This work is inspired by a YouTube video posted by oliviaalee, posted January 24, 2021.
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"Master Regulus," the elf whimpered, a throaty croak echoing off the walls of the dark cave. Fat tears rolled down the cheeks Regulus had pinched when he was younger, in days that seemed so far from the void of black that surrounded the duo on all sides.
"Go, Kreacher," Regulus gritted out, body heaving from the torturous effects of the potion he managed to force down. With a violently trembling hand, he dropped the fake locket into the basin, beads of sweat adorning the crown of his head. "That is an order. Go and destroy the locket, and never tell anyone in my family of what happened here today."
"Master Regulus," the elf repeated again, throwing himself at the young man's feet, the locket around his neck clanging on the hard rock. "No, no, Kreacher won't! Kreacher won't return, Kreacher won't leave Master Regulus!"
"GO!" Regulus shouted, body writhing in pain as he fell to the ground. "By the noble house of Black, GO - I command you!"
Kreacher's eyes widened, old magic taking control despite the elf's best efforts to resist. With a resounding crack, the elf was gone, taking the cursed piece of the Dark Lord with him.
Regulus lay on the frigid rock, weak from the potion and the memories of pain it had revived. Sirius leaving home, Kreacher screaming after returning from the Dark Lord's assignment, the burning thirst for love and acceptance he had sought for his entire life gone. His brother was gone, Voldemort not what he thought he was, and Regulus had nothing but unquenched thirst.
Thirst. Thirst. Thirst.
Water.
But there was water at the edge of the lake! Regulus crawled to the black water's edge, reaching for the water that would surely soothe his throat, but as his hand touched the water's edge, a bone-white hand shot out to meet his, grasping it with an otherworldly strength he could not escape. Another joined it, reaching further for his wrist, and as Regulus was dragged down to the water, more and more came up from the depths of the blackness, claiming Regulus as their own.
The world faded, a suffocating pain dulling the edge of his vision as the hands dragged him under the water, accepting the boy who had been cast aside and forgotten, the boy who had, despite it all, brought right to wrong.
And so he lay, under the surface, covered by silt and blackness until, years later, the shadow of a long, thin boat passed by in a search for the Dark Lord's torn soul in the form of another boy - this time, one who had lived, and would continue to.