DISCLAIMER: I’m not JK Rowling. Honestly. Nor am I a member of Muse. Unfortunately.

A/N: Righto, this is a one-shot about Regulus Black (R.A.B) who really doesn’t get enough attention in the FF world. Read and, hopefully, you will enjoy it.

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“I think I’m drowning, asphyxiated.” Time is Running Out- Muse

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Regulus Arcturus Black sometimes wondered how he got himself into so much trouble; how he had managed to wade into a neck deep pile of shit without having realised it.

He had always tried so hard to please his parents, he had always believed that if he did as they asked him to they would love him and acclaim him.

And now, as he prepared himself for what was to be his final journey, his hands shook of their own accord as his head and heart screamed completely different messages to him.

His head was telling him that he was a fool; a traitor, nothing better than common trash. His head told him that attempting to bring down the Dark Lord was an act of sheer stupidity, one that could only be conceived during a lapse of judgement or delusion. His head told him that tonight he should just stay home and continue being a Muggle-hating Black; his head told him that if he went tonight, he would surely meet his death.

His heart told him that his only redemption could be sought by going to the lake tonight and switching the lockets. His heart told him that for years he had been misguided, it was he, not Sirius, who had been a failure. His heart told him that switching the lockets tonight would be the only chance of stopping the Dark Lord. His hear told him that if and when he met his death tonight, it would not be in vain.

That afternoon, Regulus had spent hours writing letters to his so called loved ones, carefully constructed outpourings of emotion scattered on crisp pieces of parchment. He had a pile of neatly folded letters sitting on his desk now, addressed to anyone and everyone his parents, his first second and third cousins, his school friends, his Quidditch team; hell, there was even one for Kreacher.

Writing the letters to his family and friends had felt like the ultimate betrayal. However brutal and prejudiced these people may have been, Regulus had loved them for the best part of his life, and he felt that through a medium of parchment and ink he was taking away from them all they had ever thought him to be; all they had ever wanted him to be.

If writing farewell notes to the people he loved was hard, writing them to the ones he hated was even harder.

He had spent countless frustrated hours, perhaps even days writing a farewell letter to Sirius, trying to pack all his sorrow and penitence into five hundred words. He had had to swallow his pride and tell Sirius that all along, Sirius had been right, that Muggles weren’t at all that bad. He had to tell Sirius that he, Regulus, had made a grave mistake in becoming a Death Eater, a mistake that would surely cost him his life.

And now, Regulus was sitting on his bed, taking one last, remorseful look at the room he had decorated with Slytherin silver and green, the handsome, ornate room his parents had provided him with for eighteen years.

Eighteen years. Regulus couldn’t pretend, he was no hero. He was a mere eighteen year old boy, not yet even a man who was watching the minutes of his life tick slowly away. He was too young, far too young to die, and yet, it had to be done.

He was certainly too young two years ago when he had joined the Death Eater ranks. Too young, too foolish, too stupid.

This thought thrust daggers deep into Regulus’ heart as he stood from the bed, and walked over to his study desk for what would be the last time in his life. It was strange, but the desk had been his friend his whole life, his constant, the one thing that he knew would always be there for him to sit at and write.

His hand brushed across a fresh piece of parchment, the last sitting in it’s glass in-tray, and a sudden thought struck him.

Surely, if he was to sacrifice himself to bring the Dark Lord down, he must leave a note for the Dark Lord Himself. He would not die only for Voldemort to forget him, to think of him only as another fallen ex-comrade, another stupid youth too afraid of power and glory.

No, Regulus was tonight destroying one of the Dark Lord’s precious Horcruxes and he wanted to forever be remembered as the young Death Eater who didn’t fear the Dark Lord, and died not at his service, but trying to bring him down.

Regulus picked up the handsome Royal Blue peacock feather (Regulus snorted at the exquisiteness of the quill) on his table and dipped it into the inkwell, and, in his finest script, began to write.

To the Dark Lord

I know I will be dead long before you read this

but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.

I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.

I face death in the hope that when you meet your match

you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

He wasn’t sure what had caused the sudden lack of nerves, or what had stopped his hands from shaking or his brow for sweating.

But he was no longer afraid, that much he knew.

No, Regulus Arcturus Black would go to that lake and switch the lockets tonight. He would meet his death bravely.

Regulus Arcturus Black would die a hero.

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A/N: So whaddya reckon? Let me know just what you thought by pressing that little review button down there. Oh, yeah, and anonymous reviews ARE enabled.