Chapter Text
The Thing That Made You - Beasts of the Southern Wild (Soundtrack)
I believe that my decision to find the location of the Locket and order Kreacher try everything in his power to destroy, it is the only way forward in this war. I want the demise of the Dark Lord as many others in the Light. But the only way to ensure that he is fully weakened, into the state of being mortal once more, then the destruction of his horcrux is the answer.
I now know that I will not survive to see his fall, but I will rejoice in knowing that I helped stop him. That it was I, who was able to help bring him down once and for all. I hope that Kreacher does everything to destroy the Locket. House-elf magic is tricky, but my final orders for Kreacher should be enough for him to find a way.
I have enclosed more pages on the information of Horcrux. As much as I have researched Horcruxes; to find how to destroy them is scarce. I hope that if for any reason, Kreacher is unable to destroy the Locket, that whoever comes across this journal is able to take the information I have gathered and finish what we have started.
Darkness does not need to linger over the Wizarding World anymore. There is no need to frighten and kill those of us because of a mad man with the greed for power. I will not be able to see it, but I will die knowing that his words have left discontent rather than a passionate following.
R.A.B.
Regulus put his quill away and stared at the last journal entry he would write before he had to leave. Ripping a few pages from the books and tomes he had found on Horcruxes, he slid them into the journal and muttered a quick sticking charm so that they wouldn't fall out. He closed his journal, muttered a quick locking charm over it and then walked out of his room, shutting the door and staring at the nameplate over it. Regulus Arcturus Black.
Regulus stepped away from the door, feeling no real sentimental value for his childhood bedroom but as he walked past the corridor and stood outside of Sirius's room, he felt his chest tighten. Like it had in the months after Sirius had decided to leave the family home and effectively, Regulus too.
"Would you be proud of me, brother?" Regulus whispered, gaze locked on the nameplate imbedded over Sirius's door. His words were soft and tired, like the boy had whispered them over and over in that same spot. The house cracked and shifted under Regulus's magic, he tried to calm himself down as he tore his gaze away from Sirius's door and started to make his way to Kreacher's room.
Regulus walked past his mother, who was sitting in the dining room and staring down at the Daily Prophet with an impassive face. She stopped talking to him after the death of Orion Black, his father. Regulus thought about trying to talk to her, to say goodbye. In the same year her final family member would die, leaving her without anyone.
He didn't say anything to her and instead made his way to the little room just sitting opposite the pantry. Knocking on the tiny door, Regulus crouched down and gave Kreacher a smile, trying to remain confident whilst his eyes flickered around the dingy room that belonged to the house-elf. There were rags and different assortment of clothes that Kreacher used to curl up into every night. Regulus tried to remember every piece of the house-elf's room, the little den that he had created. It was mostly made up of a boiler that took up almost all the room, but Kreacher had made a home in it.
There was a picture frame of most of the Black family inside. Regulus felt himself smiling more genuinely when he looked over the younger faces of his brother and cousins. "Kreacher, it is time." He was steady and stoic as he handed his journal to Kreacher and a small folded picture of himself to the house-elf.
"If you are unable to destroy it," Regulus whispered, still under the impression that his mother could be listening. "Then you are to give the journal and Locket to someone who can. Someone you trust, I order you," he said.
Kreacher had unsteady breaths as he tried to nod. His eyes were waxy and blinking harshly against his own tears, but he croaked out a very crackly 'Yes Master' and then took the journal and picture, stuffing it behind the family frame. Away from prying eyes, which shouldn't have mattered because no one ever really looked for Kreacher's room.
Regulus and Kreacher both walked out of the Black house and continued down the street until they were away from any sort of muggle or wizard present. Slipping into a dark and thin alleyway, Regulus let Kreacher wrap his thin and calloused hands around his wrist and apparate them to a shore-like beach area. Regulus had to squint at the salt-water winds pushing against his frame.
"We're here?" he asked, looking down at his house-elf.
Kreacher pointed to a large cliff just a couple metres away. Regulus followed the house-elf silently as they hiked across the beach and onto the cliff. There was little space to walk around the cliff, but they made it to a little enclosed space that allowed the both of them to stand side-by-side. Kreacher pointed to a crack around the cliff. "A blood sacrifice," Kreacher croaked.
