The stone basin loomed.

There was a pale glow that seemed to surround it, a silvery-grey shimmer that emanated from the Liquid Nightmare that I knew lay within the bowl. I leaned forward as the little boat I'd drawn up out of the black depths of the water struck the shore of stones in the center of the cave. Soft ripples echoed out from the boat, shivering across the still water, making only the slightest of sounds...

But in the silence and anxiousness of the moment it might as well have been an explosion going off. It was as though I could feel each ripple in the depths of my bowels, my heart threatened to seize with in my chest as I watched them go - out, out, out - who knew how far back the water went beyond the little rock island?

"Careful, Kreacher," I breathed. My voice felt heavy and raw, and I reached for the wrinkled, knobby hand of my house elf, helping him out onto the stone landing. He shivered as he stood there, clad in his little flour sack, his eyes bulbous and probably able to see so much better in the darkness than mine could. He wrapped his little arms around his bare shoulders, rubbing his skin against the cold that settled into the very bones of any fool enough to venture into the depths of the cavern.

I pulled myself up out of the boat next. My hands shook, too, as I clutched the wood. It was terribly slimy from being kept under the brine of the water, and I'll be the first to admit that I've been quite spoilt all of my life, protected from things like dirt and grime and mud and muck. The slime coating the boat made me want to throw up from the feeling of it sliding under my fingers.

"Too sensitive," I could hear my Father's voice echoing in my head, biting at my Mother years ago. "If you coddle him so, you'll make the boy too sensitive."

I stepped onto the stone landing and the boat sank below the surface as silent as it had risen up. 

I wasn't meant to get out of this alive. It had never been designed for any other than him to live through the voyage. I knew that, I could feel it ringing deep in my stomach, even bore I'd left the library back at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Master," Kreacher whimpered, as though he could hear my thoughts.

"It's alright, Kreacher," I whispered. I lied. "I know how to get it back when we need it." I held out a hand for his and he reached up and took mine. I took a deep breath. I let myself feel the nerves for one... two... three seconds. I had to move. I had to move for I would lose the nerve. So I walked. I walked swiftly across the stone island to where the rocks were piled up like a horrid croquembouche from hell, rising up through the dark - elevating that lurid glowing pedestal and basin high above.

The rocks were slippery. Likely they were often partially covered with the tides of the sea. I gripped my lit wand between my teeth, needing my hands free to climb. My feet fought to find purchase as I moved and I felt my shoes slip and my knee struck the stone more than once. I only just caught myself by gripping the stone as my legs went out from under me, catching my chin on the rock so that the strike echoed through my jaw and I grunted as I pulled myself back together and collected my wand. The stones were so tall that Kreacher struggled to climb up them, and more than once I had to pause to turn back and reach for his outstretched hands to pull him up a level or two, lifting him along, refusing to leave him behind. I hoisted him up ahead of me onto the narrow pinnacle of the stack of rocks before pulling myself up alongside, falling onto the stone in exhaustion from the climb. My wand clattered from my mouth and rolled a foot or so away as my palms spread on the cool stone, my cheek laid against it, eyes closed, breathing the earthy, salty, musty scent of the cavern.

My shoulder seared with pain where Greyback had bitten me at the Riddle house, my muggle-style stitches were all torn out. I could feel the blood oozing down my arm, could see it - the white fabric of my shirt sleeve stuck to my arm like a macabre visage... I felt as though my heart was beating through the wound, rather than in my chest, and I could feel the flesh around it prominently, as though it were sizzling or crackling. I felt hot all about my face.

Infection, I thought to myself.

If I lived through this, I'd have to return to Mungo's immediately to get it cared for.

If I live through this.

But right then I was having trouble even remembering how to breathe.

It felt like I lay there for hours in the dark, inhaling and exhaling, my arm throbbing ferociously, struggling to pull together the will to make the last few movements required to complete the mission... Kreacher stood beside me, whimpering quietly, and I could sense him pacing and wringing his hands, his hears flapping helplessly. 

Kreacher had never been scared of the dark before.

I had to keep going.

I had to because this was the only way that Voldemort could be made vulnerable... the only way that he could be killed. My fist closed around the fake locket that hung about my neck - it had once been my pendent, the one given me by my precious Maryrose.

I had to do this for Maryrose.

She'd sacrificed her precious seconds for me not once but twice...

If I died, I wondered, would she be waiting just on the other side for me?

I pushed myself up off the floor, my palms shaking as I raised up my torso from the stone and took hold of my wand. Kreacher's eyes were wide as he watched he shove myself up and he scrambled to help in whatever way he could as I gained my balance, clutching one of the rocks that formed a sort of semi-circle around the basin, inching my way closer to where the horrible potion glowed - glowing, but somehow still terribly dark and menacing, like a navy blue pulse that seemed to fill the cavern around me.

