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Regulus didn't have to open his doors to hear the screams coming from downstairs. He couldn't cast muffliato to be able to be oblivious to what was happening. It wasn't like he wasn't familiar with the pain of the cruciatus curse. Sirius and Regulus had both experienced it, but it never seemed to become less painful. There were moments where one could bite back a scream, but it was inevitable that you'd eventually be in too much pain for any semblance of self-control. For Sirius who always wanted to be the one in control (despite never being in control), this particular punishment always did a number on his pride. It wouldn't make Sirius shut up though.
("I wish… Fuck , Prongs," Sirius, with long hair that Mother hated and what looks like muggle tattoos etched on his skin, says on a couch in a room that Regulus does not recognise. It looks warm, with red and gold draped on the couches and a worn rug next to the fireplace. Sirius pauses and stares at the ceiling as if it could change something. "I miss him."
Regulus cannot see who is talking, but the voice sounds warm when he replies. "I know." Regulus does not know what they are talking about, but this dream recurs enough for him to wonder.)
Sometimes, Regulus wished his brother could just shut up and stop rebelling against Mother. It was bound to make her angrier, and Father wouldn't interfere if he made time to come down to mealtimes anyway. Regulus wished he could hate Father for that. Regulus wished he could hate Mother.
But Regulus couldn't. He loved them, and he loved Sirius.
(Sirius's screams echo in darkness. This is not new. He does not know why he sees this in his dreams. He's in the hallway. He walks forward and down the stairs. The screams abruptly stop. Regulus turns his head to the entrance of their manor, as if he's a man possessed. Mother has her back to Regulus, and Regulus only feels fear. Mother locks the front door. Sirius is nowhere in sight.)
The sound itself wasn't anything abnormal, especially since it was the summer and Sirius always liked to push his limits in the few months he was here instead of Hogwarts. There was a part of Regulus that envied the defiance, the bravery that Sirius naturally had instead of the cowardice that made him fit in with snakes so well. The Sorting Hat hadn't even rifled in his head for long before he tossed Regulus in with the people that Sirius despised, that the Black family had been for generations (except for Andy, and now Sirius).
Regulus loved Sirius, and that was why Sirius's desperate attempts to separate him from Evan and Barty (his only friends; the only people who understood the pressure he was under, the only people who shared the position he was in — not truly loyal to his family, but loved
feared
them too much to do anything about it) had been so hurtful. Sirius always had such a black-and-white view of everything, unlike Regulus who always saw things in grayscale.
It hurt more than any Black would say was acceptable when Regulus saw the look in his brother's eyes that said that Regulus was a lost cause. Sirius stopped trying, Regulus stopped following him around like a little duckling (copying everything he did, until Mother yelled at them and told them to change — but Sirius never adapted to Mother's wishes… Regulus always did).
Sirius stopped confiding in Regulus, Regulus stopped trying to talk to him. The last time they had spoken was their first dinner back from Hogwarts for the summer, and their only exchange had been pleasantries — as if they hadn't both experienced the horrors of the house… as if neither of them shared blood.
(But Regulus would never be able to forget the whispers of protection, of Sirius standing up to Mother whenever she frightened Regulus. He would never forget the insults spat at their mother, if only to redirect the fury onto himself instead of Regulus. He would never forget the silent tears he cried at night, feeling helpless to protect his brother. He would never forget when they played games when it was still deemed acceptable for them to be children. He wouldn't forget, and perhaps that was the cruellest of it all — that he remembered the good times, because now the bad only felt so much worse.)
He wished he could cast anything to muffle the screams from downstairs.
But he hadn't meant that literally.
("Sirius? Where are you? Where are you?" Regulus keeps asking, echoes surrounding him in an endless plain that somehow sounded like he was in the middle of a canyon. "Where are you?" Regulus asks again, and Regulus wanders. The grassy fields tickles his ankles and he finds himself coming to a stop in front of a house that screams warmth. Garden gnomes hide in their gardens. Smoke rises from their chimney. Even the wind chimes sound peaceful. Regulus needs to ask the question again. He doesn't.)
When he awoke the next morning, Mother was meaner than she normally was, and there was no Sirius in sight. When Regulus asked about him, Mother said: "The blood traitor has been kicked out, disinherited. You don't have to worry about him, dear."
