He could still feel their hands clawing at him, ice cold, unrelenting, desperate. The sensation hadn’t left him. Sometimes, when the room got too quiet, he could swear he was still drowning, lungs burning, darkness pressing in from every side. Part of him thought he should have died there. Expected to, even. That was the plan. But Kreacher had ruined that. The loyal elf had dragged him out of that cursed cave at the last second, apparating him to safety with shaking hands and tear streaked cheeks. Regulus should’ve felt grateful. Instead, he felt… lost. He didn’t know what came next. His name was dirt. If the rest of the Black family found out he was still alive, they’d mourn him anyway, traitor to the cause, disgrace to the bloodline. He had betrayed Him. There was no going back.

And then there was her. The only person who might’ve still cared. The one Kreacher had taken him to first, the one who had saved his life in return. She hadn’t spoken to him since. Not really. Not beyond what was necessary. And he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t warned her. Hadn’t said goodbye. Just disappeared. But it was the way she looked at him now, like she couldn’t decide whether to hate him or pity him, that gutted him more than when the healer had siphoned the water out of his lungs. He was staying at James’s manor now. Along with Sirius, his estranged, roaring, no longer brother, and Remus, ever calm, ever watchful. A week had passed since the cave, but the exhaustion still clung to his bones. His chest still ached. He still saw shadows in his sleep. Regulus sat on the edge of the guest bed, stiff sheets tangled around his legs, staring blankly at the wand on the nightstand. Merlin only knew how James had been convinced to let a former Death Eater sleep under his roof. His thoughts spiraled, restless and dark, until the door creaked open behind him.