Chapter 10
With a deep sigh, Regulus opened his eyes and looked around. The old room of his parents' house, so dear, so full of memories, warm and not so warm, and yet so far away, as if he hadn't lived there at all, as if all the threads tying him to the place had been severed. Green is everywhere, deep and dark, a true Slytherin colour, so the atmosphere is rather heavy, but it's been a long time since the boy has paid any attention to it, so used to the oppressive environment. His chest expands, filled with air, clear and full of anticipated freedom. Regulus feels his lips stretch into a wide smile. Determination snakes warmly deep in his chest, burning like the hottest flame. Makes me feel alive. Hope feels like the warmest blanket, covering every cell of the body.
One last attempt. And this time it will be successful. He'll make sure of that.
***
Pandora remembers bits and pieces of past loops and smiles as she looks at him. A vague sense of familiarity burns in her eyes, a knowledge of something unknown to the others that unfortunately quickly fades under the weight of the present. Regulus must be looking better if one look at him makes his family grow softer and impossibly warmer.
Evan and Barty have less information, but the other two have no trouble enlightening them: Regulus fills in any gaps in Pandora's story when she stops talking and looks at him uncertainly. He omits the gory, brutal details, not daring to share something so inhumane with his innocent, happy friends, but otherwise remains quite detailed.
They are not the same people who have gone through past trials with him. They are cleaner and freer than those versions of them, but despite that, they are just as close to Regulus as before. And this time, he has no problem stating it outright, looking confidently into their stunned eyes. Time spent trapped in a loop really does work wonders with a person's maturation.
Words of love have never before flown off his lips as easily as they do now. He feels his heart fluttering like a tender sprout that he carefully tends to without holding back a smile. After all, he wants his family to know that he loves them more than anything else in this world. He wants them to never doubt his feelings.
Pandora melts faster than the boys. Her eyes fill with brilliant but so precious tears as she throws herself at Regulus, clutching him tightly in her arms. Her voice is shaky but incredibly gentle as she calls him an idiot and tells him how much she values his words, appreciates him.
A little while later, Barty and Evan join their embrace. Though their eyes are dry, Regulus can see the love spreading in their depths, sweet as luscious chocolate, like the best treat, beloved and irreplaceable.
Regulus closes his eyes and inhales the native scent. It won't be long now before he will gather all his men. And then all that will be left is to ensure their safe, happy lives without the oppressive war at their backs.
***
So with the support of his family, he sets off to the four Gryffindors he has unwittingly begun to think of as his own. His heart pounds in anticipation as nervousness fills his blood, making his throat constrict. But Regulus resolutely grits his teeth, clenches his fists, and steps closer to Sirius because he is the one he is targeting. After all, who, if not his older brother, should he return first?
“Brother,” he says, catching Sirius’ attention.
“Regulus,” he replies, squinting. Frankly, he's not feeling too kindly disposed so far, which is frustrating.
And the younger Black himself must not be making a very friendly appearance: fists clenched, teeth clenched, head held high. Realising this, Regulus forces himself to relax and exhales. He's not going to let himself ruin the moment with silly nerves.
“Can we talk?” he offers, and Sirius doesn't look any less suspicious. Rather the opposite, only bristling more in doubt.
Regulus is about to panic that he's ruined everything, but Pandora, the prized light of his darkest days, drops by the Gryffindor table and talks teeth with Pettigrew, who looks confused, surprised and suspicious all at the same time. At the same time, she looks like God's dandelion, infinitely innocent and benevolent. Evan and Barty aren't far behind, but their progress isn't as extensive when Regulus has captured the attention of Potter and Lupin, who wish Sirius nothing but good things. That doesn't stop the younger Black from feeling an overwhelming gratitude towards his friends.
“Anything you want to say to me, you can say to them, too,” the older brother frowned, clearly pleased at the disgruntled look on the younger one's face.
Regulus doesn't mind the other three Gryffindors, but the awkward, emotional conversation he'd really prefer to have somewhere far away, in privacy. It would be less embarrassing, but poor people don't get to choose, he reckons.
“Fine, fine,” Regulus grumbles, crossing his arms, “whatever you say, you prat!”
Never tell him he wasn't trying, but Sirius forces him to resort to insults. Such is the fate of an older brother.
“I was going to say that our family are complete pricks and I'd like my brother back, like, you know, you were the only one in this thrice God-damned family worth my attention, but now I'm not so sure about that. Jerk.”
