You never can trust the clever ones.
Or the pretty ones.
No, he'll be leaving Regulus Black here. Unburied.
Many believe that to be killed by the Inferi is to become one, but that is not the case. You have to be enchanted. Tom cocks his head to the side before pushing the body away from the shore with his foot. An eternity as the undead is too good for Regulus Black.
He can rot.
On the rocks outside the cave Tom pauses, closing his eyes and letting the wind blow through him. Exhaling. He'll tell everyone that Regulus was a traitor. He'll make it known that he killed him and that there's no body left. That ought to scare anyone else thinking about doing the same. Maybe he'll throw in something about how loudly Black screamed.
Opening his eyes he looks out at the water stretching endlessly before him. It's all coming together, he's out maneuvering all of Dumbledore's roadblocks, and soon it'll be over. He just has to finish his acquisition of the Ministry. Just has to deal with the contents of the prophecy. Just has to push a little harder, inch himself over the finish line. And then he'll have it all.
Little boys never do know their limits.
PART II SIRIUS
His gloves are wet, his fingers starting to go numb as he packs the snow more tightly. All in all it's a rather impressive fort, if he does say so himself. He clearly has a future as an architect.
"Make sure the walls are solid okay?" he calls over his shoulder. "We don't want any holes."
He wishes he knew a drying spell. Also wishes he had a wand. Sometimes his father lets him cast things with his wand but he isn't allowed in the fort. No one is allowed in the fort except for Sirius and Reg. This is their home now. And they'll be safe here. Sirius'll make sure of it.
"Reg?" he calls out again. "Did you hear me?"
There's another pause and then;
"So this is where you keep us, huh?"
Sirius whips around.
Regulus is sitting behind him, leaning against one of the fort walls, knees bent. He's big. Hair longer than Sirius has ever seen it—their mother never lets it get past their ears—and he isn't wearing any of his snow stuff. No jacket. No snow pants. No gloves.
"What're you—" his voice has dropped, and when Sirius looks down at himself he sees that he's now in his pyjamas. Well, t-shirt and boxers, but he doesn't feel the cold anymore. Doesn't even feel the dampness of the snow.
"Not real then," he murmurs, looking back up in time to catch the dry smirk in the corner of Regulus's mouth.
"Not quite."
"Dream?"
"Mmm," Regulus hums noncommittally.
He squints at Regulus, inspecting him. He's surprisingly detailed for a dream. He looks old. And Tired. And thin.
"Your hair is ridiculous," Sirius says eventually.
"You're one to talk."
"Please, my hair is an institution."
"Merlin, spare me."
Sirius grins, sliding against the wall across from Regulus, their feet almost touching—it's a snow fort after all, there isn't much space.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Start from the beginning
