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Regulus still remembers the first time that he went to the beach.

It had been a stolen pocket of time in the dark realms of his childhood—when the arguments punctuated by slammed doors, and the sharp clap of a hand hitting a cheek finally stopped for one moment.

Before Sirius went to Hogwarts and everything changed. Before Andromeda was disowned. Hell, even before Alphard was nothing but a burnt and blackened curl of wallpaper on the tapestry.

The Black family had gone to France for two weeks of the summer to stay in one of the estate’s many mansions. This particular one sat atop of a hill that overlooked the dainty village just outside of Trouville-sur-Mer. Sunshine soaked every building, spanning from the masses of tall, white townhouses to the winding streets of sprawling cottages.

The sea had glittered. Blue, Regulus remembers. And then, shortly after, the exasperated yet gentle chiding of his older brother:

“The sea’s not blue, silly! It’s reflective so, whatever colour the sky is, that’s the same for the ocean.”

Regulus remembers being amazed by that information, his seven year old brain drinking in every word from Sirius, staring up at him in that mesmerised way that he perfected as a child. He had just adored everything about Sirius, worshipping the very ground he walked on, and hiding from the storms in his arms.

Because there was nowhere safer than a hug from Sirius Black.

The village that Walburga and Orion had taken them to hadn’t had a Muggle in sight (which was exactly why the Blacks owned a holiday home there, obviously).

Regulus remembers that their cousins had come along, making it a true family holiday. All of them smiling stiffly for the photographs on the promenade, postures perfect and upright, and trying to pretend that they weren’t the most dysfunctional family to ever walk the pier.

Oh, Regulus remembers.

“Father, may we please go to the beach?” Andromeda asked.

Her dark eyes were wide and pleading, which was a surprisingly childish expression for a thirteen year old—something that made Bellatrix laugh a little underneath her breath.

“I don’t know, Andromeda,” Cygnus responded, exchanging a look with his wife.

“Your dresses will get dirty,” Druella added.

She was already dabbing at Narcissa’s collar with a handkerchief even though, for the life of him, Regulus couldn’t see a single stain. The eleven year old stood completely still; the picture of good behaviour.

Sirius couldn’t relate.

At the other end of their group, Walburga was attempting a similar action but, in Sirius’ case, he did actually have an ice cream stain snaking its way down his waistcoat. But, oh, how he wriggled and squirmed away from his mother, trying to insist that the trickle of mint choc-chip simply “added to his outfit” and made him look “so much cooler.”

“Sirius, you look like a slob. You are embarrassing me,” Walburga snapped.

Regulus looked around at the other families swarming the promenade around them, hoping internally that they were all miraculously deaf. He didn’t want anyone to look at them, and see right through the cracks that were already there.

The cracks that had been there from the beginning, really, from the moment Sirius and Regulus became less like babies, and more like heirs.

“Well, let me go and wash it off in the sea then!” Sirius protested, eyes wide with hope. This comment made Regulus perk up.

He’d never been to the sea before, and it had looked so beautiful in the summer light, sparkling with every crash of the wave against the shore; white foam riding atop, and being left behind in the dark, damp, and golden parts of the sand.

“If Sirius can go in the sea, then why can’t we?” Andromeda whipped around to face her mother, accusation written all over her face.

Narcissa piped up too and, before Regulus could even blink, their cousins had embarked into a full-blown argument. This was just a common occurrence for Black family members, he knew this. But, still, he took a step back.

Away from them.

Towards Sirius.

“Look, I don’t see why not. Just behave yourselves,” Orion directed the last part of the sentence at Sirius, stern eyes boring into his older son.

He clasped a heavy hand down onto Regulus’ shoulder, making him jump. “And look after Regulus,” he added.

Look after Regulus?

That was rich, considering the fact that that was all Sirius did. It was all he had ever done, ever since he was old enough to stumble over to Regulus’ crib when he was screaming his lungs out, face reddening, for a mother that never even tended to him, let alone nursed him back to sleep.