Regulus did not cry because Blacks do not cry. He did not smile, because Blacks do not smile. He just nodded and accepted it, because he could not do anything else. (He did not know what would set Mother off, with that furious twinkle in her eye and mouth curled in a cruel sneer. Regulus did not wish to test it.)
What Regulus did do was look over to the family tree and see the scorch marks where Sirius's portrait should've been.
(A scroll burned by fire. He sees his own neat scrawl slowly dissipating. It said: "Are you happy? I hope you're happy. I'm going to die young, just like I—" but the part of the letter that he knew was the most important had already succumbed to the ashes before he could read it.)
No matter how much he wanted to cry, he didn't. Even if Regulus would miss Sirius like missing a limb (because even if they never talked anymore and every time they saw each other in this house Sirius was injured somehow, at least Regulus could see him), Regulus could never blame Sirius for leaving — running away from this dreaded house.
Even if Regulus was brave enough to tread in unknown waters, it wasn't as if he could leave. He was the Black heir now, according to Mother. Even Father, who rarely came for mealtimes or even made a noise in greeting when he passed his sons in the hall, wouldn't allow both sons to leave. The Black name needed to be passed on.
Perhaps Regulus was fooling himself, in thinking that he was making a noble sacrifice — becoming a martyr for the sake of Sirius's happiness (James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew all made Sirius smile the same way that Regulus used to). Maybe he was just telling himself anything that would make it easier to know that he was walking towards his own destruction. He made his peace with his choices long ago.
The head of the table was empty. The seat across from him was empty. Mother took her seat next to the head of the table. Her anger came off of her in waves. Regulus didn't dare to test her temper now, not after she unceremoniously burned a portrait off of the family tree already. He sat down and stared at the empty spot.
(He knew Sirius was alive. He saw that he was safe and sound with a family that felt like coming home. It didn't make it easier when he knew that the seat would never have its owner sitting on it.)
Grimmauld had always felt cold and empty. It was almost as if ghosts lived in the house. There wasn't a speck of dust out of place. The robes on Regulus's shoulders were ironed to perfection and his tie perfectly aligned. This house didn't produce anything less than perfection.
It was cold. Regulus knew it was the knowledge that there was one less body underneath this roof made his blood run cold.
Regulus ate the food on his plate. He pretended that he didn't feel wrong without his brother seated across from him at every meal. When Mother asked him if he had finished his summer assignments, Regulus replied with a voice that did not shake because Blacks do not feel. (Not like Sirius did. Sirius had always been the black sheep of their family.)
"Yes, Mother," Regulus said.
Mother nodded at him from her seat. She did not smile because Blacks do not smile. "Everything that he had is now yours, Regulus. Do you understand?"
Flashes of studies and Sirius's refusal to learn anything that they tried to force upon him. Memories of expectations weighing on Sirius's shoulders that Sirius always shrugged off as if it was only an ill-fitted robe. Arranged marriages (which would've happened regardless if Regulus was now–) and being the perfect pureblood, as expected by the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
Regulus saw everything that Sirius had rejected. Regulus knew that he could not shirk everything that had been given to him, even if he did not desire it. "Yes, Mother," Regulus said. His face did not break from its neutral position. The walls in his mind strengthen as the weight of it all fell on his back.
"That's my good boy," Mother said, almost as if she was proud.
(Mother is angry. Mother is angry. Regulus is going to die— he never should have said no. He never should have said—)
This house had never felt so cold.
—
Mother gave him books to read. Regulus did exactly as she expected. He did not argue nor refuse her wishes. It was inevitable that Mother would lose her temper. Regulus had expected it, but her favourite cutting curse had cut Regulus too deep and it was difficult for him to move his wrists to turn each page.
But she was watching him closely. He did not wince. He pretended that he wasn't hurting. He pretended like he didn't want to run away and hide in his room instead of spending time with Mother in the library, with her unpredictable temperament and heavy expectations.
His body was run ragged during the day. He cannot stay awake another minute when he collapses into his bed. The dreams that had been few and far in between slowly filled his entire nights. When he woke up every morning, he pretended as if he hadn't dreamt—
(He feels a locket on his neck and touches it. He cannot see where he is. He sees only green. Snakes wrap around him and hiss, slowly suffocating him. He does not understand.)
The exhaustion settled deep in his bones, but he trudged forward. He pretended as if he could handle everything that was thrown at him. He pretended as if he hadn't already known what all of this entailed. He pretended as if he didn't have a choice.
Regulus was nothing but a good liar.