My belly pressed to the basin's edge and I leaned forward slightly, peering down into the very bottom, where the real locket lay, coiled about itself, the amber stone peering back at me - or so it felt. I could vaguely hear the strange hissing sound that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once as I stared at the potion. The potion seemed so innocent and clear, like ice or glass. It looked like I should be able to just reach in and take it... but I knew better. The Dark Lord was too cruel for that.

I'd made it this far - against all the odds - and now, staring at the basin, at the potion, at the locket... there was only one thing left to do.

I reached my hands slowly up behind my neck and felt for the clasp, undoing the chain that held the pendant-locket to my chest. It fell from it's home at my throat and held it - heavy - in the palm of my hand.

I wish I could have waited to change it, wished I could see Maryrose's Pendant.. just one more time. How much I longed to see her, to hear her, to smell her, touch her... My heart ached profusely for Maryrose.

Soon, I thought. I will see her soon.

Trembling, my fingers closed with resolution and deternination tight around the locket.

"Kreacher," I whispered. The word was all of the strength I had to muster.

Kreacher's ears were flat to his head already, his eyes as wide as could be as he stared up at me, too weak with fright to speak.

"Come here," I whispered.

He was trembling when I bent and picked him up so he could see into the basin. He stood on the edge of the stone, his ears low against his head, eyes narrowed with worry. 

I pointed as I spoke. "Do you see that, Kreacher?"

"The locket, Master?" he asked quietly.

"Yes Kreacher," I answered. He stared at me  with expectation. I drew a deep breath. "When all of the potion in the bowl is gone... I need you to switch the lockets. Remember? Take the real one out of the basin and replace it with this one." The fake locket dangled from my fist.

Kreacher peered at the locket in the bottom of the basin, then up at the fake one - my pendant - which hung before him. He held up his hand to catch it...

It took all of my strength to release the locket.

It felt even have or to breathe one I'd done.

I staggered against the basin, clutching the stone with my good arm. My bad arm was throbbing so much I couldn't hardly think of anything else, even as I stared at the locket at the bottom of the clear pool... even as I heard it hissing and whispering in that funny snake-like language that brought back memories of Alabastar's death.

Beside the basin, on the edge - the same edge that Kreacher now stood on, just an inch or two from his foot, there was a hand bowl, made of a large mother-of-pearl oyster shell, and it glinted, shimmered as it reflected the light of the liquid nightmare.

I picked up the hand bowl and looked it over, jolting with the memory of Voldemort's long, pale fingers holding that very bowl... holding my chin at a horrible angle... upward and rough... and pouring inky black potion into my mouth. He'd forced it into me then and drawn it out as memory, my worst memories, to create this new potion to protect what he held dear. His horcrux. This bit of his soul that I now sought to destroy.

"Kreacher," I whispered.

"Master Regulus?" Kreacher's voice was small, barely more than a whimper.

My mouth ran dry as I spoke. "I'm going to drink this potion... so you can switch out the lockets... and I don't know what it will do to me..."

I knew what I'd seen in my mind that first time... and I was terrified I would see it all again.

"Kreacher shall drink it, not Master!" Kreacher wailed and his voice was loud - so loud it echoed off the ceiling of the chamber. "Not Master, no, no not Master! Kreacher will drink it! Krecher will! Master will switch the lockets and Kreacher will --"

"No," I said firmly, worried as the elf's voice filled the cavern. "Kreacher!" I shouted over him. The water around the island stirred and I glanced over my shoulder and hissed as firm as I could muster with the pain shooting through my arm. "I said no!" His cries stopped - my command magically forcing his compliance, "I've already made up my mind that I'm the one that will drink it, so stop and listen to me."

Kreacher stared into my eyes, his eyes wet with the threat of tears as his ability to protest was taken away. It turned my stomach - I hated to take away his will like that, but I hadn't a choice. He couldn't go on shouting. I didn't know why, but I very, very much did not want to disturb whatever it was that lurked beneath the still water.

I held my wand out, thrust it into Kreacher's hand and pushed his fingers around the handle to grip it tightly. "You may use this if you need to, if it helps you in anyway to - to do whatever needs to be done."

To force me to drink. To protect himself against me if I tried to hurt him under the influence of the potion. To kill me if it was necessary. To kill me if it was merciful.

Kreacher stared at the wand as the tears formed.

"I don't know what will happen to me when I drink it this time. I - I don't really remember what happened last time. I don't know if it will kill me, or make me sick, or what it'll do but I need you to make me finish it, whatever it takes. Every last bit of this potion has to be drunk - by me, do you understand? Every last bit."

Kreacher's eyes came up to mine again and he croaked out, "Every last bit." But even as he spoke the words, I could see his hesitation, could see his mind trying to work out a loophole, some way to spare me, some way that my command could be circumvented.