The brothers didn’t need telling twice, though.

For once, they were being allowed to do what they wanted and, yes, it might have been due to the fact that Orion had just gotten an important promotion at the Ministry. Yes, it might have been because Walburga was being slightly more lenient than usual.

But it was enough. It was a moment, snatched in a dash away from their parents as their cousins complained behind them.

Oh, Regulus remembers.

“C’mon Reggie, keep up!!” Sirius cried, shoulder-length hair flying out behind him in the wind that was whipping the heat into further humidity; stifling breeze hitting Regulus in the face.

“I can’t!” Regulus whined.

His legs were smaller than his brother’s. Sirius had had a growth spurt since turning eight, and he was now even taller than Regulus. He’d lost all of his baby fat as well now, whereas Regulus was still left with slightly chubby cheeks, and a deep envy for Sirius’ now rather elegant-looking cheekbones.

Sirius did, admittedly, slow down but, once Regulus had caught up, he simply grabbed his brother’s hand, and tugged him down the steps onto the beach, palpable excitement thrumming between the two of them.

If the sight of two children running alone on a beach, clearly far away from any parental supervision, was concerning to any of the locals or other tourists, it wasn’t mentioned. Everybody just left the Black brothers to their own little bubble of happiness, identical grins full of adrenaline spreading across their faces.

“This is where you put your swimming lessons to test, Reggie,” Sirius said.

They left their waistcoats, shoes and socks in a small cave that bordered the beach; a relieving shady escapade from the burning heat of the French day. Rolling their trousers up their legs as far as they could go, Sirius and Regulus walked hand-in-hand to the shore, slipping through the throngs of people that were dotted, here and there.

“I don’t know whether I remember how to swim,” Regulus said mournfully, suddenly feeling rather scared.

Their Uncle Alphard had taught the two of them how to swim back when Walburga used to pawn her children off on her brother, stating that they were too much for her mental health to ‘contend with.’

“Don’t be silly, Reggie,” Sirius admonished playfully.

There was a laugh in his voice; a spark in his blue eyes as clear-cut as the ocean stretching out in front of them and, in equal measure, the cloudless sky. “You don’t just forget how to swim. It’s muscle memory, right? S’long as you keep your head and don’t panic, you’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna let you drown or anything.”

His gaze was warm and Regulus couldn’t help but feel so safe when Sirius wrapped him in such a blanket of reassurance.

“Okay.”

Regulus took a deep breath and, ever-so-slowly, dipped his toe in the water that was running thin at the edges, see-through and showcasing all the shells and seaweed twisted into the wet sand.

The sea was cold, dancing over his feet, and Regulus laughed in delight, wiggling his toes. And then Sirius was following suit, but he crashed into the ocean with no care for his perfectly tailored clothes, throwing himself forwards and sinking underneath the waves.

For a second, fear gripped a hold of Regulus’ chest and made it very hard to breathe. But the feeling was gone as soon as his brother resurfaced, grinning like a madman with his hair plastered all over his face.

“Sirius!” Regulus smacked him on his now-soaked chest, moving further into the water to do so. “You gave me a fright! Also, you’ve got all your clothes wet!”

“Oh no, whatever shall I do?” Sirius retorted mockingly, pulling a face at him.

He splashed him violently, so that Regulus got an entire mouthful of salty water, choking on it as it slipped unwelcomely into his lungs.

“Now you’re wet as well,” Sirius beamed and Regulus couldn’t even be mad at him because, again, he was at that stage where he absolutely adored everything that Sirius did and said.

“But our clothes…”

“...will dry,” Sirius cut him off gently, holding out a teasing hand to entice Regulus further into the water. “C’mon, Reg. Live a little. Let’s swim.”

Regulus hesitated, still only ankle-deep. “What if I don’t—”

“You’ll remember,” Sirius read his mind, like always.