Regulus nodded, already getting out a small dagger from his cloak. When Kreacher wordlessly held out his own hand, Regulus simply dragged the blade across his own palm. "Master!" Kreacher wheezed, trying to stop Regulus when the boy placed his hand against the flat rock. They both watched the blood slowly sank into the cracks around the rock and a small entrance started to crumble around them. Regulus led the way inside, bending down to walk into the little entrance and see a giant cave inside.
There was a huge, looming lake and the glowing of a small island in the middle of it. Without that beacon of light, it was almost pitch black to look at. Kreacher had wordlessly grabbed Regulus's wrist again and apparated them to the light. Regulus stumbled whilst he looked around at the small island they were perched on.
In the middle of the island was a small pedestal that held a basin full of liquid. A potion that made the drinker see awful things, burn up on the inside and feel dehydrated at the same time. Regulus grabbed Kreacher's arm when the house-elf started to scoop the potion into a small shell he had found on the ground.
"No, I will drink it," Regulus said.
"Master!" Kreacher wheezed. "No- Master Regulus-"
"Kreacher, stop." Regulus had to push the house-elf back when he tried to wrinkle his little body towards the basin full of the deadly potion. "I order you to stop," he said. He watched with fond eyes as Kreacher cried and cried, body collapsing into a heap on the small, unsteady island.
Regulus had been wearing the fake Locket throughout their trip. He held the locket in his hands, squeezing the piece between his fingers, before he unhooked it around his head and held it out to see it better. In the light of the basin, the fake Locket looked close to glowing itself, even if it had no magical qualities. Regulus stood up again, towering over the basin.
"I want you to leave. Once I replace the Locket with the fake, you must leave Kreacher." Regulus was holding the replacement Locket that he had spent hours perfecting. Kreacher, the old and gruesome House-elf, clawed at Regulus's legs. His large, round eyes were leaking with gigantic tears as he shook his head. "Kreacher, I order you."
Regulus felt his hand shake as he brought the liquid to his mouth. He closed his eyes taking the first sip, feeling the liquid burn down his throat. It reminded him of Firewhiskey, the expensive stuff, his dad would sometimes let him take a sip of during their Family Yules. Regulus held the fake Locket with more confidence, deciding to drink as fast as possible. His hands continued to shake as they brought the liquid closer to his lips.
After the fourth or fifth sip, that was when it started to burn his insides. Regulus staggered back, vaguely feeling Kreacher shout for him and pull him forward. Away from the waters that surrounded them both. Regulus felt himself gag, hands coming up to scratch at his throat as he choked on the dryness of his throat. Coughing back, Regulus crouched on the ground, shivering in his robes as he looked back at Kreacher.
"No- no. I don't want to," he said, when he saw Kreacher bright the liquid up to his lips. "No- please," he begged.
"Master must drink," Kreacher cried, tears continuously running down his wrinkly face. It was pinched together like he was smelling something foul, but Kreacher pushed on. Edging the potion into Regulus's chattering mouth.
Regulus drank the liquid, feeling his insides continue to burn, like someone had decided to rip his internal organs into shreds and then salt his wounds. He felt his insides melt and a fiery, hot itch start at the base of his stomach. Regulus cried, wrapping his arms around his middle, shaking his head and pushing away from Kreacher as the house-elf forced him to take another sip.
He sobbed and sobbed, feeling his mouth start to burn and peel as the liquid rushed down his throat. This time he gagged on the potion, dribbling it down his chin. Kreacher scooped more from the basin until it was all gone, letting Regulus lay down against the small island and breath the humid air, trying to cool himself. Regulus could faintly feel Kreacher pry his fist open to take the Locket, before the crack of apparition was heard and then he was left alone.
Kreacher had said something just before he left. But Regulus was not able to hear it, instead he blinked back his tears. Feeling a desperation to cool his insides, he gathered his shaking limbs and crawled to the very edge of the island. Regulus tried to lift his hand and scoop some water but found himself shaking too much.
Desperate for some relief, he plunged his face into the water, drinking whatever he could. Before he could lift his head, a hand grabbed around his neck and dragged him under. Regulus screamed underwater; eyes wide and more awake than he was before. He came face to face with a corpse-like body. Bubbles escaped his panicked underwater breaths and before he could even think to thrash around and try to break the surface, more hands and bodies came to drag him underwater.
