The Journal of Regulus Arcturus Black

Chapter 8. Slytherin's Locket

I don't think that I ever had the intention to write something down to someone, specifically. I just wanted to document what happened during the war and ultimately, what's going to happen to me. But, I think that with the knowledge of knowing one's death, people become a lot more sentimental. Sentiment is not a Slytherin trait. I don't care. I'm going to die sometime within this month and I need to tell someone something.

There's an itch eating away at me and I feel like for someone that knows when and how I'm going to die, I wouldn't feel this way. I don't fear death, not really. I used to be scared of the dark but I always had Sirius with me, holding a match between his fingers till it burnt the skin on the tip of his index and forefinger. He eventually used to perform the smallest lumos to make sure that I knew he was around.

Sometimes, I look at my fingertips and I can almost see them glow. Like the sight of holding your hand out in front of a fireplace and seeing the almost transparent glow of the flames from behind. When I get overwhelmed, I feel my fingertips buzz and crackle in the air. Like being apparated but a thousand times with no breaks.

I think my magic is trying to stop me from dying. It's a funny thing really, thinking of magic as a sentient being. My very core knows exactly what's going to happen to me and is trying it's best to make sure I'm safe.

Nonetheless, I must tell someone something, right? I think that's the most obvious step. If I'm going to die, I should probably do so with a light heart. Knowing that all the enmities I made, have finally been put to bed. In some serene way, I only want to say goodbye to one person.

So Sirius, if you ever get your hands on my journal, know that I think of you every day. Know that I have always and beyond this life, will always look up to you, my older brother. My Sirius. I forgive you for leaving me and thinking of yourself first. That night you left this House and the Black Family was the bravest thing you could have ever done. I apologise for being a coward, for not being a good brother and for succumbing to the Dark Mark.

I love you brother.

R.A.B.

***

Draco's words stuttered out the last of Regulus's entry. "I will not be able to see it, but I will—" he pressed his lips into a thin line, beside him Kreacher was crying silently. Draco had cast a langlock on him the moment he realised that Kreacher wouldn't stop crying no matter how hard he tried to keep him quiet.

Kreacher got the release he needed in tears and Draco was still able to read the journal. It was rather hard, trying to swallow the fist-sized pill that Regulus put in Draco's throat when he had written the last couple of entries. Regulus was aware of his death long before he told Kreacher of his plans and Draco could only read with a heavy chest as he finally got to know the man that was his godfather.

"...die knowing that his words have left discontent rather than a passionate following." Draco finally finished. "R.A.B. My godfather... Regulus Arcturus Black," he whispered. He shouldn't really be crying for Regulus, or mourn someone he had never even met. But it was like a part of Regulus, the vulnerable and young part of him, was enclosed within the small journal currently in Draco's hands.

"Finite," Draco whispered, the jinx on Kreacher mute finally lifted. Draco let Kreacher's gritty and shrill cries consume him whilst he thought about everything he had learnt about his godfather.

Regulus was only nineteen when he died. He had doubts about becoming a Death Eater the moment he realised that he would have to kill not just a muggleborn- but anyone. Regulus wanted the best for Kreacher, confiding in the house-elf more than a master should. Regulus, who so fiercely loved his brother, he was too afraid to ever return back to him in fear of being rejected.