Round 10 -

Tutshill Tornados

Reserve Seeker

Kill Them or Save Them - Saving Regulus Black

Saving a Star

He was utterly insane, it was the only logical explanation as to why he was willingly walking to his death.

What would his brother think of him now? Did this make him enough of a Gryffindor for his brother to speak with him again?

He would never admit it, but he missed his older brother. Only after Sirius left had he noticed just how much his brother had sheltered him. He loved his mother dearly, but she was by no means a warm, motherly woman.

She took care of him, but he couldn't remember the last time she had smiled at him much less hugged him. He understood, somewhat, it was the pureblood way of raising children. However, every summer when he saw those mothers hugging their children and welcoming them back, his heart would squeeze, and just for a moment, he would imagine what his life would have been like if he had been one of them.

No heir duties to tie him down.

No family history to shackle him to a destiny he hadn't truly wanted.

He shook his head. No point thinking of those things now. He would be dead in a little while.

Would Sirius mourn him?

Merlin, he hoped so. He was so selfish—wishing suffering upon his brother just so he would feel as if he was loved.

He was a vile human being.

He deserved this fate.

At least, this one was chosen by him.

He took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen.

"Kreacher?"

With a soft pop the house-elf was in front of him—his gaze adoring—and Regulus felt his heart squeeze once more.

Poor Kreacher. If there was another way, he would never subject him to this.

"It's time to go."

Kreacher's tiny shoulders dropped as if Regulus had put the weight of the world on them, and in a way he had. Merlin, he truly was despicable. He would be dead, at peace finally, and leave his poor house-elf to deal with the consequences of his actions.

Selfish, despicable.

He looked away from the frail creature, lest all the tiny bits of courage in his body leave him and he abandoned the plan.

Kreacher took his hand—it was shaking horribly though it was easy enough for Regulus to pretend that it wasn't—then, they were gone.

He stumbled as they arrived, and if it weren't for the hold Kreacher had on him—he was stronger than he looked, and magic was probably involved as well—he would have tumbled down the cliff to certain death.

It seemed like Death was eager to greet him.

"Where to now?" he asked.

"Master, please..."

"Kreacher!"

Kreacher flinched, and again Regulus felt like the worst sort of human.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I explained why I must do this, remember? It's the right thing to do."

Regulus didn't think it possible, but the frail house-elf hunched in further upon himself. There was a tiny nod from the bowed head, and Regulus gave the small hand still holding onto his own a small squeeze.

As Kreacher guided him into the cave that would be his tomb, his heartbeat slowed. An odd calm settled over him. A warm, comfy blanket that would let him take the last steps.

He looked at the potion, fighting against the shudder that ran down his spine and threatened to lock his legs in place.

"Do it."

And Kreacher did, sobbing throughout.

—

Orion knew his children. He loved both, even if Sirius would never believe it if he told him. Out of both his children, Regulus was by far the softest. He had a gentle heart, no matter how many layers of ice he tried to build around it.

It was the Slytherin way, after all, and Regulus wanted nothing more than to do his Blood proud.

Still, Orion knew his children, and he knew that the path Regulus had taken was one that would break him. Serving a mad Lord would never be a path on which Regulus would be able to flourish—not like Bella, who had taken to the war like a snitch to the air.

As the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, it was something that should shame him. As a father… well, as a father, it was something he simply couldn't allow.

He was proud of his Black ancestry, but he was even prouder of his Black descendants—his children.

So, when he felt the charm he had put on his children surge to life with a force that left him breathless, he took merely a moment to jump out of his bed and race to the ritual room.

He slammed the door closed, already slashing his palm open and smearing blood on the runes he had long engraved into place.

"Draoidheachd, cluinn mo thagradh. Bàs, freagair mo thagradh. Draoidheachd, cuir taic ris an tagradh agam. Bàs, gabh mo ìobairt."

He had always said his children would be the death of him.

—

Harry sneaked around the old town-house. He couldn't sleep and didn't want to wake anyone up—everyone was a little on edge with Mr. Weasley still in St Mungo's, and the last thing Harry wanted was to deal with more of that overwhelming guilt he felt every time he even glimpsed red-hair.

Then again, he also didn't want to run into Sirius. His godfather hated this house, and even though there was a smile plastered on his lips when they were together, it was hardly enough to mask the deep-seated hatred that constantly burned in Sirius when something was brought up about the Black Family—considering they were living in the Black Family house, it happened quite a lot.

Harry just wanted to wander the house, and maybe be alone with his thoughts for a while. Peace and quiet wasn't something he had the luxury of experiencing very often.

He frowned as he came across a corridor he had never seen before. It was darker than the rest—something he hadn't thought possible—and made out of stone.

Curious, he walked along the corridor, keeping his eye out for any portraits on the walls or for the crazy elf to pop up and attack him. No matter what Hermione said, that elf wasn't sane.

He stopped, staring at the heavy door. Well, that didn't look ominous at all.

Later, Harry would blame it on his Gryffindor tendencies, but for now, he just pushed the door open. He frowned as it remained closed.

He shook his head, so much for that.

He slapped his hand against it, and cursed up a storm as it caught on a splinter of wood, making him bleed. Then, before his eyes, the door gently swung open.

He started at it wide-eyed, hesitating only for a moment, before stepping through.

There were a few torches lining the walls, giving the dark rook a soft glow. However, what caught his attention was the rune circle engraved on the floor, more precisely, the teenager inside the circle.

With a gasp, the teenager surged up, taking deep ragged breaths.

Harry's heart was thundering away in his chest when bright silver eyes locked with his own.

"Who are you? Where am I?" a gravelly voice asked. Then, before Harry had a chance to say anything, those bright eyes rolled back, leaving Harry with an unconscious teenager.

Well… this would be interesting to explain to the Order, Harry mused looking wide-eyed at the teenager that could be a double of Sirius.