Chapter Text
The moon hung over the cliffside like a dying eye, pale and blistered, bleeding its light across the jagged coast. Wind screamed through the crags in a rasping voice, and the sea below seethed, angry and relentless, like it was mourning something not yet lost but soon to be.
From the darkness of the cliffside cave, a figure spilled onto the rocks like a broken prayer—half water, half blood. Regulus Arcturus Black dragged himself across the slick stone, fingers scrabbling, body trembling with fever and the rot of the Draught still coiling like barbed wire through his insides. He was soaked to the bone, ribs blooming purple and black beneath torn robes, hair matted with salt, blood, and silt.
He whimpered—no words, just sound, something feral and cracked. The rocks tore his skin raw as he army crawled, every inch of movement agony, every breath a broken glass rattle. Behind him, the cave yawned like a throat, silent now, but he could still feel them—the cold, dragging hands of the Inferi, reaching, reaching, mouths wide with nothing inside.
He hacked up saltwater and bile, trembling violently, fingers clawing the sand as though he could rip salvation from it. His thoughts were not thoughts—only flashes. Sirius. Kreacher. His mother’s perfume. The locket. The fake.
The real one, warm against his chest, tucked beneath the collar of his ruined shirt. He shifted it subtly, pressing it tighter to his skin.
And then he saw someone.
A silhouette on the shore.
Regulus froze, every muscle clenching in terrified hope. His head lifted, lips cracked and wet with spit and salt.
“Mum?” he rasped, delirious. “Sirius?”
But the figure stepped forward, cloak fluttering like smoke.
Pale skin. Red eyes. Snake smile.
Lord Voldemort.
Regulus's breath left him in a strangled gasp. His body locked up. The world narrowed to a pinprick of horror.
He tried to stand—failed—collapsed back onto his knees with a pitiful whimper.
“Please,” he breathed. “No, no, not yet—”
“There you are, coward,” Voldemort said softly, like a lover spotting an ex across a ballroom. “I’ve been waitin’ for this moment, for the perfect time to strike.”
Regulus's limbs spasmed. He was shaking so violently he couldn't tell where the sea ended and he began.
“When your goal’s so close,” Voldemort continued, stepping closer, wand lazily held but burning with power, “and you’ve reached the coast—that’s when our paths collide.”
Regulus tried to crawl backward. Tried to think. The locket—it had to stay hidden. If Voldemort saw it—
“I’ve got a reputation,” Voldemort murmured. “I’ve got a name to uphold.”
“Please—”
“So I can’t go lettin’ you walk or else the world forgets I’m cold.”
Regulus’s head snapped up, eyes wild and glassy. “Please, My Lord—”
“Now get in the water.”
The wind howled louder, as though echoing the command.
“Get in the water.”
Regulus shook his head weakly. “Wait…”
“Or I’ll raise the tide so high,” Voldemort went on, ignoring him, voice rising, “all of Britain will die.”
His wand twitched.
“Get in the water.”
“Stop this, please…”
“I’ll make tidal waves so profound,” Voldemort hissed, now crouching slightly, close enough Regulus could smell the rot of magic off him, “both your friends and your brother will drown.”
Regulus let out a strangled cry. “No…!”
The first Cruciatus hit him like lightning, and his screams tore through the cliffs.
His back arched, limbs spasming uncontrollably as his body lit up with fire, every nerve ending turned traitor.
Then—
Silence.
He collapsed. Shaking. Gasping.
Voldemort circled him, eyes glittering.
“Get in the water.” Each word struck like a curse itself.
Regulus sobbed. “Please, I didn’t—I only wanted—”
“Get in the water.”
The second Cruciatus didn’t even let him scream. His throat seized up, jaw locked, teeth cracking together.
“You’ve lived more than enough,” Voldemort snarled, eyes alight. “Get in the water.”
Regulus tried to crawl again. Failed. Again. His body didn’t belong to him anymore.
“I’ll take your brother,” Voldemort growled, stepping closer, shadows swarming around his feet, “and gouge his eyes…”
Regulus’s eyes widened.
“That is, unless you choose to die.”
Regulus whimpered, tears tracking down his face, mixing with blood.
“Get in the water.”
He coughed violently, spitting up more seawater. “Aren’t you tired, My—Voldemort…?” he whispered. “It’s been ten years… How long will this go…?”
Voldemort paused.
“We’re both hurtin’ from losses,” Regulus murmured, voice thin and fraying like unraveling silk. “So why not leave this here… and just go home?”
Voldemort blinked, almost thoughtfully.
“I can’t.”
Regulus smiled, broken and sweet. “Maybe… maybe you could learn to forgive…”
“No,” Voldemort said simply, and then, like a curse: “Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.”
He raised his wand.
“Die.”
Regulus didn’t get to scream before the final spell slammed into him.
It wasn’t a killing curse.
It was a blast of raw force, a writhing serpentine spell that coiled around his limbs and dragged him toward the sea.
He screamed as he was pulled across the rock, limbs twisting in unnatural angles, tied and bound by magic.
And then the ocean opened her mouth and swallowed him whole.
Salt. Cold. The crash of waves against his skin like a slap from the world itself. He struggled, fought, thrashed as the spell kept him bound. His lungs screamed for air. The surface danced above him, unreachable.
The locket at his chest burned.
And as the dark folded around him—
He saw them.
Blurred shapes of light, underwater stars glowing with warmth.
“You can relax, my friend,” a voice said, soft, amused. Evan. Evan Rosier. His crooked smile warm through the haze.
“I can tell you’re gettin’ nervous.”
Regulus reached toward him, tears blending into the sea.
Another figure. Pandora Lovegood, hair a golden halo in the deep.
“Look at all we’ve lost… and all we’ve learned.”
Regulus sobbed, bubbles spilling from his mouth, body going slack.
His mother’s hand touched his cheek. Walburga, eyes softer than he’d ever seen them, voice like lullabies.
“I’ll stay in your heart.”
“Oh, whoa, Regulus,” came Dorcas’s voice—sharp and aching, her touch on his shoulder grounding, real.
Another voice, unfamiliar.
“Waitin’, waitin’, waitin’, oh…”
And then nothing.
The sea closed over him.
Silence.
Darkness.
No breath. No pain.
Only stillness.