Regulus thought it was the end when he drowned in that cave.

He never really believed in the afterlife, or anything to do with it. All he thought he would see after death was darkness — pure darkness — not even a smidge of his family, nor some light that was supposed to consume him and bring him to eternal joy and peace. Then, he had to remind himself if he was dragged down by those Inferi, he’d become one of them, a pawn used in Tom Riddle’s somehow excellent game of chess that no one could beat him at.

The boy didn’t know which one was worse. Seeing darkness for the rest of eternity, or having to wait at the bottom of a pit of water to drag someone down to their untimely death? Both seemed rather . . cruel, and he didn’t want either of them. But, Regulus supposed seeing darkness was better than anything.

Peace was found in that fact. Until he found himself back in his home after he closed his eyes for the final time, and after a few minutes of screaming at his mother until his throat grew raw, he realized that he was by far the worst thing he could’ve been; a ghost. A literal spirit, like the ones he saw in the halls of Hogwarts. But unlike them, no one noticed him. He just lingered there, being a simple gust of wind or the chill that creeped up someone’s back when he brushed past.

And just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, he finally realized the only reason he was still even a specimen of the universe was because he was tethered to the painting his mother commissioned of him just a year before, and he heard every word people spoke to his painting. Every sob, every whine, every scoff. Every little thing you’d say, visiting his mother to make sure she was okay since she just adored you ever since the two of you became friends at a young age, then coming up to his room and either just staring at the items frozen in place, or completely crumbling.

He didn’t think a ghost could ache so much.