(Regulus lives, but at what cost. He would rather be dead. He would switch his fate with his brother in a heartbeat. He cannot— Sirius cannot die in this field. He will make sure this never happens. He will not let it happen.)
Or, at the very least, he's very good at keeping quiet.
—
Without Sirius, it was only Regulus (and sometimes Kreacher) to take the brunt of Mother's anger. She loved the cruciatus curse, of course, but Regulus was no stranger to having cuts rampaging his body or bruises purpling his torso. He was no stranger to quick healing spells from Kreacher (because "the Mistress ordered him to").
It certainly wasn't the first time he was on the receiving end, but now he was taking on everything that Sirius had endured. Mother's temper was erratic and impossible to predict.
He did not complain when Mother locked him in his bedroom after Regulus breathed too loud. He did not complain when he missed meals. He did not complain even when Mother was angered by the way Regulus walked. He did not complain when she exploded whenever Regulus did not reply, or replied. He did not complain even if he knew that there was no reasoning.
Silence had always been his best friend, but now he didn't even have silence to negate the punishments that were destined to come.
Still, he did not complain. He did not question. He didn't dare to do anything that Sirius would've done. At least by being quiet and unassuming, Regulus could look at himself in the mirror and look as if the robes fitted him by the end of the summer. (Sirius never had; Mother locked him in the cellar. Regulus at least was locked in his room — a mercy.)
("What are those?" asks a black-haired boy riding a carriage, joined by Dumbledore.
"Thestrals, my boy," Dumbledore replies easily, as if Regulus did not know what Thestrals meant. "You can only see them if you've seen death." Regulus sees blood dripping down the boy's arms with a crushed heart in hand, smiling in a way that could only be described as psychotic. He blinks, and the boy is staring out the carriage window as if blood hadn't dripped down his sides moments before.
Regulus sees the thestrals. He doesn't know how.)
Regulus had never been strong like Sirius. He had never been able to retort or rebel. He had always cowered away from a fight — had always run away from Mother when her temper flared. Sirius had always braved the coming pain, but Regulus was not Sirius.
There was only one way he knew to survive.
He did not speak.
—
Some part of him was sitting around waiting for a letter from Sirius.
He waited all summer, and not even a note saying that he was alive and well.
("When I die," Regulus says, and he remembers this conversation. It happened before Sirius had even stepped onto the Hogwarts grounds. He remembers starting this conversation. He does not know why his dreams are showing him the past. It normally doesn't show the before, only the soon-to-be. "...move on, and be happy."
"Don't say you're gonna die before me, Reggie," Sirius scolded. Regulus feels Sirius's hand squeezing his hand a bit too tight. Fear. Regulus remembers feeling strangely at peace. He remembers feeling older than he was because of dreams that plagued him at night.
Regulus ignored him — a cruel irony now, he supposed, because Sirius was gone and now Regulus didn't have the option to ignore him even if he wanted to.
"I think I'm going to die young, Siri."
"That's stupid. You're not going to die before me. You're younger ," Sirius scoffed, but Regulus could hear the undercurrent of worry and discomfort. This was not a fun topic. Rarely any topics when Mother was in the room could ever be considered fun, but they did not have Mother in the room and they were breaching a topic that was far too mature.)
There was nothing.. Regulus wished he didn't feel hurt by it. Sirius didn't think about him. Understandably so. Regulus wouldn't want to think about the house if he was the one running. (He had run, in one of the dreams.)
But he missed his brother. He wanted to write him oh-so-badly.
(There's a grim lurking on the border of the graveyard. Regulus is surrounded by black wizard cloaks as a casket is being lowered into the ground. He stares at the gravestone, reading "Orion Sirius Black, beloved father and husband." He does not question it. His dreams have shown him weirder things.)
It wasn't that far of a reach for Regulus to figure out that Sirius had bunked with one of his mates (who were affectionately dubbed the "Marauders" throughout the school; well, it wasn't affectionate for the Slytherins who were the brunt of most pranks, but everyone else…). Regulus could've wrote him. It would be so easy to pick up a quill and at least try to ask if Sirius was okay (because now he couldn't see for himself if Sirius was okay anymore).
Regulus took out a scroll of parchment. He stilled for a moment and thought through what he was about to do.
(His neat calligraphy says: "...it is I who discovered your secret." He cannot read the rest of the note before he's transported to the water where he's being dragged under.)
He wrote to Evan and Barty.
