Regulus suppresses a shudder as the rowboat carries him and one of the only real friends he’s ever had across a lake lit by no discernible light source, and tries not to look too hard at the shadowy figures beneath them, tries not to notice how humanoid the silhouettes are. Not much further to go, then he can do the one good thing his life will amount to.

Kreacher cannot disobey a direct order, not even one that will force him to keep his master driving himself into the madness of grief and regret, until at last the lockets have been switched, and when the countless hands of the Inferi finally pull him down to the bottom he just thinks “Of course,” and then he thinks no more.