In the depths of the summer field, under the mottled shawl of the sky, hanging low with dark clouds, two human figures, the center of today's performance, froze.

Their looks're lost in the distant, serene expanses - no matter how much you walk, there will be no edge, only an unstoppable thunderstorm. The nearest settlement was so far away that they had to apparate twice before getting here, and that's exactly what was needed now, with what they were going to summon in order to overthrow Voldemort.

The young man ran his hand through his curls, and the first drops of rain that fell on their soft blackness sparkled with a crystal sheen. Streams of warm air enveloped the pair, bringing the tart smell of grass and the aromas of flowers, heavy and suffocating in their spicy freshness. His robes like the black wings of a huge bird flapped against his legs, and on his face a gloomy and solemn expression's frozen.

Dark magic isn't a toy, but to destroy evil, there is a bigger one.

In this dilapidated corner of paradise, he drops a Slytherin locket from his palm, which, sparkling with gold and emeralds, was swallowed by blades of grass, becoming one of countless stars on a bright green carpet. Soon, the part of soul hidden in the necklace will wail and beg for mercy, fight for life and scream in pain.

"Pestis Incendium," Regulus whispered, and now there's no turning back, and all that remained was to pray that the two of them, almost children under twenty, will be able to control fiendfyre. You haven't found any other ways to destroy the horcrux.

Tongues of flame drip from the end of his wand in a measured, thin stream, curling into a ball of fiery snakes. Regulus' face pales with tension as he controls the power of the fire plague, which causes the blades of grass under your feet to heat up.

The locket swings open, releasing a puff of smoke, which hastily, panic-stricken takes shape. The dark wizard's soul will try to dissuade itself from death, which will make everything even more difficult.