There was no mention of Sirius, of his position as the new heir, or even a hint of his Mother in his letters to them.
(No mention of his dreams, where all he could see was green and darkness, with thirst controlling his every thought. All he could feel was pain and hands dragging him farther and farther away. He saw green.)
He does not mention that in all of his dreams, he never grows old.
People say that Slytherins are snakes, cunning and devious in all the ways that mattered. Regulus wondered if the fact he could write to his best friends (as if he hadn't had the worst summer of his life) was telling of how fake he really was. Regulus was a good liar, but he was also adept at keeping family affairs private. His friends would never know; he would make sure of it.
—
When Regulus came back to Hogwarts, he felt Sirius's eyes lingering on him too long when they boarded the train. He ignored those eyes, just like he ignored Sirius every time that he felt grey eyes staring at him. There was an uncanny ability, it seemed. Regulus and Sirius did not share the same class schedules (he looked it up) and didn't share any of the same corridors at certain points of the day except for mealtimes. And yet, Sirius still managed to be in hallways that Regulus wandered into.
(Mother told him to ignore Sirius, so he was. Regulus obeyed; he did not want to anger Mother. Regulus already called muggleborns mudbloods and said slurs he didn't really believe. He needed to please Mother. He did not want to return home for cuts to be reopened and bruises scattering his entire body. He chose this. He cannot stray from the path.)
When Regulus turned his head and locked eyes with his brother for the first time in… a very long time, he hated the calculating look in those eyes. It was like Sirius was dissecting him, trying to figure Regulus out.
(He's killing someone. He keeps telling himself that it's for the greater good. It's all a part of the plan. They must believe him as loyal to their cause. They cannot suspect that Regulus is loyal to someone else, to something else, to peace. He kills and he kills, and he keeps telling himself that it won't be long now.)
Sirius approached him by Christmas, and told him that the Potters were more than willing to take Regulus in if he wanted to leave Grimmauld Place as well.
Regulus wanted nothing more than to say yes.
"No," Regulus replied, voice even and face blank as he had mastered so many years ago. "I want to stay. I love them."
("Did you know that Regulus means lionheart?" says a voice that's unfamiliar to the Regulus of now. Regulus recognises himself at the top of a tower, but he cannot peer from the windows to see where he is exactly. The floors are cobbled and the room is dusty.
"No, I did not."
"You have the heart of a lion," says the voice, and Regulus turns to see a regal-looking ghost smiling in a fond way that Mother's lips never did. Even dead, the ghost's dress reaches her ankles and it's easy to see that she is not from Regulus's time. "It takes great courage for what you will accomplish."
Regulus's mouth moves on autopilot and Regulus cannot control what he says next. He doesn't know if he wanted to anyway. "I'm no Gryffindor, my lady.")
Sirius snapped at him, and Regulus wished he could say he remembered everything that Sirius had said to him. All he knew was that Sirius exploded, ranting about this and that — but what Regulus remembered clearly from Sirius's outburst was a simple phrase.
"Do you not love me more than them?"
(It echoes in his mind even now.)
His brother had sounded broken when he said that, even in the midst of his anger. Regulus did not say anything. He didn't dare to, in the event that his voice would betray him. He didn't want to sound as emotional as he felt. His blank mask stayed impassive. Regulus spoke and Sirius flinched away by the end of whatever he had said. Regulus doesn't remember what Sirius said in reply (or what he had said), but he remembers going to bed that night feeling worse than when he was hit by the cruciatus curse.
It took no time at all for Sirius to return to ignoring Regulus's existence. It was almost painful when Regulus couldn't feel the familiar eyes tracking him in the room, but he would not let it show.
(All he sees is a skull in the sky. It's conjured by magic. He does not know how he knows, but he does. Regulus's emotions tell him that he is mourning. He does not know why he has a wand in hand. He does not know why he is standing next to dead bodies. Regulus wants to ask, but he wakes before he can search more.)
Blacks do not cry.
Regulus met Helena, the ghost from his dreams, two weeks before he returned to Grimmauld for the summer. Their conversation stayed relatively the same. When the ghost looked at him, Regulus saw the telltale sign of sadness in her smiles.
She told him that he would've made an excellent Ravenclaw. She told him that he was brave. She told him that it is unfortunate that fate told Regulus that he will not be able to live happily. She told him that she would be here if he ever needed to tell someone about the dreams.
Regulus took comfort in the fact he wasn't the only one that knew.