The moments after his brief speech seem like an eternity, there is a sepulchral silence, and Regulus wants to fall through the ground, especially when Sirius starts laughing and Potter and Lupin smile. Pettigrew looks around uncertainly.
Regulus glances at Pandora, but she shows him her approval completely uselessly, even though the whole situation shows how badly he's screwed up.
“You know what? Fuck you,” he bellowed and was about to leave (forget all that stuff about growing up miraculously, it's bullshit), but Sirius grabbed his arm, immediately becoming serious.
Just marvellous, now he can't leave either.
But before Regulus can curse his older brother any more, he starts to speak.
“I'm sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, not letting go of his hand, but the smile returns to his face, gentler and softer, relaxing the younger man's tense back, so desperate to escape, “you just surprised me, Reg. Pleasantly surprised. I'd love to have you back, little brother.”
A relieved exhalation leaves him, as do all the nerves that had built up before. He sees the smug Pandora behind his brother's back, the way Evan and Barty high-five each other, but clutches Sirius in his arms.
And certainly, he knows that by tomorrow, he will most likely remember why he hated his older brother and how annoying he can be. They will have problems, arguments and fights, but Regulus knows it will be worth it.
***
Fitting into the company of the Gryffindors is easy, familiar from previous loops. And even though those look insecure, unaccustomed to it, it will take a little time for them all to warm up to each other. Potter helps with this by filling the space with his endless energy and, surprisingly, Barty matches him, the only difference being that Crouch has considerably more anger and sarcasm in every phrase, but no one particularly minds. In any case, the Slytherins are trying to keep him in line.
What's even more surprising, and thus hilarious in a way that makes Regulus laugh until his stomach hurts, is that Barty is quite obviously hitting on Lupin. And, as Sirius turns all red with anger and jealousy, he sees Evan doing the same. Regulus thinks this is incredibly funny.
Pandora cheers him on. They sit side by side, trying desperately to hide their attempts to burst into laughter as Barty hovers over Remus's shoulder, breathing down his neck as the latter tries to dodge. Sirius nearby them is shaking with rage and hanging on the edge. Just a little longer and they'll have to save Barty from imminent doom. Or save Lupin, because Evan doesn't look much better, but Rosier is trying desperately to pretend he's busy reading, though his eyes are more often on the grief-stricken couple than on the pages.
It doesn't take long for Regulus to be amused, because he feels a barely perceptible touch on his arm. He turns his head and arches an eyebrow in interest, looking at Potter's smirking face. They don't take their eyes off each other, but he can feel his little finger wrapped around his. Regulus laughs incredulously, but squeezes back. It's absolutely ridiculous.
And cute, but he'll never admit it.
“Hey, Lupin!” draws Regulus‘ attention to the Gryffindor, grinning widely, “Your boyfriend is jealous, do something about this disappointing Crouch flirtation before I go insane watching your idiotic actions.”
Regulus takes great pleasure in watching Sirius turn red with embarrassment, immediately hiding his gaze from Remus, who is staring at him interestedly.
Black can feel Pandora's shoulders shaking beside him with restrained laughter, and James makes no attempt to hide at all.
Barty looks disappointed as Evan turns back to the book.
Poor bastard. What idiots.
***
“Hey, Ev?” Regulus pulls, resting his head back on the grass.
The sun is blinding him, but Rosier moves to the side so perfectly that he covers the blazing star, so Black is looking right at him.
“Yeah?” he breaks off from one of the homework assignments they have about twenty minutes to complete.
“You know what I think?” Regulus doesn't get a verbal answer, but Evan's whole look tells him to hurry up, “I think you should study medicine.”
Though he was sorely tempted instead to order Rosier to do something about Crouch at last, before the poor man went mad with ennui, it was more important to remove the looming threat now. He could deal with the lovers later.
“Really?” the boy grinned.
Taking a deep breath, he clarifies what he means, and how good Evan was at healing magic in one of the past loops, and how useful it would be in this one. Not just the spells, but his potions were magic amongst the magical world, so marvellous were they. They would play a key role in Black's intended plan.
“You have talent, so…” Regulus hushes himself promisingly and directs the full power of his puppy dog eyes at his friend.
Obviously, it's more a feeling of pity than the weakness he was seeking, but it's the result that counts! Evan sighs and promises to turn his attention to medicine. After that, he returns to his homework. Regulus doesn't risk distracting him again if he wants to stay alive.