Enclosed in the depths of deep, inferi filled water, Regulus Black drowned. He was clear-minded. Regulus died afraid, but with the knowledge that he had a hand in bringing down Voldemort.
It was somewhere in the year 1979 when Regulus Arcturus Black died. Walburga Black, a woman most people described as being the most aristocratic and tyrannical matriarch they could meet, was also his mother. She was there to watch as the Black Family tapestry started to grey around the image of Regulus. Her last son, her only heir left, had died.
Walburga did not mourn for Regulus, not in any way that a mother could possibly mourn for outliving her own children. She, instead, mourned the Black family name and the last line of the family. Too late to birth another heir, she became desperate. Walburga waited for the day that one of her Black's would give birth.
Narcissa Malfoy was the only one to do so. Andromeda was a lost cause, and no one would ever allow her back into the family after running off with none other than a muggleborn. No. Andromeda's daughter would not do. But the birth of Draco Malfoy? A pureblood boy born into the Dark? When such a perfect opportunity presented itself for Walburga to take she did the only thing that a mother could do in desperation.
"Regulus? But Aunt Walburga... Regulus is-"
"Dead," Walburga said. "I know," she sat back lavishly in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor with both Lucius and Narcissa present. Little Draco was asleep and currently being watched over by one of the many house-elves that Lucius owned.
Lucius arched his brow, turning to his wife, "we were never going to give Draco a godfather anyway."
Narcissa looked at her husband with a thoughtful gaze, before turning to her aunt. "You want Regulus to be my son's godfather... there's no sentiment there. I don't understand your approach, how will this benefit my son?"
"I always liked you Cissa," Walburga said, pulling a cup from the tea set laid out. She brought the tea to her lips and took a sip, staring ahead and unnervingly at her niece. "I want an Heir."
Narcissa's eyes flared, a newly mother who felt threatened for her son, was now in control of the room. "Speak your next words carefully, Aunt."
Walburga simply hummed, setting the cup down with minimal clinking against the fine china. "Regulus is dead. Sirius is blasted off our tapestry. The Black line is dead- even with the promise of Bellatrix's eventual heir of the Lestrange estates- she hasn't had a child yet. You have, I need someone to take over when I am gone."
Lucius took a hold of Narcissa's hand, a display of emotion in front of Walburga was seen as a weakness. But using it to his advantage, Lucius tilted his head and gave the older woman a small frown. "You want Draco to take over the Black estates?"
"Naturally. I need insurance."
"My son-"
"You son," Walburga glared at Narcissa, "is now Heir Malfoy. It would do you well to remember your place, dear niece." With a wave of her wand, a small velvet box floated in the air. Narcissa, with her jaw set and Lucius, still curious, watched it float down and settle on the table comfortably. It opened immediately to reveal the Black Family Heirloom ring.
"Draco Malfoy," Lucius said. "Lord Malfoy and Lord Black," he whispered, turning to his wife, eyes glinting with greed. "It does have a nice ring to it."
Narcissa felt herself relax a little more in her velvety seat, but her guard was still up. Turning to her aunt she furrowed her brows, "what do you want?"
Walburga shook her head once, "I don't want anything. I just need my line to continue."
Draco Malfoy was very much bored whilst he sat between Pansy Parkinson and Vincent Crabbe, waiting for the blasted Third Task to end. He sat back in his chair and simply gazed distractedly at the rest of the crowd whilst everyone also started up their own conversations. "I mean seriously," Draco scoffed. "They couldn't have set up some charms that could possibly connect us to the Champions? What's the point in being an audience member if it means we sit and do nothing for the better part of an hour," he scornfully muttered.
Pansy rolled her eyes, deciding to take her time to muse around with her floating hand mirror and make sure that her nose was properly blushed or whatever it is that she tended to do. Her new uptake in the world of makeup was not particularly pleasant for the rest of the boys in their group. They now had to sit through her tortuous hours of self-grooming whilst she decided to try new looks on their faces.
"S'not so bad," Gregory Goyle muttered.
