Orders: One-Shot: Regulus-Black-&-The-Cave<DH-Spoilers>

            He stares at the sickly green liquid, casting an eerie light upon the dark waters. Glancing at this cool glass lake, he wishes it were darker- he can see the white shapes beneath; corpses. Inferi, to be precise.
 
            His hands tremble, but he restrains the rest of him, standing up straight and tall.
Be brave, he scolds himself, or in very least determined.
            Well, he isn’t sure about brave, but he’s definitely determined. He came all this way. He’s not giving up now.

Beside him, a pitiful creature, only up to his thigh, quivers, shaking its head and mouthing protests it’s forbidden to speak. Kreacher.
He smiles sympathetically, feeling the same but clearly having more control over such emotions. He’s been trained to control his emotions since day one- why would he lose his calm demeanor now?
Well, he can’t help but think dryly, I can think of a few good reasons.
He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. Must stay on task.
            Lifting the goblet to eye-level, he examines it, and then turns to the sniveling creature, which has buried its head in its hands.
“You know what you have to do, correct?”
His voice sounds foreign even to him now, and he can’t believe it’s still smooth and composed.
The house-elf nods pathetically, letting out a high-pitched wail in the process. He winces, but turns back to their source of light- the potion. Or more likely, poison.
 
            He wasted enough time standing here observing where his life will most likely end. It’s time to act.
Gulping slightly and biting his lip, he dips the goblet into the basin, scooping up generous amounts of the green brew. Raises it to his lips, and tips it back, swallowing it quickly, with purpose. It burns his throat, and his eyes water, but he goes in for the next cup, the only sound the quiet lapping of the water against rock and the fearful sniffles of Kreacher.
He swigs back another goblet and coughs violently, feeling the fire spreading through his veins. It hurts. A lot. But he keeps drinking, now resting his hand against the stone table the basin sits on for support.
 
            By the time he’s drank four goblets, he’s collapsing to his knees, eyes blurry with water and his entire body stinging aggressively. He groans, his hand weakening and going limp, dropping the goblet to the cold stone.
Kreacher, utterly sobbing by now, picks it up shakily and fills it, bringing to his lips to drink. He drinks it automatically, trying not to think about what’s passing through his lips into him.
 
            Kreacher watched, horrified as the boy sunk to the floor, writhing in anguish. The last thing it wished to do was give him more of the cursed potion, but bound by orders, it refilled and tried again to make him drink it.
By the time the basin was empty, the boy- my master, it thought wretchedly, - was on the floor, twisting and thrashing, shouting strange and irrelevant bits of sentences, tortured by something Kreacher couldn’t see or imagine.
             Weeping uncontrollably, it switched the lockets, and disaparated, for the first time in its life regretting having to follow the family’s commands.
The boy was never seen again.