***
The tea Dumbledore offered him is cloyingly sweet, making his whole face crinkle in a grimace, but the Headmaster only smiles sweetly and ignores his obvious discomfort. Jerk-ass grandfather idiot.
“Is there something you wanted to discuss, Mr Black?” he asks innocently, sipping loudly on his sweet something, as if he wasn't mercilessly torturing a perfectly clean student in front of him who didn't deserve such punishment.
“Actually, yes,” Regulus said confidently and straightened up, keeping his eyes away from the vicious drink, “you see, the thing is, a rather amusing situation has occurred and I've found myself stuck in a time loop, doomed to die over and over again. Not a very pleasant experience, I must admit. And while I've learnt a lot during my time in this trap, I must admit that I need your help.”
Black takes a forced sip of his tea, resists the urge to wince and refrains with a double effort from punching the Headmaster's impenetrable face, and watches Dumbledore's intense gaze sweep over him from head to toe before he nods, urging him to continue.
“The thing is, I've found out that the Dark Lord has a terrifying advantage over us, despite all of our powers. No matter how hard we kill all of his minions and him himself, we will not have victory for one simple reason.”
The eyes behind the famous crescent glasses gleam in what cannot be called anything other than a need for information, desperate and raw. But the old man's lips are tightly closed. The urge to strike him is growing stronger.
“And the reason for that is called Horcruxes, I'm sure you know the word. The horrible thing that makes the Dark Lord immortal.”
“How can I trust you?” asks the Headmaster warily, and Regulus is forced to admit he's right. He shrugs.
“I suppose not. I'll just divulge more information to you and then let you check it out. You told me from the last loop that the Dark Lord was once a Slytherin student and orphan from a Muggle orphanage, Tom Riddle. But he was always afraid of death, wasn't he?”
Black leans back in his padded chair, exhaling tiredly when he doesn't get a verbal answer. The old man's eyes glisten, but the emotion isn't clear, so it might as well be failure.
“In the last loop I was a Death Eater and found one of the Horcruxes, but another version of you found a second one, and I have reason to believe there may be others out there, so your help will be indescribable. However, for the moment I will give you time to verify everything previously said,” Regulus rises and casts the Headmaster a look, “try to do everything as quickly as possible, because we don't have much time before the deaths become more and more numerous. And I'd rather avoid that.”
***
Following Evan, Regulus pays special attention to Barty. The sooner he masters the Hellfire, the better off they'll all be.
Unfortunately, that means Crouch will have to try extra hard.
They set off, accompanied by Dumbledore, eager to watch them but still hesitant, engrossed in telling some ridiculous story, to a vast field, empty and motionless. The wind howls in his ears and a smile stretches his dry lips. They both ignore the old man beside them.
“Oh, by the way, Crouch,” Regulus looks back at the Headmaster, but he's far enough away that he can't hear his whisper, “when you're running this shit, think of your mother. Whatever that means, that's what the other you told me to tell the other you.”
The boy's attentive, piercing eyes are fixed on him. He says nothing for a long minute, until he straightens up in what cannot be called anything but determination. Finally Barty nods and clutches his wand tighter in his hands.
Regulus stands back and watches with his heart frozen in his chest, not daring to breathe. Crouch, in the distance, stretches his arm out in front of him and stares intently at the end of it, as if hellfire will leap out of it without warning. A confident voice shouts an incantation and roaring flames burst from the wand, whirling in all directions.
Uncontrollably it rushes upwards and the waves of fire are about to engulf Barty headfirst. Dumbledore quickly pulls out his own wand, mouths open and barely a sound has time to leave them when abruptly the fire flies upwards and curls into a circle, not moving any further, only sparks flying around the sides.
Bright eyes turn to them, Crouch's face stretches into a wide grin as he squeals in delight.
In the air, the flames obey his will.
Success.
***
A glowing, faintly shimmering mist circles about them, never taking full physical form. Pandora holds her wand tightly and frowns intently, trying to remember anything happier.
“Think better, Miss Lestrange,” the Headmaster gently encouraged the girl, smiling enigmatically, “it's good, but you can do better.”
“I know I can!” Pandora barks as her concentration interrupts her and the fog clears.
A moment later it appears in front of Dumbledore's face and he repeats in a girl's voice angrily, “I know I can!”
Regulus laughs.
For this, he is forced to pay for it with a powerful slap on the shoulder from his deeply beloved girlfriend. Luckily for him, she is in no mood to kill her self-designated brother today, so is limited to this brief act of violence.