Of course Greg would think that, having also spent the time simply resting against Blaise Zabini and trying his best to nap. Blaise, the poor man, had to sit whilst squashed against Greg's large form, almost being bent in half. Draco didn't feel too sorry though, that would teach Blaise for stealing the chocolate his mother had sent him from Europe only a week ago.
Theodore Nott placed his hands on Draco's shoulder, looming over the blond haired boy to look at the book Millicent Bulstrode had pulled out. She had managed to clock on beforehand that, like the Second Task, they would sit boredly waiting for something to happen. She was reading one of those pureblood books about romance that Draco didn't divulge in. Theo must have been so bored that he was actually willing to read over her shoulder whilst waiting.
"Millie?" Draco called, poking his wand against her back.
She scowled, slamming her book shut and turning around in her seat to glare at Draco with annoyed anger. "What?"
"Do read aloud, would you, dear? The rest of us are oh-so very bored," he blinked, pouting cutely at her. She made a disgusted face, turned right back around in her seat and then cleared her throat, reading whatever page she was on, out loud. Suddenly it seemed like the rest of the Slytherins around them were much more interested in the story that Millie was reading than they were about their own conversations. They were pretty bad and trying to look like they weren't eavesdropping, but Draco didn't care.
Anything was better than sitting around and waiting for—
"Over there!" some girl screamed.
Draco and the rest of the group looked up to find a red blast of light shooting from somewhere within the maze. After a while, Fleur Delacour had been apparated back into the main standings where she was talking in panicked French about what went on in the maze to her Headmistress. Madam Maxime had a grave face on, but also seemed to look like she had swallowed something sour, because her Champion had made it out. Which meant that she was out of the running for winning.
"Looks like we're in the lead," a younger Slytherin said, pointing to where there appeared to be another red light and a pale-faced Viktor Krum came tumbling out into the arms of the many medi-witches and wizards ready to help.
"Still a fifty-fifty chance," Theo said.
Draco felt his features turn sour themselves, as he turned to glare at Theo. "Diggory will win," he said.
Theo, immune to the dark looks that Draco could give, simply smirked and turned back to look down at the commotion whilst Viktor started to talk about his own experiences. Fleur and Viktor had found each other and were conversing in whispers whilst they were getting patched up.
After the commotion of the two champions had died down, Millie went back to reading her own book. The rest of them tried to pay attention, but people were too loud. Chattering away and Millie, the rude Slytherin that she was, refused to speak any louder. So they were forced to all get into her space whilst she continued to read. Pancy's floating hand mirror was digging into Draco's cheek and he was one more touch away from hexing her eyebrows off.
"I don't believe you- I can never believe you. I know that it was you who murder Lord Bingerwalls-"
Blaise gasped, "No fucking way. His mistress did it?!"
Vince snickered, flicking Blaise's forehead and turning back to Millie who scoffed.
"I know that you were jealous of my power. My status. It matters not- because-
"Tell me why it does not matter? Why I can't want the life you've lived-"
"Don't you see. We can have it together. We could have always have had that life, if you had let me live-"
"Oh Merlin," Pansy stopped powdering her nose to stare at the book in horror. "The Mistress and the Lady are in love?"
"One sided, Lady Bingerwalls loves the Mistress," Millie waved off. Another crack of apparition could be heard and Millie sighed, placing her bookmark in the page and setting it on her lap. "Might as well see who- Merlin..."
All the Slytherins were quiet as they looked past the cheers and confetti that surrounded the little arena the shool made up. Draco recognised the body of Cedric Diggory, pale and still, lying on the ground. With Harry Potter lying on top of it, his body dirtied with mud and the gruesome image of his inner forearm cut up and bleeding profusely as he cradled Diggory's body close to him.
The rest of the crowd started to realise that instead of a champion returning, it was a dead body. Draco frowned, feeling his body slump further into his chair as Theo's hands remained rigid on his shoulders.
"He's dead! Cedric's dead and it was Voldemort! He's back!" Harry cried. His shouts and anguished message cut through to the Slytherins like a sharp blade.
"You-Know-Who?" Greg asked, his voice quiet and nervous.
Draco felt his jaw tighten and then he sat up straighter in his chair. "Right then. Looks like we have our champion. Let's leave," he muttered.