("Kreacher, Kreacher! Stop drinking— you're not— this is my responsibility!")
—
Regulus would sometimes stare at the Marauders with envy. He loved how at ease Sirius was around them, like Sirius had once been with Regulus. He missed the closeness. He knew that it was his own doing — his own words, saying that he was going to stay with his parents who cut and curse them — but it didn't stop ugly jealousy wanting to devour Sirius's friends.
He subdued the urge to kill remove Sirius's friends. As long as Sirius was happy, Regulus could bear being ignored. He could stand being hated. Regulus would make himself okay. He wouldn't let Black insanity control him like it did for Bella, or Mother. (He knows; he sees. Regulus sees too much sometimes. In his dreams, in the waking world.)
It was better that Regulus protected Sirius for once. By staying, he was ensuring that Sirius would never have to come back. By being the heir, it allowed Sirius to do what he wanted. If that meant that Regulus would turn into nothing more than a mindless puppet, then it meant that he would turn into a mindless puppet.
("Rise, Regulus Black," says a voice that Regulus can only describe as creepy. He feels tingles in his arm. It hurts, but not as much as the cruciatus curse does. He feels disgusted by himself when he pulls his sleeve over it. He feels the prodding of legilimency. Regulus has always had a natural talent for mind magic. Whomever is prodding in his head does not get far. Regulus chooses what he shows to the invader, and the invader doesn't realise that Regulus is holding things back.)
Regulus loved his brother.
He would make this sacrifice. Sirius had taken most every curse from Mother for as long as he could remember. This was the least he could do. (It wasn't like Regulus had the same happiness that Sirius had. He didn't have friends like the Marauders. Regulus had no one to fall back on, as it was designed.)
All Regulus is, was, and will be is someone who sees too much. Some of what he sees, he cannot decipher. Some of what he sees never comes to pass and instead simply warns him. Most he knows will happen. Most has happened.
(He drinks and he drinks, and he thirsts. He keeps drinking. He looks around him and it is empty nothingness. He sees the grim, following him in the nothingness. He sees death welcoming him with open arms. He sees memories of happier times slowly being taken away, tainted forever by dread and despair.
But he does not fear death as it clasps his hand. The reaper knows just as well as he does that Regulus was always destined to be here. He never sees himself old and grey. He knows he will die young. Death knows it just as well. It smiles at him like an old friend, and Regulus smiles back in a way that no Black would ever be seen dong. Regulus is led farther into the nothingness. The corrupted memories wail behind him.
He cannot find it in himself to regret it.)
Regulus stayed silent.
The future was always moving forward.
Sometimes, he'd only see colours. Sometimes, he'd only hear voices. Sometimes, he could only feel feelings. Sometimes, the dreams were memories. Sometimes, the dreams didn't make any sense but still pointed to a future he must follow.
(There were some futures that he could've chosen. He knows he can change his path if he wanted to, but he doesn't want to.)
Regulus had understood for a long time that death and fate walked hand in hand. Regulus had known for longer that the path he chooses will affect everyone but himself.
(A stag, a rat, a grim, and a werewolf cuddle together in a forest. It's odd. Regulus doesn't try to approach them or flee, but he still ends up walking closer. His hand reaches for them, and he pets the soft fur of the grim. None of the animals react. He knows that some dreams are impossible, but each dream has a meaning.
He does not understand what the meaning of this dream is, but he knows that it's important.)
Regulus loved his brother, so he stayed silent. He was their obedient son. He would not stray from the path they laid out for him. There was no room in his life for nonsensical dreams (that concerned him; that worried him). There was no room in his life to regret. There was no room in his life to wish that Sirius was still living with him.
Everything Regulus wanted was selfish.
He stayed being Mother's puppet, the Black heir. He was continually ignored by Father. Sirius did not dwell on him. Whispers of the Dark Lord surfaced. Mother owled Regulus and the letter contained something that made Regulus feel sick to his stomach. He replied with his perfect pureblood calligraphy as if he hadn't thrown up all of his dinner. There were expectations that Regulus had to meet.
He was afraid of what they were asking of him.
(This is not his house. This isn't a house he knows, but he is standing outside it. He does not know which house it is. He sees a flash of green before he barges into the home, and there's the body of— no, no, no. Regulus runs to the nursery and there's the creature that cannot be called human. It laughs and he sees green— so much green. It's always the green.)