The others are less fortunate, as their patronus training session escalates into a duel that none of them can dodge. Not now, when the Dark Lord is sharpening his claws particularly sharp.
Regulus stands opposite Sirius, smile to smile, postures mirroring each other, wands pointing downwards. For the moment. His brother bows as he should, but he's already lunging forward, savouring the string of creative insults flying out of his brother's mouth.
“Come on, Siri!” laughs Regulus, “the enemy will not bow to us! What's the fun of observing these formalities?”
He almost loses to his brother after that phrase, only at the very last moment, by some miracle or other, managing to snatch the draw from his tenacious grasp.
He battles Peter next, following him closely with his gaze. The boy is a dark horse in his eyes, almost unknown, and therefore most interesting. Regulus starts to bow, but Pettigrew is already lunging forward, surprisingly agile for his build. A smirk stretches his lips as he deflects the movement and throws a mean, slippery spell at the Gryffindor's feet.
The man creates ice from the spilled water in an instant and slides forward on it until he's at the side of the Slytherin and then lashes out at Regulus' arm.
Black grunts and kicks the other man's knee, breaking free of his grip. They back away from each other and, breathing heavily, squint at each other appraisingly. Pettigrew casts a brief glance to his left and rushes over there. Regulus grins at such a foolish mistake and ducks, but the Gryffindor is already in front of him, deftly deceiving him. Short arms grab him under his legs and roll him to the ground. Black only has time to throw a blinding follow up, so Pettigrew rolls beside him.
He can't help but let out a short, barking laugh.
“Pettigrew, you sneak, I fell for that stupid trick!” he's outraged and breaks the spell on the boy.
He looks at him, grinning widely, which instantly makes him look younger and many times more open-minded.
“The whole point is to be underestimated.”
James Potter is not his desired opponents in a duel, not even a training duel. Regulus, for the life of him, doesn't think anything worthwhile will come of it, but he can't turn down a necessary battle with an ally he's certain to fight alongside in the future.
They circle around each other, and Black knows they're reflecting each other's smiles.
“Are you afraid, Reggie?” James laughs.
“Wanted to ask the same question, Potter. It's not too late to give up,” he grins, dodging a flying beam of light in the same instant.
The Gryffindor deftly finds himself at his right side, awkwardly open and unprotected, his hand reaching forward in a mock attack. Regulus ducked, wand running down Potter's side, leaving a tickling spell mark behind him.
“Come on, is that all you have to show for it, Jamie?” he sees the challenge burn in the eyes opposite, lighting them with the most adorable of lights.
The boy reaches for his leg and throws a spell at the other, wanting to bring him down, but Regulus apparates to the side, aims his wand at Potter's back, but he's already turned round sharply and is off on his next attack.
“Reggie, you're hurting me!” a choked voice tells him, “I thought we were in love?”
The mockery is obvious, but Regulus only freezes for a pathetic, insignificant moment before engaging with renewed vigour.
“Do you do that to all your lovers?” he laughs and lunges forward, sliding across the ground and kicking James' legs.
The one with the rumble falls on him so hard it takes his breath away. And it's not a romantic metaphor related to the Gryffindor's beauty. It's literally so heavy that Regulus gasps.
But it's fun enough to make him almost not want to kill Potter.
For the moment.
He throws James off him and sits on top of him, grabs the other man's wrists and squeezes.
“Wow, that's hot,” Potter smirks, and Regulus can't do anything about the way he freezes with embarrassment so intense it's impossible to get a word out.
This confusion is enough for the Gryffindor to manage to stand up abruptly and break free of his grip, enveloping Black in a tight grip of magic, not allowing him to budge.
“All right, jerk,” Regulus mutters grudgingly, “you win.”
They alternate pairs and fight until the sweat soaks through them, creating a new layer of skin, until their natural reaction is to rush in first, to win by surprise, until they know each other's moves by heart, until they are perfect partners for each other.
Until their grins are so wide their cheeks ache and their heavy breathing from hard training rings loudly in the sudden silence.
***
Dumbledore looks at him carefully and smiles his usual serene smile. Regulus inhales slowly, waiting for what the old man has to say. He had helped them quite successfully and efficiently before, but who knows what might go through the old man's mind at a moment's notice. Thankfully, he brought only good news.
“I destroyed Tom's ring,” he said at last in a solemn voice, “but I'm afraid there's something we can't avoid, no matter how much we want to.”
His heart thuds deafeningly in his chest. Regulus doesn't take his gaze off the Headmaster, not daring to speak up.
