so to speak. If I’d known you were willing to go out and drink, I’d’ve gotten you drunk a long time ago.”
Amycus hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s the best idea. I think maybe you’ve had enough for tonight, don’t you? Maybe we should just go home.”
Regulus frowned dramatically. Amycus didn’t seem as chipper as himself. But then the question made him snort so loud the whole bar had probably heard it. “Oh yes, don’t worry, Regulus is absolutely fine.”
“I don’t want to go home though,” he said as he was gesturing to the waitress. “I don’t want to be near you.”
He looked around, trying to understand why his glass was taking so long to arrive, not realizing that a heavy silence had settled between them. But then he looked back at his boyfriend and quickly understood that something was wrong. “What’s...?” Despite his drunken state, he quickly understood what was wrong. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that...”
Lately, it seemed like Regulus had been pulling away. Not necessarily in an I-don’t-want-this-anymore way (at least, he hoped not), but more in an I-need-space way. And that was fine. It was. It didn’t matter that Regulus hadn’t told him what was going on. It didn’t matter that most nights Amycus felt more alone – both figuratively and literally – than he had in the few months he and Regulus had been together. It didn’t matter that on the rare occasions that Regulus did come home, he slipped into bed while Amycus was asleep, and in the morning he looked more weary than Amycus had ever seen him.
And, okay, it did hurt a lot that Regulus didn’t let him do anything to help.
Tonight he was alone again, and drinking alone again in his flat probably wasn’t the best idea. Drinking alone in a bar, however, was an excellent idea. Except just as he’d entered the bar, he’d noticed a very familiar figure sitting alone at a table in the back. A very familiar figure that had made very clear his dislike of alcohol and getting drunk. A very familiar figure who was very clearly very drunk.
“Reg?” he asked softly, stopping in front of his table, just managing to stop himself from reaching out to touch his boyfriend. “Are you…are you okay?”
For the last few weeks, Regulus had not so subtly been avoiding Amycus. The reason for that was simple ; whenever they were in the same room, the younger man wanted nothing more but to blurt out everything he was about to do and apoligize.
Thankfully, it would be over very soon. He was finally done with the research, he had a clear plan, the letters to most of the people he was going to leave behind were written. So tonight he was going to relax. Or forget. Weren’t there the same thing after all? The slight buzz in his skull wasn’t so slight anymore, but it was okay since it was the point, right ?
But then a very familiar voice interrupted very unpleasant thoughts, and Regulus looked up sharply, wincing as his head seemed to disagree with him. “Amycus,” he said grinning broadly. “How are you ? Do you care to join me ? I dare say the alcohol here is very good. I haven’t seen you in so long ! Come and sit down !” He was trying to go for cheerful and sober, but wasn’t sure of how much it was working.
((a million thank yous to @bookishgryffindor for beta-ing this))
Regulus was walking down some sort of alley – but the light was dim, and the edges of his vision were blurry. A sudden scream rang out; his head whipped around in time to catch the ghost of a green light. He couldn't make out what was happening around him – only the distant screams surrounding wherever here was. The voices were pleading from everywhere, but he couldn't see who they belonged to, no matter how many times he turned around and turned again. He didn’t know where he was any more – why was it so dark? More voices had been added to the screams, they were all around him now, surrounding him. Blinding lights were reflecting off his body only to come back again. He couldn’t see, it looked like he was in an abandoned house now – something was creaking – but where was the crying coming from? It was a woman, begging. She was saying something he couldn’t hear, because he had to kill her. It was his duty, but he couldn’t see her any more – where is sh–
Regulus woke up in a jolt just after having caught sight of his victim's features. He was out of breath, drenched in cold sweat, shaking. By the ray of moonlight illuminating his face he could see that the sun was still far from rising. Closing his eyes and gripping the rumpled sheets, he tried to calm down and get his breathing to even out. In, and out. He was used to that kind of nightmare – the nights where he had them were the good nights. But for some reason, this one felt more real, like a beast was still waiting in a corner, about to jump on him. For some reason, the one he'd just woken up from hadn't been half as scary as most of his nightmares, yet he couldn't seem to snap out of it, his eyes unconsciously scanning his bedroom again and again.
Since he knew that in his state, sleeping wouldn't be possible for long hours, Regulus got up and headed for the roof, grabbing a cloak on the way. Under the stars was the only place he allowed his mind to wander wherever it pleased. Against his best wishes, lately it had meant contemplating the familiar feeling of being slowly ripped apart by his own actions more and more often. And then he thought of Kreacher – who had still not come back. But the very thought of it was excruciating, the pain immediate. What a disgusting human being he was. He didn’t feel sick when he murdered entire families of innocent Muggles, when he specifically targeted an Auror’s defenceless parents. He managed to choke it down, drown it, step on his feelings and come out of the house with blood on his hands but a free mind. Yet giving his house-elf to the Dark Lord was too much for him? Shame was adding up to the hatred and disgust he felt towards himself.
