chapter two
❝and i've never felt
more alone❞

Regulus Black, a name whispered in hushed tones within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts and the shadowed alleyways of the wizarding world. A name forever etched in the annals of darkness, a stark reminder of the tragic consequences of a predetermined destiny.

Born into the illustrious Black family, Regulus was destined for greatness, or so it seemed. The weight of ancestral expectations bore down upon his shoulders, a heavy mantle that suffocated his individuality. From a tender age, he was indoctrinated into the twisted ideology of Lord Voldemort, a path illuminated by the promise of power and the allure of a world free from the constraints of morality.

Yet, beneath the facade of unwavering loyalty, a flicker of doubt ignited within Regulus's soul. As he delved deeper into the heart of darkness, he witnessed the atrocities committed in the name of their cause, the innocent lives extinguished without remorse. A chasm opened within him, a conflict between duty and conscience, between the expectations of his family and the dictates of his own heart.

The turning point arrived when Regulus, driven by a desperate act of defiance, stole a Horcrux, a fragment of Voldemort's soul, and replaced it with a fake. This audacious act of rebellion was  surprising as he was known to be the perfect heir of Walburga Black.

Regulus had never thought he'd feel this way. Love? It was a stupid, idealistic notion, something for the weak-minded. Yet, here he was, heart pounding like a trapped animal, every time he saw Juniper Potter.

She was everything he wasn't. Bright, hopeful, and infuriatingly kind. He'd always seen her as his brother's little savior, a pest. But lately, he'd started to see her...differently.

The way her eyes lit up when she talked about her dreams, the way she laughed, a sound like wind chimes, the way she cared for others, it was all so...foreign to him. A world away from the darkness he was accustomed to.

He knew it was wrong, forbidden. A Death Eater and a Potter, it was a recipe for disaster. But he couldn't help himself. He was drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. He'd risk it all for a stolen glance, a whispered word. He loved her but destroying Voldemort was much more important or so he thought as he walked in the forest.

Regulus sighed, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. He loved Juniper, truly. Her laugh was like music, her eyes held the universe, and her touch...well, that was something else entirely. But he couldn't let his feelings cloud his judgment.

Voldemort had to go. It was simple. The Dark Lord was a monster, a blight on the wizarding world. And Regulus, despite his family's ties, knew that he had to be stopped.

He glanced at the forest, a place of both peace and danger. It was here, in this quiet, secluded spot, that he'd make his move. A move that would change the course of history, or end his own.
With a heavy heart, he stepped into the woods. Love could wait. Duty called.

Regulus was anything but perfect as everybody thought he is. He was human like everybody else. Humans made mistakes but Regulus hoped that leaving his beloved would not be one. A sighed
escape his lips, his sterling grey eyes focus on the cave, he was searching for.

The damp, cavernous air clung to Regulus like a shroud. He shivered, not from the cold, but from the weight of his decision. He had chosen a path of darkness, only to find himself yearning for light. The knowledge of Voldemort's Horcruxes gnawed at him, a festering wound that demanded to be cauterized.

"Kreacher," he rasped, his voice echoing in the silent cavern, "we must go." The old house-elf, his wrinkled face etched with a mixture of fear and reluctant loyalty, bowed low. "As you wish, Master Regulus."

The deeper they ventured in the cave, the more oppressive the darkness became. The only sound was the drip-drip of water and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures. Regulus, his heart pounding in his chest, felt a strange sense of anticipation mixed with dread.

Finally, they reached the chamber. A circular room, its walls slick with moisture, it was a place of eerie stillness. At its center, a small basin, filled with a dark, viscous liquid, held the cursed object.

"The potion, Kreacher," Regulus ordered, his voice barely a whisper.
Kreacher, his eyes wide with fear, hesitated. "Master Regulus, it is dangerous..."

"I know the risks, Kreacher," Regulus interrupted, his tone firm. "Do as I say."
He did not want to hesitate, it was now or never.

