InsaneJournal

Who: Regulus Black (Open)
What: Realizing his worst fear
When: Right after dark
Where: A subway station
Warnings: PG-13 or so for violence. Thread can stand alone as a narrative, but other characters are more than welcome to join! Just watch out, they might get hexed and/or cursed while Reg is freaking out.


Regulus pressed a clammy hand to his forehead, ducking his head as he jogged down the steps to the subway station. He didn't know where he was going, all he knew was that he had to get there fast. Outrun this voice in his mind. He didn't know where it was coming from, but the ice that was slowly creeping through his gut told him that the one thing he hoped would never happen was, in fact, coming true.

The Dark Lord was here.

He heard whispers. They were calling his name. One sounded like the voice of Lucius Malfoy. Another, strangely, sounded like his older brother, Sirius. Bellatrix, Antonin, Rodolphus, Barty. They all called out to him. They all told him that He was coming. And he didn't need to be told twice just who 'He' was. The Dark Mark on his arm flared with white-hot heat every time a voice teased him from the shadows. He thought he would be safe here, in this strange alternate world. This world where he was alive and at least had one person on his side. This place where someone actually knew that he'd done the right thing in the end. But the fact that people knew was exactly what would damn him when the Dark Lord caught up with him. He'd been so brave, stealing that Horcrux. He'd made peace with the fact that he was going to die. But he sure as bloody hell didn't want to die again.

The younger Black whimpered, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of the voices, and his steps quickened. He had to go somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but here. He reached the subway platform only to see it deserted. A light flickered above his head.

Then he heard the snake hissing farther down, hidden by shadow.

He'd made a terrible mistake.

All the color drained from Regulus' face. He swallowed hard, trying to decide if it would be better, in the end, to run or to stand and fight. He wanted to run so very badly, but his legs were somehow frozen and made of jelly at the same time. He was afraid he would pass out. He kept a death grip on his wand, his right arm shaking violently as he raised it to defend himself. The first thing he saw were the red eyes, seeming to glow in the darkness of the tunnel. Regulus was alone in the dark with Lord Voldemort.

The voices continued, calling out to him, jeering him. Praying for him to die. His courage faltered and he nearly dropped his wand. Tears brimmed at the corner of his eyes as he stared down the most evil wizard that had ever lived. The wizard that Regulus had dared to double-cross. His death, he knew, would not be quick, nor would it be easy.

Quicker than Regulus thought himself able, his wand flicked this way and that, sending spell after spell, curse after curse, trying as hard as he could to throw everything he could at the Dark Lord, hoping to strike it lucky. However, it appeared that Voldemort was blocking every spell he flung, sending it flying back at him. Regulus' clothes quickly became tattered, his face, arms, and torso slashed open from the backfiring spells.

Regulus' legs buckled and he was brought to his knees by the pain of his own spells. He knew he was going to die again. And from somewhere in the darkness, his own brother was laughing at him.