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The locket burned in Regulus’ hand, or so it seemed to him, but he kept it close to his chest even as he trembled and shook. It was hard to tell if it was the fear, the frosty weather or the poisoned potion swirling in his belly.
Kreacher was taking care of guiding the boat out of the hideous cave and out of reach from the swollen, white monsters in it, barely out of reach. Tentatively Regulus felt his ribs with his free hand, only to wince and tremble more violently than before.
Regulus looked up from the pain when he felt the fixed look of the elf on him, his ugly amber eyes were filled with tears and terror.
“Back on shore, Kreacher. Bring me back,” Regulus said in a raspy whisper. The elf didn’t hesitate and took hold of Regulus’ shoulder in a gentle grasp. The apparition took most of what strength Regulus had left, but even with his closed eyes he knew he was crouched on the damp grass of the shore.
He didn’t dare open his eyes, in fear that might suck his last bit of energy, but trust the elf was still there. It took every bit of will to move the arm holding the cursed object an inch forward, but it was enough to come in contact with Kreacher’s body.
“T-take it,” he whispered, barely parting his lips. “Hide i-it. You k-know what to d-do.”
A few seconds later he felt small, cold hands circle his own, stopping the shaking for a few seconds, but just enough to relieve it from its contents.
Regulus took a deep breath only when he felt the familiar crack of apparition. He could rest now.
—---
“That bastard!” Sirius growled, throwing the Prophet as far away as he could.
“Whoa! What’s wrong? Another death?” asked James, biting his lips but keeping his eyes intently on Sirius.
Sirius kept silent as if he didn’t even hear the question, his arms were crossed over his chest and he was staring furiously at the wall of the Three Broomsticks.
James had seen him furious like that only when his family had something to do with it.
“Your family?” he asked quietly as he took a sip of his Firewhiskey. As if that could make it as casual as possible.
Sirius’ tense shoulders relaxed like a Charm was lifted, “Yeah,” he answered shortly. James had the sense to just stay silent and wait.
“My brother is dead.” Sirius let the news hang in the air while he nursed the glass of Firewhiskey. He threw the drink back and banged the glass on the table, grimacing. “That traitours bastard.”
Only James saw the solitary tear in the corner of Sirius’ eye.