With trembling hands, Kreacher dipped a small cup into the basin and handed it to Regulus. The potion was bitter and cold, and as Regulus drank, he felt a chilling sensation spread through his body. "Now, Kreacher," Regulus said, his voice weak, "take the locket. Replace it with this one." He handed Kreacher a replica locket, a perfect forgery. "And then... leave. Do not wait for me."

Kreacher's eyes widened in disbelief. "But, Master Regulus..."

"Go, Kreacher!" Regulus insisted, his voice rising. "Go, and never return to this place."

With a final, reluctant nod, Kreacher took the fake locket and disappeared. Regulus was alone, facing the terrible ordeal that lay ahead. He approached the basin, his body heavy and his mind clouded. The potion had weakened him, but it had also granted him a fleeting moment of clarity. He knew what he had to do. With a deep breath, he plunged his hand into the water.

The water was icy cold, and as he submerged his arm, he felt a sharp pain. The Inferi, creatures born from dark magic, were stirring. They were drawn to the Horcrux, and they would do anything to protect it. Regulus fought back, his strength waning with each passing moment. The Inferi swarmed around him, their skeletal forms reaching out to grasp him.

He struggled against their grip, but it was futile. As the darkness closed in, Regulus thought of his family, of his brother, Sirius. He had failed them, but he had also tried to make amends. But the last image in his mind was his beloved, his Juniper. Here he was dying alone. If only he knew what he left behind but yet again, death intervene.

The icy water closed in, pulling Regulus under. As he sank, he heard a voice, cold and distant, "Not yet, not your time." But it was too late. The darkness claimed him. Or so it seemed.

Juniper awoke, her heart pounding in her chest. A cold sweat clung to her skin as the memory of her dream, a nightmare of darkness and despair, flooded her mind. She sat up abruptly, her breath ragged, her eyes wide with fear.

The room was silent, the only sound the soft ticking of the clock. She glanced at the window, the first rays of dawn casting long shadows across the room. A wave of loneliness washed over her, a familiar ache in her chest. Regulus was gone.

She had woken up two days ago to an empty bed, a cold, desolate feeling settling over her. She had searched the manor, her heart pounding with dread, but there was no sign of him. No note, no explanation, just an empty room and a growing sense of confusion and fear.

Now, as she sat alone, the questions swirled in her mind. Why had he left without a word? What had happened to him? Was he with the Dark Lord? Did that mad man found out about them and hurted him? The uncertainty was a heavy weight on her heart, a constant reminder of his absence.

She missed his warm embrace, his comforting presence, the way his eyes sparkled with geniune love. She missed the sound of his laughter, the way he could make her smile even on the darkest of days. Without him, the world seemed dull, colorless, and devoid of joy.

She looked at the night sky, "Please be okay." The star that shine lesser than Sirius. "Please, Reggie." Death listened
to her plea.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the nine month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."

Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Trelawney. "Now, Trelawney," he began, his voice a soothing balm, "this prophecy of yours... it's quite the spectacle, isn't it? A child born to defeat the Dark Lord. A most dramatic turn of events, indeed."

He paused, a knowing glint in his eye.
"However, we must tread carefully. Prophecies, as you know, are often open to interpretation. They can be misleading, especially when emotions and fear cloud our judgment."

Dumbledore leaned forward, his voice growing serious. "We cannot afford to act rashly. We must gather all the information we can, analyze every detail, and consider all possible outcomes. Impulsive actions could have dire consequences. Remember, even the most powerful magic can be wielded for both good and evil."

He stood up, stretching his long limbs. "For now, let us keep a watchful eye on the situation. We will be ready, should the prophecy prove to be true. But until then, let us focus on our immediate concerns, and trust in the power of hope and resilience."

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with a sinister light. As the nine months drew to a close, one witch was carrying a child. This child would be a valuable asset to him, just like Voldemort. His plan was coming together perfectly. The prophecy, the Chosen One, it was all part of his grand scheme. He would manipulate the fate of the wizarding world, and this child would be his key.

But unfortunately for him, Death will enter this battle. And he won't lose.