Kindness seeped from him in waves, drowning Regulus in a flood of relief because, for all the times he took the piss, Sirius really knew the right thing to say at all times.

“Swim towards me.” Sirius kicked back so that he was submerged in the water, arms poised to ‘catch’ Regulus.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

And Regulus believed him. Of course he did. Sirius wasn’t going to let him drown.

Throwing himself forward into the deeper sections of the ocean, where Sirius was, Regulus swam towards his brother. Sirius was right, as always. Swimming was muscle memory, and Regulus suddenly remembered how much he loved it; how much joy he got from moving seamlessly through the water.

He surpassed Sirius, resulting in a yelp from the older boy who clearly felt like he’d been bested. And then they were swimming around, treading water to keep upright in the deeper parts.

Regulus remembers feeling so light; so weightless whilst swimming in the ocean with the sun burning down on them.

He remembers the bubble of happiness squeezing around him and Sirius as they laughed, splashing each other and shaking water from themselves like dogs, competing to see who could be the most dramatic (Sirius won).

He remembers feeling in his element; so at ease, and almost untouchable as the gentle waves were no barrier in racing Sirius from one rock to the other (Regulus won).

The day passed them by, morning bleeding into afternoon, and, if anyone noticed that the little boys from earlier still hadn’t been checked up upon by an adult, they didn’t mention it.

Honestly, even Regulus didn’t notice.

He was too caught up in the childish joy of actually being a child; of smiling until his cheeks hurt; of swimming and swimming and swimming until his fingers pruned, and Sirius was calling him a grandad.

He wished he could’ve stayed in that moment forever.

Just him and Sirius, alone and yet together.

Swimming around without a care in the world. Swimming around in the way that children were supposed to, without the weight of overbearing parents, and ridiculous expectations tugging them down into the icy depths. Bobbing above the water, breaths only slipping away in the form of delighted giggles, and not from the iron grip of a proverbial hand to the throat; oesophagus breaking from the strain that their parents choked them with.

Because Regulus remembers where it all went wrong.

He remembers returning from the beach, reluctantly dragging his feet because he really just wanted to stay in the sea forever, for the rest of eternity.

He remembers moments like that happening again, every summer, because Walburga worked out that, if she carted her children off to the beach, they would simply entertain themselves all day, and not bother her with their presence.

He remembers laughing with Sirius in the ocean as they got older, and taller, and wiser.

He remembers swimming with Sirius, even as the waters rose around them and tension twisted at their ankles like seaweed attempting to drag them underneath.

He remembers the last few summers before Sirius left him for good, when their previous laughter was nothing but an echo, and conversations were professionally awkward.

But they still swam. Sometimes in silence.

Sometimes with a hint of nostalgia riding on the waves around them; nostalgia that was instantly left in the groves of the damp sand, the foam withering into nothingness over time.

Sirius always went into the sea first, though.

And he’d always turn, a small smile twisting his features as Regulus followed.

Because he’d always follow his brother.

Except when he was asked to do exactly that—to walk out of the door with Sirius at the start of the summer before his fifth year, and he’d choked.

Shaken his head, tears trailing silently down his cheeks as Sirius had held out his hand and gone:

“C’mon Reg. I won’t let you drown. Swim towards me.”

Oh, Regulus remembers.

He remembers the first time Sirius didn’t come on the family holiday.

The wound of him running away had still been fresh, gushing blood out of Regulus and making him feel empty.

Lifeless.

Looking at the sea had been like pressing on a bruise, digging your finger in so harshly that the skin turns white. Even standing on the beach had made Regulus run to the cave, the very one that he and Sirius always dumped their stuff in, just to throw up.

He hadn’t gone in the sea that summer.

What was the point, when there was no Sirius to swim towards? To catch him if he slipped on a miscellaneous shell, or traitorous piece of seaweed lurking underneath the surface.

To splash him so hard that it actually became impossible to see…Regulus just constantly wiping water out of his eyes with laughter shaking his every bone.

