#regulus drowns

summery: Regulus Black always obeyed. Sirius Black always defied. For years, he lived in the shadow of his brother’s fire, silent and dutiful, never daring to fight for himself. But on the night that will claim his life, Regulus chooses defiance over obedience, courage over fear—finally stepping out of Sirius’s shadow, even if it kills him.

Author's notes: you can also find me on ao3 (here!) and hope you enjoy this job! English is not my native language, so please be kind. love u ⋆˚✿˖°.

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The cave exhaled a damp, cold breath that clung to his skin. The stone walls glistened with moisture, and the green water of the basin shivered faintly as though it were alive. Beneath its surface, pale forms writhed, searching for the warmth of life that would soon belong to them. Regulus Black felt the weight of every choice he had ever made pressing down on him, crushing his chest, rattling his bones.

His hands shook violently as they hovered over the goblet, trembling as though the mere act of touching it might undo him. He should be afraid. He should run, crawl back up the cave, hide behind the rules and obedience that had kept him alive all these years. But he would not.

Sirius.

The name rose unbidden in his mind, burning sharper than any fear. Two years older, untouchable, untamed. Sirius had always called him weak. Weak for listening, weak for obeying, weak for bending to a family that demanded perfection. Regulus had hated him for it, resented him for the freedom he had been too cautious to take.

And yet.

He had loved him. He had always loved him, even when it hurt. Even when Sirius had left him behind for James Potter, choosing another brother over him, leaving Regulus to shoulder the Black legacy alone. That love burned now, brighter than any potion could, mingled with the sharp sting of betrayal and longing.

The Sorting came first, a memory etched into his bones. He had not seen Sirius’s Sorting Hat moment with his own eyes. He had only heard the screams afterward. Mother’s voice, sharp and piercing, shattered the Great Hall: A Black in Gryffindor? Her fury rumbled through the air, impossible to ignore. Father had tried to intervene, his deep tone attempting to calm her, but her rage surged on. And Sirius had sat across the hall, tall, confident, smiling with a sort of wild certainty that nothing in the world could touch him. Mischief, defiance, pride. Freedom. All the things Regulus had craved, none of which he had ever claimed for himself.

The Sorting Hat had pressed against his scalp when it was his turn, whispering, probing: Clever, ambitious, afraid of being left behind…Regulus had flinched at the accusation it spoke aloud in his mind. Slytherin will keep you safe.

Safe. A word that had always felt like a cage. He had wanted to be near Sirius, to sit beside him, to follow him. But Slytherin had claimed him, and with it, the first weight of isolation pressed into his chest. And Sirius… Sirius had watched him from across the hall, a flash of disappointment crossing his face before he turned away. The flicker had burned itself into Regulus’s memory like a brand.

The memory twisted seamlessly into another. The night Sirius left. Past midnight, the house alive with shouting. Mother’s voice shrill, father’s deep rumble attempting restraint, and Sirius shouting louder, furious and defiant: “I hate this family! I’m not your son! I’ll never be what you want!”

Regulus had crept into the hall, trembling, bare feet cold on the floorboards. He had watched, heart hammering, as Sirius stormed down the stairs, hair disheveled, eyes blazing with fire. Then Sirius had seen him, for just a heartbeat. A flicker of tenderness, almost recognition. Almost. And then he was gone. Door slamming, finality ringing through the house.

He had hated him.

And he had loved him.

The goblet pressed to his lips. The potion burned as it slid down his throat, searing fire twisting through his chest and stomach. He gagged, coughed, convulsed. His body shook uncontrollably, but he forced himself to swallow again and again. Each gulp stripped away the boy who had obeyed, hidden, survived. Each gulp left something new: a trembling, fragile, burning courage.

Too afraid, Reggie? Too weak?

The voice was sharp, mocking, and it broke him a little, though it also steadied him. Sirius. Or the memory of him. Or the longing he had imagined as real. He could not tell the difference.

The Inferi beneath the water stirred, hands clawing at the surface. He could smell them now, a cold, putrid stench of decay. His skin crawled as they reached toward him, pale, endless, relentless.

Another memory rose, suffocating him. His first Death Eater meeting. He had been sixteen. The Dark Mark burned against his skin like a curse, like a brand of shame he could not escape. He had believed he was strong, that he was serving his family, his legacy, his house.

But he had been terrified. Every nerve screaming. Every muscle frozen. The faces around him loyal but hollow. The weight of fear disguised as strength. And he had realized, finally, that survival alone was never strength. Obedience was never courage. Weakness had been his constant companion.

He forced himself upright, trembling so violently he nearly fell into the basin. Another swallow of the potion, fire clawing down his throat, and Sirius’s voice returned.

Do it, Reggie. You’re stronger than you think. Don’t be weak. Not now.

He gasped, tears stinging his eyes, saliva and potion dripping down his chin. Every muscle in his body screamed to run, to hide, to cling to life. But he did not. For the first time, he would not.

Sirius’s voice softened, almost tender now: I’m proud of you, Reggie. I always wanted you to be brave.

Regulus trembled. He had never been brave. He had hated, feared, obeyed, hidden. He had wanted Sirius’s approval, and in wanting it, he had always felt himself fail. But now, with death pressing in, he realized he could be brave — not for anyone else, not for his family, not even for Sirius, but for himself.

The Inferi surged, hands closing around him. The water rose, dragging him down, cold seeping into his bones. He screamed, a raw, jagged sound of terror and triumph intertwined. But he did not fight, did not flinch. He could almost see Sirius at his side, smirking, daring him, proud and furious all at once.

He thought of every loss: youth, innocence, the brother who had chosen another over him, the family that demanded perfection, the life he had been forced to obey. Each memory pressed down like stones in his chest. But with the final gulp, the fire of the potion burned it away. Pain, regret, and guilt burned into clarity. Courage had finally come.

I tried, Sirius, he whispered. I tried to be brave. I tried to be like you.

His body convulsed violently, every nerve afire, but his mind cleared, singular, focused. Choice. Freedom. Love. Hate. Every emotion he had felt for Sirius, every moment he had wished for a connection, every grudge, every longing, every impossible wish—it all converged.

The Inferi’s cold hands closed on him. He gasped, tasted iron and fear and salt. Darkness pressed into his lungs. His heartbeat roared. And he smiled, small, wild, fleeting. For once, he was not weak. For once, he had chosen.

He had chosen to act. To feel. To be brave. To love, even in anger, even in grief, even in abandonment.

He had chosen Sirius.

Even if it carried him to the grave.

And as the water claimed him, as cold and inevitability wrapped around his body, Regulus Black felt something he had never known in life: peace. Not safety, not obedience, not approval—just the raw, terrible, beautiful freedom of courage.

Even in death, he had chosen.