But he was more scared of leaving, of the consequences that were sure to follow if he strayed from the path. When they told him to spew blood purity nonsense, he did. When they told him to ignore Sirius, he did. When they told him to study harder, he did.
It wasn't even six months in the school year when his once (slightly scarred arm, from Mother's favoured cutting curse) was marred with the mark of a skull with a snake.
Just like the symbol above the house — the mark in his dream.
—
Regulus remained silent as the events folded just as the dreams said it would. As muggleborns and magical folks alike perished by his hand and he wanted to scream and shout for the unfairness of it all (that he was just a kid and he didn't want this), he did nothing but obey.
If he already hadn't known what the imperius curse felt like, people would think he had been imperiused.
Helena told him that he had the heart of a lion. Regulus knew that he wasn't a Gryffindor. He was a Slytherin. He lied, he cheated, and he betrayed. (He was a Slytherin. He was determined, resourceful, and clever.)
Everything he told himself were excuses in the end.
There was no need for a sacrifice. There was no need to stay at his family's house. There was no need for him to obey Mother's every command. All it would take is one defiance, one escape attempt. All it would take is running into Sirius's arms and staying with the Potters. He didn't have to accept the mark. He didn't have to do any of it. He had a choice.
He made his decision. He chose to take this path, for it was the only one he knew he could take.
(Dead. Dead. Dead. Everyone is gone and everything is destroyed. What is there to live for when everything you love is gone? His tie is caked with the red of blood. He does not know what color it originally was. He looks to his leg and sees its mangled form and can only watch as green light shines and hits him—)
Regulus made his choice because there was no better choice. It didn't matter if he suffered. It didn't matter if everything he was as a person would cease to be. It didn't matter if he would forever remain unsure if his brother would mourn him.
—
…it was only a matter of time, in the end. He had waited years for this moment, but he could only feel like it had been too short. (He hadn't even been able to see Sirius smile one last time; he knew he could not risk it. He saw the outcomes if he strayed.)
Regulus volunteered Kreacher for the task, just as he had done in the dreams. Regulus buried the guilt he felt underneath all of the layers of self-hatred and loneliness and waited for Kreacher to return to him, half-dead. He didn't know if there was anything that he wanted to do before the inevitable came.
Kreacher, who had patched him up whenever Mother was upset, needed to be patched up by Regulus.
(The water pulls him in.)
Regulus Black is a son, a brother, a Death Eater, a murderer, a coward, and a liar.
(He feels so thirsty.)
Regulus Black is a Slytherin, the heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, and proficient at any mind-magic thrown his way.
(The voices are screaming at him and saying awful things, but he cannot falter now.)
Regulus Black always knew that this day would come. He always knew he would die young. It should've scared him more than Mother, but it didn't.
(He's being dragged, dragged under.)
Regulus Black was told that he had the heart of a lion for choosing this path — but he did not choose it to be brave.
(He fights to get to the surface.)
Regulus Black remembered when he was just a first year and scared, even though he knew exactly which path he had chosen. He remembered feeling older than he was; for all he had seen would never be able to be erased from his memory. He remembered mulling over every possibility, trying to guide his own dreams to show different outcomes. In
the end, it was no choice at all.
(It is only instinct driving him forward. He already knows he was going to die—)
Regulus Black knew, even when he sat on that stool, that he was destined to die with green and his lungs burning with water. The Sorting Hat was put on his head, and Regulus dared to sneak a glance at his older brother, grinning stupidly at him from the Gryffindor table, and Regulus felt his resolve strengthen — because he knew it wasn't just about him as he put the Sorting Hat on his head.
(His body cannot fight forever.)
Regulus Black wasn't a Gryffindor.
(His lungs burn for air of which he cannot receive, and his eyes start to droop close.)
Regulus may mean "lionheart," but he was not a lion. He was not fierce, he was cunning. He was a snake, waiting for the perfect moment to strike his prey. It did not matter that his prey was only second to Dumbledore in power. He was not brave for choosing this path. He was selfish for choosing this path. It was the only choice in the end. No other path ended quite like this one.
(There is peace in the acceptance of one's death, or maybe that's the oxygen deprivation talking.)
"You'd do well in Slytherin, but you'd thrive in Hufflepuff. Do you want to go down this path?"
(He can't help but feel giddy.)
Regulus Black had never been surer about anything in his life.
(He smiles.)
"Very well… you belong in SLYTHERIN!"
(He closes his eyes.)