To just be there, like he promised.

By the time the next summer came around, going to France wasn’t even an option. The war had swept everyone up, including Regulus’ parents.

Not to mention that Walburga, for all of her heartless and twisted ways, was still a mother.

And she could sense when her child was hurting; when Regulus missed Sirius.

Which meant she probably knew, all too well, that taking Regulus to the beach which reeked of Sirius, his very footprints carved permanently into the sand, would be a bad idea.

She’d managed to dredge up the tiniest scrap of sympathy still remaining in her rotted heart for that, at least.

Regulus made himself forget, clawing the memories out one by one. And he did.

Forget, that is.

He forgot the way that Sirius’ hair looked after he just rose from underneath the water.

He forgot how his brother’s hand felt in his when he pulled him in.

He forgot the sensation of floating; of feeling on top of the world because he was with his favourite person in his favourite place doing his favourite activity.

He forgot what it felt like to be truly, indescribably happy.

He forgot how the waves sounded, crashing against the shore with unwanted abandon.

He forgot how the normally soft particles of sand appeared after the sea rushed over it with no care, leaving nothing but torn pieces of seaweed or a broken shell.

He forgot what it felt like to sink under the waves, and feel at peace for however long he could hold his breath for; gasping for air in an exhilarated way whilst locking eyes with Sirius, who had usually surged for the surface earlier than Regulus.

Always leaving him behind.

Shouting at him, “C’mon, Reggie, keep up!!”

But not waiting this time, not holding out a hand for Regulus to grab.

Or, maybe he did.

Maybe Regulus was just too weak.

Maybe his legs were still too short. Maybe he was more inclined to dive for Sirius’ hand, but skin his knees on the harsh wood of the promenade instead, grazing them and oozing blood in a way that Sirius never seemed to do.

Because he was always one step ahead, one pawn move in front of the game.

Until he wasn’t.

Until Regulus was the one so ahead of the curve that it became a sphere, rolling him all the way back down to the bottom like a hamster wheel, winding him.

The irony twisted through the situation, like the seaweed necklaces that he and Sirius used to plait into practice for each other.

Because, of course.

Of course it was fucking Regulus who ended up on a beach again, when he swore he’d never go to one without Sirius again; when he tried so hard to forget that, when the memories come tumbling back, there’s a sharper ache than usual.

Oh, Regulus remembers.

He remembers thinking how different this beach was to the one he frequented with Sirius in the youthful capsules of their childhood—the only moments they were actually allowed to be children.

He remembers thinking that the sand was rocky, uncomfortable underfoot, and the jagged points forming an entrance to the cave weren’t very welcoming.

“Not exactly the best holiday destination,” Regulus muttered to Kreacher.

The house elf just looked up at him with wide eyes, flappy ears trembling from the flashbacks that were probably surging at him with unprecedented force.

He felt a stab of regret, but soothed it over. It would be okay—they’d be out of here soon, and then Regulus would finally be able to catch up to Sirius without him even having to slow down.

Kreacher had managed to apparate them directly to shore - he just couldn’t surpass the barriers to get into the actual cave. Regulus found himself being thankful that Kreacher saved him a boat ride over, though, as the late December air was bitingly cold, and whipped the pale complexion of his face into a harsh red, making them feel raw.

Exposed.

The wind howled angrily, not exactly adhering with the sunshine-filled memories of his childhood.

In a way, that was better though.

The less memories, the better.

Unfortunately, that didn’t appear to be the case because, as Regulus stepped into the dim and narrow passage, all he could think about was that the fear probably wouldn’t be choking him as much if Sirius was here.

Closing his eyes, Regulus placed himself back on that beach in that one week, (sometimes two if their parents were feeling particularly sick of the sight of them) where everything was perfect.

Untouched, even.

Innocence running like the first trickle of the stream, weeping down in its cleanest form until, before you’re even aware, it’s transformed into a filth-ridden tsunami rearing its ugly head and roaring towards you.