He feels like he should answer, but his tongue won't come out and his throat feels like it's been squeezed. As much as he wants to make a joke or a sarcasm, all he can do is desperately control his breathing. The one thing that is now in his complete, wavering power.
When the Headmaster realises that the Slytherin isn't planning to say anything, the old man's face contorts into a grimace of pity. One so fake it makes him want to punch him. Unfortunately, he can't do that. Not now, when the need for help from the greatest of mages is especially urgent.
Regulus believes he knows what awaits him.
As much as he would like to avoid it, fate, time and space must invariably bring him to a certain point in his life. To one dark, dark place from which he cannot escape.
“I'm sorry, but I think you should become a member of the Death Eaters, my boy,” Dumbledore whispers in a gentle, quiet voice, almost comforting, “we need a spy there and who, if not you, is best suited for the role.”
Regulus wants to sob, but the tears have long since dried.
A dry nod is the old man's only answer, which shows his whole appearance of reluctance to resort to this solution.
But Regulus knows better.
***
His heart beats in turmoil, but his hands are steady and his faith is strong as he kneels before the Dark Lord, head bowed. The position is humiliatingly familiar, but there is no one to judge him for it. No one knows, except Dumbledore, who sent him here.
“My Lord,” he gasps, whispering for only one pair of ears, sounding, he swears, almost amorous to an outsider, despite how brightly hatred burns in his heart, “I am incredibly honoured to be here in front of you... to do your will and to be an extension of you.”
The wand touches his hand and he knows there is no turning back. There never has been, not here and not now. If he has to burn so that others may live…
Somewhere many miles away his family is happily spending their time and is unaware of how despicably he is betraying them, even if it is only for them, never for anyone else.
The fire, red-hot to the coals, pierces every part of his pathetic body, but it doesn't matter then. The blood boils, threatening to burn through every tissue and muscle, to leave rough holes in his bones, but nothing happens. Only his teeth grit as he holds back a shriek of pain. Everything inside is writhing and screaming in pain like a wounded animal, his whole being tormented.
...then he will do it.
Bowing lower, his forehead touches the floor and he feels the very edge of the Dark Lord's shoes barely touching him.
“Thank you for such a generous gift, my lord,” he whispers, swallowing thick saliva that feels like blood in his mouth.
A thin hand touches his head as if stroking a loyal dog.
***
It's surprisingly easy to fall back into past habits. His hands don't shake like they once did, back in the days when all killing was new, when he was still blindly following his mother's instructions.
He tries not to kill Muggles. At first, he is not allowed on missions at all as a rookie. He trains with Bellatrix and swallows threats as sharp blades slash at his throat. He endures torture as something familiar. Unfortunately for him, the sensations of his cousin's curses are new to this body, so he can't resist with the same fervour and strength he had in past loops, but all will come with time.
His limbs clench once more in spasm, his back arches, and through the noise in his ears is the sound of her laughter, like the ringing of church bells that would herald his death. Cousin training has never been something cute. Nor are they going to become one now.
“Sweet brother, how proud I am of you,” she whispers tearfully, all full of falseness as he endures each of her trials and walks out with his head held high, ignoring the shaking of his entire body and his teeth clenched to the point of pain.
Slowly the proud, mocking look in her eyes transforms. The closer in time he gets to the Dark Lord, the more often the Dark Lord looks back at him as something of interest with the way Regulus tends to grovel, sharp boot heels crushing his pride in the name of saving the whole bloody world.
Bellatrix stands by her master's side, a loyal mutt, while Regulus breathes down her back, moving ever closer to her. Almost displacing her, standing beside her, never leaving.
“My lord,” he whispers, and he sees the Dark Lord smile in satisfaction and Bellatrix grin.
And a lean hand tugs his hair until it hurts, and Regulus forces himself to close his eyes in trust. All his instincts are screaming, pounding every cell in his body, ordering him to run, but he only relaxes until he hears a hoarse laugh.
And forces himself to smile back at it.
***
Bellatrix looks at him enviously, biting her lip.
“Hey, little brother, are you going to take my place?” she growls, coming closer, a sneaking predator.
Regulus doesn't move, only arches an eyebrow. This version of his cousin seems like a pathetic rat compared to the last one. Yet he still wants to poison her, to tear her apart slowly and painfully. Make her regret every choice she's ever made in her life, regret that she dared to even look at him.
“Even if she did, so what?” he grins, lazily examining his fingernails, “The Dark Lord knows who is truly loyal to him.”
