Regulus Arcturus Black

The bitter aftertaste of betrayal lingered on his tongue, blending seamlessly with the acrid residue of the potion. Kreacher has left with the locket, at that is all that matters. Regulus Black, once a name synonymous with pride and honor, now whispered only anger, despair and regret. His parched throat, an unquenchable desert, yearned for relief. He crawled, fingers raw and bleeding from the jagged rocks, to the edge of the floating island.

The cavern loomed around him, a great maw of darkness, swallowing every flicker of hope. Above, stalactites hung like the teeth of a ravenous beast, and the air was thick with an almost palpable dread. He had to quench his thirst, if only for a moment of respite from the torment that gnawed at his insides.

Regulus dragged himself to the water's edge, its surface black and oily, reflecting none of the faint light that struggled to penetrate the cavern’s depths. With a trembling hand, he scooped up a handful, the liquid cool and deceptively refreshing as it trickled down his throat. Relief was immediate but short-lived.

As he bent for another drink, a face materialized in the water—ghostly pale, eyes hollow and unforgiving. An inferi. Panic surged, freezing him in place, but his body reacted too late. Cold, dead hands erupted from the depths, seizing his arms with a grip like iron.

"No—" his voice, hoarse and desperate, echoed through the cavern. The inferi’s pull was inexorable, dragging him down into the watery abyss. The chill of the water swallowed him, numbing his limbs, his senses. He struggled, a futile fight against the inevitable. His vision blurred, darkness closing in, but before the final curtain fell, a single word escaped his lips, a name etched into his soul with both love and sorrow:

"Sirius..."

....

Silence. The world faded to black.

—

When consciousness returned, it was like surfacing from a deep, suffocating pit. Regulus opened his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows on rough-hewn beams. He lay beneath warm covers, the softness of the fabric a stark contrast to the harsh stone of the cave. His body felt strangely light, the ache and thirst gone, replaced by a numbness that was almost peaceful.

He shifted, and the covers slipped, revealing healed scratches and scars that traced a map of his recent ordeal. Regulus sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist, exposing the vulnerability of his nakedness. His breath hitched in his throat. Where was he? Who had saved him?

The room was small but cozy, the scent of herbs and something sweet filling the air. On a nearby table, a basin of water sat, clear and inviting. He reached for it, his hands still trembling, and drank deeply, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat.

As he drank, the door creaked open, and a figure stepped into the room—a stranger, cloaked and hooded, their face obscured by shadows. Regulus tensed, pulling the covers tighter around himself.