“Master Regulus?”

Ah, yes.

The task at hand, though unnerving in the impenetrable darkness, didn’t seem too daunting at first. Regulus cut his palm, barely even wincing, to allow them access and he slipped in with a shivering Kreacher at his feet.

The wound seeped blood, open and unhealed. Regulus didn’t even care, nor did he really notice. He was numb to pain by now, to the point where it had almost become somewhat of a friend.

The sea glittered. Black, Regulus remembers. Like a massive canvas of the sky—oh.

“It’s reflective so, whatever colour the sky is, that’s the same for the ocean.”

“Looks like you were right once more, Sirius,” Regulus murmured. He tasted the bitterness on his tongue, mixed with the bittersweet nature of his statement; the foreign sensation of fondness mingling there.

The memories were sour, making his mouth convulse like he’d just swallowed a lemon, so he forced them out of his head, shoving himself back into the moment.

It took him a while to assess his surroundings, senses rather blunt due to the entire atmosphere being doused in a darkness that wrapped around Regulus like a suffocating blanket of discouragement.

Taunts echoing in the whistles of the wind that hissed past him like shrapnel whizzing through the air, aiming for intended victims.

A full-body shiver radiated through him, terror gripping his insides and squeezing.

Maybe he was next. The cold metal of the fake locket pressed into his bloodied palm as he stared down into the green swirls of the potion guarding the Horcrux. He took a deep breath, the air rattling in his lungs as if it knew it was running out of time. 

"Don't let me stop drinking this potion. Understood?" He commanded of Kreacher. 

The elf nodded. "Yes, Master Regulus."

No time like the present. Regulus took his first gulp of the potion, the fire searing his throat but he fought past the moisture that instantly built behind his eyes. On the second sip, the tears had flowed down his cheeks like he was a scared kid all over again, hearing nothing but the crashing of waves as a sense of vulnerability crippled him. 

Except, this time, it wasn't that he couldn't swim. It was that he didn't know how to swim without Sirius; that he didn't want to drown. 

It was a little late for that, though. Cruel voices twisted their way into Regulus' mind as he dropped to his knees, eighteen years of regrets washing over him in a delirium-induced haze. And all Regulus could think about was that he didn't want to die--not now; not before he could tell his brother that he'd finally been brave enough to fight the waves instead of letting the current carry him along blindly; that he loved him and he was so fucking sorry---

Regulus didn't know when it happened, but he found the bottom of the goblet as Walburga's words hammered into his brain, mimicking the pounding heart trying to jump out of Regulus' ribs, his pulse fluttering amok like a caged bird. Poison flooded through his blood and the cold stone slabs of the cave soon met his cheek as he started convulsing on the floor, screaming out for anyone to help him, for the one person who always came when he cried. 

He pushed Kreacher's hands away, bones weak and brittle in a body too young to suffer; to die without anyone knowing what he'd done and sacrificed to be here. Through his blurry gaze, he saw the sea writhing up against the mouth of the cave. 

"C'mon, Reggie, keep up!"

Regulus whipped his head around, vision spinning. "Sirius?" He rasped out, mouth dry. Sirius had come to rescue him. He crawled slowly towards the water, hearing Kreacher's distant yell, but the house elf's words were lost to the roaring in his ears. 

"--keep up!"

And he'd never get the chance to. Darkness had engulfed him whole, and Regulus had done exactly what Sirius had told him not to...he'd panicked. No amount of breathing could balance out all of the water he'd swallowed. 

Pathetically, even as he stopped battling the Inferi and ceased any attempt at swimming, Regulus found himself looking for Sirius’ hand.

“C’mon Reg. I won’t let you drown. Swim towards me.”

But it was nowhere to be found.

(Five minutes later, in the heart of a jubilant New Year's party, with all of his friends surrounding him, Sirius Black suddenly felt very cold).