For some time now he’d been wondering when all the atrocities of the past two years would finally catch up to him: they were now. They were crashing down on him, tainting his mind as much as they’d already tainted his soul. For hours he just sat there, hurting. Slowly, months and months of suppressing everything, of ignoring the quiet pull of remorse, were tumbling down on him, in a mess of aches and memories. And so he remembered. All alone on that roof, cold and numb, he remembered every face, every name, every house he’d ever raided. Every life he’d ended, and all those that he’d ruined by the consequences of his actions. Icy tears were running down his cheeks without asking for permission.
It wasn't until the November sky started to become a fragile pink, with the shy London sun rising, that he realized what he was feeling wasn’t really about involving Kreacher in Death Eater business and maybe even signing the house-elf's death warrant. Kreacher had simply been the final straw, the one time too many, breaking down all of Regulus’ carefully constructed walls and making him realize who he had become. It was like he hadn't seen a mirror in years and now he was finally looking at himself. Really, he'd become what he'd always aspired to be. He was important. He was powerful. But only now that he had it all could he see how fucked-up this life was. How he was the abnormal one, and not the one fighting the righteous fight.
These tired and self-realizing thoughts were interrupted by an all-too familiar pop. Followed by two words and a voice he had heard a thousand times before – yet hearing them one more time seemed to make all the difference in the world. “Master Regulus.”
Here he was – standing right in front of him was his house-elf, looking tired but very much alive. Kreacher is alive. Regulus didn't even think about what he was doing; in a second, he was hugging his house-elf, arms shaking with relief. In all the years spent together, in all the secrets kept and shared, it had never happened. Yet it was now, Regulus holding on to his house-elf like a life-belt. Like he was trying to hold on to his sanity.
Now that Kreacher was back, he couldn't just erase every conclusion he'd come to in the past hours. It was a path he couldn't come back from and he had already started to head its way. Regulus wasn't only hugging Kreacher, he was holding on to his chance of changing himself. After some time he was able to contain himself enough to let go. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s quite all right, Master Regulus. Kreacher was not expecting this enthusiasm upon his return.” And suddenly Regulus’ mood was down again. He remembered what he had just sent his friend to – no matter the fact that the elf had walked away without a scratch from the looks of it, this didn’t change anything. It didn’t change the fact that the Black Master had sent his friend to die without blinking because he had been ordered to. “Is Master Regulus all right?” The young man tried to snap out of his self-indulgence – he was not the one who needed attention. He had to stop indulging in self-pity. He did not deserve any. “Of course – how are you? What happened? Do you – are you okay? Can you tell me what happened?”
For some reason, the request seemed to surprise the elf – but he nodded nonetheless. “Of course. Kreacher will tell Master Regulus everything he wants to know.” For some reason, the elf didn't seem very comfortable recalling what he'd seen. Nonetheless, Kreacher started his story. As the sun went up, Regulus’ throat became tighter. As his house-elf’s tale progressed he could feel every single aspect of his life slowly but surely shifting. He didn’t even mind the part where everything he'd ever believed was being shattered by the understanding of what his life was now worth.
Finding solace in destroying other people had only lasted as long as he was unhappy and angry at the world. Now that Regulus had found some sort of balance in his life, now that he knew what happiness felt like, he didn't need destruction. The young man was finally getting out of the darkness, breathing once more. He'd been so weak that he had felt the need to hurt the world as much as he'd been hurt by it. But only now, when he thought back on everything he'd done, on everyone he knew, did he realize that life could be something else. He thought of Alice, of Sirius, of Dora and all the people who had dared to give him a chance. All the people that still believed in his goodness – Andromeda, William, Narcissa. They were wrong to believe in him; he'd been lost for years.
But maybe he could change, to try and catch the light they seemed to see when they looked at him. What was he thinking – of course he couldn't. He didn't deserve to change, to be forgiven for anything he'd done. He didn't deserve to be good. He belonged in Azkaban, to find real darkness there, since it was what he'd been looking for when he had committed all these atrocities. Among Dementors, he would get what he deserved. But the more Regulus thought about his end, the more he ached for everything he would leave behind. But that didn't keep his resolve from getting stronger.
He simply could not keep living this life. He couldn't take the nightmares, the shaking hands, the blurry thoughts any more. He had been living a masquerade of blood and hurting and now he was the one who had to suffer for it. But Regulus was a weak man, and the prospect of going to Azkaban was terrifying. He had no idea if he was strong enough to spend the rest of his life there. And he was far too proud for suicide, so that would never be an option either. As these thoughts were invading his mind, he looked at Kreacher, who was still talking about what he had seen in the cave and what the Dark Lord – Voldemort – had asked him to do. Suddenly it hit him.