My voice shook as I made certain that the elf would be bound by magic to carry out the command. "If you have to scoop it out and pour it into my mouth, even as I beg you to stop, you have to do it anyway, Kreacher," I said.

Kreacher's tears started to fall, streaming over his cheeks. He knew I was sealing it with these words, knew any loop holes he might have found were being pulled tightly shut with every word and his lips formed the word please over and over as I spoke.

"If I tell you I command you to stop and threaten to hurt you if you do not, you cannot stop even then... You must be loyal only to kindness, remember? I don't care what I say or do or say is happening to me... You must make me finish the potion, Kreacher."

"Y-yes, Master R-Regulus," he whimpered.

"And then you'll have to change the lockets. Do it immediately, as soon as the basin is empty. Don't hesitate, don't pause, don't waste any precious seconds because I don't know how long until the basin replenishes itself."

But I was certain that it would replenish itself. Of course it would. The potion was meant to immobilize, to debilitate, to protect. It would be lucky if we managed to drain it even once.

My ears were ringing now, a dull echo of the throb in my arm now sounded in my right ear.

Kreacher's fingers around the locket and the wand in his hands tightened as he stared up at me. He probably could sense the infection coursing through my veins, might even be able to hear the throbbing, or smell my blood poisoning itself with every heart beat.

Even if I lived through drinking the potion, would my infection poisoned blood hold out much longer anyway? I wondered.

"Once you have the real locket, you are to take it home to Grimmauld Place," I said. I paused. The last nail in the command needing to be spoken, my heart so afraid to say the words. "If you can take me with you, then do it, but if not -" I bit my lip.

Kreacher stared up at me expectantly. His voice shook as he  asked, "...if not, Master?"

I mustered my strength...

God forgive me.

"Then I command you to leave me behind."

There was a ringing silence - though the ringing may just have been in my ear as the sound in my head got louder. 

Kreacher began to sob. "Oh, n-no Master, n-no p-please... Master R-Regulus... please..."

I could feel a clammy sweat breaking out on my forehead, the back of my neck, and the palms of my hands... could feel strength going out of me before I'd taken even a single drop of the potion in. "The locket has to be destroyed, Kreacher. If I'm not there to do it, you have to destroy the locket. As quickly as possible." 

"Y-yes, M-Master Regulus," Kreacher struggled to speak.

I put all of my weight on my good arm and held the shell with my throbbing bad one, my hand shook as I held the bowl over the clear potion, poised, trying to work up the nerve to break the surface, to begin the process... Terror snaked through my body, I could feel it seizing me up, firing every nerve so that I felt like I was tingling all over.

"An old family heirloom," Voldemort breathed proudly. "And so... so much more." He sounded excited at the thought of whatever more the locket was, and he reached down to stroke it gently with his long-nailed fingers, mouth curving into an endearing smile, as though he were a proud parent looking upon the face of an infant child. "That which is contained in this locket is most precious... You might say that it means so much that it has become a part of me."

I stared at the locket, feeling hatred rise up in me, feeling it twist my stomach into a knot.

It was a part of him.

Horcrux.

I hated it. I hated him. I hated what he was making me do, what he'd done to me in the past and what he would do to me with every sip of the liquid nightmare. I hated the way he'd torn apart everything that I loved - taken my Maryrose, forced me apart from my Brother...

My Brother.

Sirius.

What would Sirius think of all of this, when he heard what I'd done? When he heard about the locket and the death of this tiny bit of Voldemort's soul? Would I be the one to tell him? 
Or would that note that I'd left on his desk in the third floor bedroom of Grimmauld Place be the one that would tell him?

I begged whoever might be listening. Let him know...

Let him benefit from what I was doing. Let my Big Brother live in a world free of the threat of the reign of terror of the Dark Lord...

Let him find happiness...

Let him know that I love him.

I drew a deep breath and plunged the hand bowl into the potion. My arm barely had the strength to lift it up, the potion dripping from the bottom of the bowl as I raised it.

Remember your manners, Regulus, Mother's voice echoed through my head, then, and a flash - a memory of a lesson, a practice run for a fancy dinner party she was holding with many of the other noble houses in our extended family - the first time the Dark Lord would be coming to our house, and it all had to be perfect... You do not drink from the fancy glass until you've wished blessing upon your benefactor, she said. Remember your manners. Sirius - act like a gentleman. Very good poise, Regulus... You're doing very well, Regulus...

I mimicked the limp-wristed way she'd taught us to hold the fanciest goblets, engraved with the crest of the Noble House of Black, the way she'd taught us to hold them high in honor of the Dark Lord, who she once worshiped... who she once trusted... who she never suspected would be the death of our family... the death of me.

But Mother, I thought, don't cry.

He might be the death of me --

but first...

first...

First I, Regulus Arcturus Black, would be the death of him.

"A ta mort, Tom."

And I brought the hand bowl to my mouth and took the first mouthful of the potion, downing it in a single, long gulp.