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It was almost comical how content Regulus was to have the Horcrux but even more excited to destroy it.
He said so in the note he left for the Dark Lord.
There wasn’t much time for comedy, because as soon as the cursed locket rested in his hands, wrenching sounds of gasps filled the empty cave. No, it wasn’t gasps, it was hitches of breath fighting to pass through strained throats.
Chills took a hold of his skin, not only from the sudden sounds but also from the dark magic that was almost tactual. In someone else's eyes, it was a simple accessory. An emerald, expensive accessory which was only worth a couple of gallons. To Voldemort though, it was his soul. To Regulus, freedom, revenge and an opportunity to make things right.
Yes, maybe he still wore the glamorous clothes bought with stained money or hadn’t expressed his disapproval concerning his family’s beliefs. Yet, that didn’t mean Regulus hadn’t changed. He was aware of his old, discriminatory habits and he intended to stop them. Since he was left alone with his family, it had been harder for Regulus to find the will to act like himself.
“Master needs to leave right this instant,” Kreacher's pleadings made Regulus snap out of his thoughts. He tugged his sleeve as if to prove his point. After all, they couldn’t apparate inside the cave.
However, it was too late.
Drenching, skeletal bodies limped their way to them. Regulus tried to hex them with every spell he knew, unforgivable or not. His own soul was too ruined anyway, even at eighteen. At first, it had been four or five, now a mass of monsters clawed on top of each other, hungry to get to them. It was pathetic, how he was still scared of monsters at his age. When he was little, he was afraid of boggarts, always hiding in his house -little did they know, what scared those little boys more in the world was already there. Each time, Regulus tiptoed his way to his brother’s bed to find comfort and security.
Sirius wasn’t there, though.
Regulus wasn’t claustrophobic, after all, he had spent an awful lot of his life in a dark hole that he had called home once, but right now he was overwhelmed by the lack of freedom he was surrounded in. With every second it passed, less space and time they had.
“Master!” In another situation, Regulus would have asked him to not call him that. Now, wet with sweat as he conjured and cast and summoned, he couldn’t.
Actually, he realized he couldn't do anything. Exhaustion from months of insomnia from looking for this stupid locket, and the empty space in his heart where a reason to stay alive should fill up, made Regulus decide that he couldn’t.
“Kreacher, take it, leave. I can’t row anyway,” It was true, his limbs felt so heavy. “Please, destroy it!”
He handed his lifelong friend the possession, not wanting him to use it in case something worse happened, and used his last strength to levitate the elf to the boat.
“But, Master-!” His big eyes were full of tears as he started to sail away.
“It’s fine, when you are at home, call someone!” Regulus offered the most honest smile he could get at the moment.
“Kreacher doesn’t understand why Master is doing-”
Not in a thousand years, did Regulus think he was going to treat the only being that stuck by his side like this. He had no choice. “Because it’s an order.” He said, coldly and hard. A well too familiar tone. It shouldn’t be for a boy his age.
The elf looked hurt but didn’t argue. That was the last time Regulus Black saw someone he cared about. Leaving him with a pained expression. It seemed that everyone he loved did that.
Regulus was crying too because both of them knew there wasn’t anyone else to call. He had no one to trust or he wasn’t trusted.
Regulus Black was the walking definition of loneliness.
When the boat was out of view, Regulus stopped defending himself. It was pointless, in the end. He took a look at his wand which had made him company in Hogwarts, shooting shinning figures.
One last time, he thought. Regulus closed his eyes and concentrated
Something grabbed his ankle.
It took a lot of him, but he managed to ignore it. Wordlessly, a flash of silent lightning flew into the air. The dark cave soon brimmed with stars, two sticking out. Regulus and Sirius.
Now, both of his legs were trapped in many gripping hands, dragging him to the water.
Fighting was worthless and so demanding at the moment, so Regulus didn’t. However, desperate and inevitable thoughts begged for a way out. Because he wanted a way out. Regulus did want to live. He craved to be finally free, where his opinions were alright, where his parents weren’t, where his brother was, where he could find love, where Regulus could breathe.
It was too late now. Regulus was on the shore, waist down completely drenched. It downed to him right there, the fact that he would never experience pure endearment or happiness. Regulus panicked and cried because it was the only thing he could do.
Arms and teeth and his heavy clothes forced his way down. They were begging him to die.
Maybe Sirius would come, he told himself. The night he escaped he promised his younger brother he would come back, however cruel Regulus had been. Perhaps that moment was now. After years, Sirius could save him this second time, as the first one he wasn’t able to.
It was benign how slow it felt. From his toes up to his neck, cold hugged him, seeming to take pity on him after seeing that no one came to rescue him.
If only it knew no one will mourn me after, he thought bitterly.
It was then when he couldn’t tell apart if it were the icy water or his tears that covered his face, that Regulus Black let his dying body feel sorry for himself.
In a moment of agony, he even thought of his parents. Maybe Kreacher had asked for their help. Deep down, buried under all of this desperation, Regulus knew it was impossible as he had told the elf way back it was their secret.
What also triggered him was how quiet the cave was. It was only the movement of water and drops falling from the ceiling. No one was there screaming Regulus’ name, telling him not to worry or assuring him everything was fine.
It was morbid, the whole situation. A young man with closed eyes giving up his life as it was necessary and he had to do it because no one would miss him. Quietness and sorrow feeling the limited air.
Finally, he opened his grey eyes, which resembled his pale skin at this point due to the lack of heat.
The last thing Regulus Black saw were artificial stars made by what was left of the goodness and hope inside him. They lit his eyes. His stare that looked empty and cruel to everybody was now exposed, vulnerable to the sky. His shouts were mute when water filled his lungs.
All his life, he thought he was drowning in sadness and exigency, but always doubted how it would truly feel like.
His eighteen-year-old self would tell the younger Regulus that he was right. Physically immersing wasn’t much different from suffocating in emotions and thoughts.