Because he was still Regulus Black, no matter if he was fighting with the Death Eaters or turning his back on them. He was still proud and selfish and scared of fear itself. He was too afraid to go to Azkaban, too proud to be publicly revealed for what he'd been, and too ashamed to stay alive. But Kreacher had just given him another option. Regulus had someone to avenge. Himself. The soul that had been forever darkened. Regulus was't in any way putting the blame of what he had done on anyone but himself. It wasn't his mother's fault for the brainwashing, it wasn't his friends' fault for pushing him towards the Dark Arts, and it certainly wasn't the Dark Lord's fault for forcing him into torture missions. He hadn't needed anyone to push him to become the monster that had always been sleeping right under his skin. Every choice had been his, and he had taken every road whole-heartedly, his lips twisted in a smile.
But now he would avenge himself with the same confidence. Somehow leaving this world just wouldn't be enough. There was technically nothing that could ever erase what he had done, all the lives he had taken. But he could try – at least give his life for a reason. Not only by weakness, but by sacrifice. Kreacher had just given him the perfect way to do just that. He would need to research exactly what his house-elf was taking about – if he was right, Horcruxes were something so dark even Regulus had never encountered them. Maybe destroying it would help whoever would one day be strong enough to put an end to the Dark Lord's reign. He knew he didn't deserve to be that person, but he could help the one who would. Because deep down, Regulus didn't believe the Death Eaters would win, no matter how much hope they managed to kill.
Of course, doing what he was about to do meant leaving people behind. That was probably the hardest part of sacrificing himself. It still wasn't enough to keep him from acting, to force him to live with who he was. But it hurt, Merlin, it hurt so much. Suddenly, Regulus realized just how much he would miss some people. He realized how stupid he'd been with some of them. He hadn't enjoyed some of his friends' company nearly enough because he'd always thought he'd had more time. He thought of Sirius too. He understood now, of course he understood. He had for a while now, but had never managed to face what it implied for him to agree with his brother's behaviour. There was Andromeda, too – and Dora. Leaving them behind hurt so much. Narcissa, Charlotte, Scarlette, William... He had never realized it, but there were so many people he cared about in this world. So many people worth being a good person for. He'd always thought himself so alone, but it wasn't true.
And then there was Amycus. Amycus who was so dark and tormented, who tortured for fun and deeply believed in the cause. Amycus who Regulus couldn't help but love anyway. The older man would be ashamed and disgusted by Regulus' choice. But he needed to know, because maybe realizing his boyfriend was nothing but a blood-traitor would help with the pain. Regulus hoped so. Regulus hoped the man would hate him enough so as to not miss him at all. Everything was so messy, and he could not take it any more.
He could not live with the person he had become. But changing this person was impossible; so instead, he would just stop living.
“Break your soul into fragments?” Emma knows nothing about that kind of thing but if he’s right it’s some dark stuff. “That sounds like dark magic. We’re not really trained to perform that kind of stuff, only heal injuries from it. But I guess…the soul is apart of you? When you die your soul dies or leaves the body or whatever you believe in. So I guess if you were able to break up parts of your soul and protect it you would somehow still live. I don’t know how you possibly do that though.”
This was getting more interesting than he had hoped. He thought the Healer would only known about the physical part of it, but it seemed like she had some brains and what she was saying made sense. “But you could theoretically still physically live some kind of life, while parts of your soul were outside ? Like, as long as you keep one of the parts linked to your body ?”
“You’re right,” she said with a small smile, “it’s easier said than done.” He was giving good advice, but Isabella had not the slightest idea of exactly how to begin dealing with things. “I’m sure you’re right,” she compromised. “Anyway,” she asked, turning to look up at him, “how have you been doing? with all of… this, I mean?” She asked gesturing around her broadly.
Regulus could see what he had said hadn’t convinced her. He didn’t know whether insisting on helping her or leaving her alone to deal with it as she wished was best. “Do you want to talk about it, to have a second opinion on what’s really important ?,” he asked anyway. “All of what ?”
Charlotte looked back up at him, unsure if she should tell him about Tristan’s involvement. It wouldn’t be lying, simply omitting the truth, but Charlotte had never really had reason to omit anything from Regulus before. At least, nothing important. “I just-… I needed to know her, Reg. I had this huge argument with my dad and then… Tristan found me and… he helped me get in.”
“I understand, you don’t have to justify yourself with me.” He frowned ; Tristan wasn’t the kind of person he liked to here his friends were associating with. “What do you mean he found you ? Are you guys friends ? Just... Be careful, okay ?”
