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You will be mine, in another life
He looks at the blade of the knife and sees drops of blood on it. They flow slowly, one after the other, dripping onto the wooden table. He anticipated this - so he has gloves on his hands and…
"Regulus." Behind him comes a soft voice, almost inaudible. "Regulus." Almost like a whisper, but still clear, right next to the ear.
He takes a deep breath and puts the knife down on the table where the parts of the rabbit he's just butchered lie. It's a kind of hobby for him and a way to… forget.
"Regulus." This time a male voice snaps him out of his thoughts. Regulus drops the knife down and turns to look up.
The Death Eater's dark mask does not impress him, especially since he knows who is behind it.
"The Ministry for Magic has fallen." Rufolphus dryly tells him the news and smoothly removes his mask. Regulus just nods and squints at Lestrange's face. Lestrange sits down next to him with a bang and drops the mask casually right into the rabbit's blood.
“That madwoman was right.” Regulus licks his lips as he hears those words from Rudolphus' mouth. “That little whore was right.”
Regulus swallows and his hand lands on the man's wrist. After a moment, he's squeezing it so hard making Lestrange moan, but Regulus isn't about to stop.
"Regulus, stop." Sibyll's soft voice echoes in his ear and fills his dark soul with light. "It's not his fault."
Regulus releases Rudolphus' wrist, and Rudolphus withdraws his hand with an angry expression on his face. "You're so fucked up, Reg." He stands up and spits out and Regulus just shrugs.
Nothing matters anymore.
He takes the knife in his hand and stabs it into the piece of meat that is lying until he hears the creaking of bones. He sighs and gets up from the table, slowly pulling off his gloves. He tosses them on the table and heads for the exit, feeling the eyes of many Death Eaters on him.
Most of them had long since concluded that he was crazy. And they weren't wrong.
Regulus steps out into the freezing winter air, which hits him in an icy wave in the face. It has been snowing for several hours, so every step he takes leaves a mark on the path that leads to the forest.
Dusk has fallen, so the forest is dark - but it doesn't matter. He could take the road with his eyes closed, he knows the steps by heart.
Regulus walks, step by step, more sticky snowflakes falling on his black cloak. Finally, he reaches the place where a small wooden cross is stuck.
He stops and silently looks at the compacted earth covered with a thin layer of fresh snow. After a while, he looks around and sees only slender pines that climb up and surround him with their being.
He hears a crack and immediately turns his gaze toward the unexpected sound. But no one was there, it seemed to him.
"Regulus." The trees hum, repeating his name in a rhythmic chant that only he can hear. His name is noise, song, and prophecy at the same time.
“Sybill.” He whispers and feels a sting at the corners of his eyes. “ You will be mine, in another life. I promise.”