Sinking, drowning, pain. Dragged down by icy, clammy hands that hold no love for him, no love for anyone except for the ability to drag people to the bottom. Last thoughts? Sirius, I'm sorry.
Regulus Arcturus Black comes back to life gasping for air and gagging to expel water that's no longer in his lungs.
His eyes snap open to face the ceiling before he's leaning over the edge of the bed, feeling that deep-seated ache in his chest as he dry-heaves. Only distantly does he recognise the crack-of-a-whip sound that marks a house-elf or the hurried steps of a young man walking toward him.
"It be Master Alexander, Mister Robert," the house elf reports dutifully, though his tone suggests a level of contempt. "Master Alexander be very sick, methinks."
Kreacher.
Though he wants to call out to his favourite elf, he can't get the words past the water-like-iron clogging his throat. But he knows there's something not right about this. The words are wrong, the accents off. But what that means...his brain is still too fuzzy to make the connection.
"Thank you, Kreacher," a young man's voice says. "Fetch me a cloth soaked in water, will you?"
"As you say, Mister Robert."
Regulus tries to pry his eyes open but his fever pulls him back down into unconsciousness before he can even think about forming syllables.
At least there's a still-beating heart in his chest.
YOU ARE READING
Per Semitas Tempus
Fan fikciaMother Magic looks upon her people, finds herself displeased, and changes things. Seven people find themselves in the past in bodies that are not theirs. General chaos and suspicions ensue as they try and find their way back before they irrevocably...