She couldn’t help but shiver as she watched the smile twist in mangled hues across his lips; perhaps there was something truly wrong, something that he really did need help with, but couldn’t ask. Alice’s head whipped around instinctively, looking to see if anyone was watching them- watching him- to monitor their every movements. Was someone making him meet her here? Was someone watching them? Alice’s hand instinctively fluttered to her stomach; she wasn’t about to mess this up a second time, but she would go down protecting Regulus if she had to. It was in her blood- protecting him. She’d wanted to do it for as long as she could remember.
But then she froze as he began to roll up his sleeve, her fingers frozen just moments away from gripping both sides of the table, as if she- in her pregnant incapacitation- could reasonably launch across the table to aid him. She realized a moment too late which arm it was he was preparing to reveal, and before she could tell him to stop, to explain, to pretend that what lay beneath the fabric wasn’t real- but it wasn’t something she could ignore. She immediately tensed, lurching backwards in her seat, finger gripping the edges of the table as she inhaled through clenched teeth in a guttural hiss.
“Who-” she began, teeth clenched and eyes locked in a piercing dagger of a gaze on his face, “who’s making you do this? Who put that… on you? You- you’re not- you can’t be-” She inhaled shakily, fingers itching to reach for her wand, “Please tell me you’re lying to me, and that this is some sick joke that we’re going to laugh about in a few years.” Alice shook her head, feeling as if she might crumple out of her chair, “And what- what cave? What in Merlin’s name are you talking about? Where are you- where are you going? Tell me the truth!”
The first feeling that spread through Regulus’ body was gratefulness, relief. He had expected to see such disgust and hatred on the young woman’s face. BHer eyes hurt, like she wanted to burn a hole through him, but he could deal with that. He could deal with anger, rage even. He’d had to face Voldemort’s enough times to know that. He frowned ; the first thing she thought was that someone was making him do this ? Of fucking course ; he’d played it so well that they would all make him a victim before making him a murderer, no matter his name or blood or friends or house. He’d lied too goddamn well.
Even though as time went on, he had kept getting further and further from really needind to lie, needing to pretend that the mark on his forearm was not something he truly wanted. “No one is making me do anything. Voldemort did,” he said in a harsh voice, hoping Alice would understand that he did not deserve pity or sad eyes or, even less, understanding. “I am,” he said. And that was that, because was else could he say ? What did he even deserve to say ? Nothing. He had no right to explain himself, to try and justify murder. So he waited.
Saying it aloud, showing it to someone who truly had no idea was almost like talking in front of the mirror. It may have been two years already, but this was making everything so very real, and Regulus was almost having the same reaction as his friend upon discovering who he really was. This only convinced him more that he was doing exastly what he had to do. Oh how much he’d wished this was a joke; an actual thing that was so untrue and impossible they would one day laugh about it. But it wasn’t. They wouldn’t -- because he would be dead by then.
Regulus took a deep breath, putting both hands on the table. “Alright. Ever since I was a teenager, I’ve been into the Dark Arts. I was foolish, and I wanted to change the world, to matter to someone, anyone, so I started developping some kind of weird obsession with Voldemort and the purist cause. I am a pureblood, so it wasn’t that hard to push it a bit and believe it justified fighting for it. When I turned seventeen, I took the Mark, became a Death Eater. They made me feel important. Mostly I was a spy, but I did kill. I tortured people, executed targets. For months I spied Dumbledore and the teachers involved in the Order. But now I have decided that I don’t want to do it anymore. I am too weak for Azkaban, so I have found a way to never be able to hurt anyone ever again, all the while contributing to Voldemort’s destruction. I just... wanted to say goodbye.”
“Souls?” Apparently this is going to be deeper than she thought it would be. “That’s more along the lines of the spiritual than the scientific, but I guess so? It depends.” She has no idea about this kind of thing. “What about them?”
“No, it’s not spiritual. I read somewhere that sould were like, a literal thing. You could potentially break one in fragments and everything, like, it’s something, somewhere. I just wanted to ask if you knew how it was linked to the body.”
“I don’t know really, to tell the truth. There’s just… a lot of different things going on. It’s all a bit… much.” She smiled softly as her gaze strayed towards the ground. She wasn’t entirely lying.
“I know it’s easy to say, but you should try to sit down and take a breath. Not everything is a life and death situation, even when it looks like it,” he said gently.
She knew that when she showed him the photograph she was going to have to tell him how she had obtained it, but that didn’t stop the guilt from colouring her features. “I broke into my dad’s office…” Charlotte kept her eyes locked on the photo, too ashamed to look at him.
He was very surprised to hear the explanation from his friend, because it was not her style to do so. But he wasn’t disappointed, or judging her in any way, so he didn’t react. “Why did you do that ?,” he asked curiously, wanting to know why she suddenly felt the need to know about all of this.