He holds back a triumphant smirk when predictably the girl explodes.
“How dare you presume to be more valuable than me, you little shit!” she shrieks, lunging forwards, “you will never, ever reach my level! The Dark Lord has only one loyal follower, and that's me! And he knows it, or he wouldn't give me the most important assignments!”
“Really?” said Regulus, looking at her carefully, “I doubt it.”
He wants so badly to laugh in her face. To shout that he didn't want a miserable place beside that bastard, but the younger Black just bit his tongue and continued his professional act.
“You!”
“After all, I'm the one the Dark Lord entrusted with the care of his most valuable artefact,” he whispers falsely, looking slyly at his cousin, “and you what? Torture pathetic muggles? Anyone can do that, I hasten to disappoint you, sister. The Dark Lord doesn't care about you. “
“Neither do you,” she mumbles dazedly, squinting at him, “so soon? You're lying!”
Regulus sighs and steps closer to the girl, making his gaze deliberately full of pity. Smugness sinks into his chest, worth it for Bellatrix to confirm that she has something important. Something he needs so badly that he's willing to go head over heels.. Go against the law.
“If it soothes you, dear sister, to think of me lying to get to you, then so be it, but when the Dark Lord is invariably defeated,” he sighs dreamily, though I want to vomit at the mere thought, “you will see who will stand beside him. And unfortunately for you, sister, it will be another member of our family. Not you.”
“Once the Dark Lord finds out you're a traitor, I will laugh as I watch you squirm pathetically in your prison cell while I have all the fun, and the lord won't even look at you!” she hisses, flashing her eyes.
Regulus looks at her, grinning widely. He licks his lips and steps closer to her, sees his relative's hand twitch towards his wand and grabs his own.
“But am I a traitor, sister? At least I'll be useful to him, I'm loyal to him, “he whispers enthusiastically, “I'm Black's heir, brilliant, Dumbledore trusts me. And you? You're as mediocre as the rest of them, the only thing that makes you different from them is that he can warm his cock in your pathetic hole and then dump you like the bitch you are, sister.”
The girl lunges at him. A spell that promises to be very painful in the wordless way it's cast, but it's a pity it doesn't reach Regulus. Instead, he rounds the other side of his cousin, grabbing her arms and smirking into her very face.
“But you know what would be best, sis?”
“Crucio!” she shrieks, and pain shoots through Regulus‘ entire body, but he only clenches his hands tighter, feeling his victory, “Crucio, crucio, crucio, crucio, you little...!”
“It's best when I look him in the face… Your trembling Dark Lord, lord and master of a bitch like you, and kill him like a worm that could only crawl under my feet. Because you know what?”
Bellatrix looks at him completely confused. Disbelief and betrayal splash in her eyes as she tries to find any hint of a lie. The girl shakes her head and abruptly is about to shout a spell - you can tell by the look on her face - that will surely kill him, but Regulus doesn't give her much time to do so.
“Imperio,” he whispers as his wand touches her stomach.
Her cousin's eyes cloud over, her own wand rolling from her weakened hands into his grip. A wide grin spreads across her face, nothing hidden.
“Tell me, Bellatrix, what was the artefact the Dark Lord gave you?”
It takes her a moment to swallow deafeningly loudly in the sepulchral silence.
“Some idiotic goblet,” her hoarse voice answers, filled with hesitation, “but it is important to the lord.”
“Where did you hide the goblet, Bellatrix?” he whispers excitedly.
“In the vault in the bank,” her voice rumbles obediently.
Regulus frowns, looking at her, but nods contentedly.
“Come on then,” he smiles and apparates away with the gutless relative, “after all, you are utterly pathetic, as is your master…”
***
Only once he nearly dies of horror right there when Bellatrix regains consciousness for a moment and looks around in surprise, barely able to comprehend what is going on around her.
Regulus grabs her hand so tightly he fears he might break a bone, but his cousin quickly sinks back into the haze, leaving him grasping at his heart.
The goblins around them notice nothing as they rush deeper and deeper into the vault, straight for her cherished cup. They continue ahead, occasionally glancing back at the strange mages, but say nothing. After all, who would cross the Blacks, of all families?
Bellatrix, having been commanded to ‘behave as usual,’ does an excellent job of deflecting suspicious glances from them while Regulus floats lazily by, never straying too far away. Though he skilfully maintains a bored look, his heart is pounding furiously and the urge to push the goblins to go faster is incredibly strong, which he has to restrain.
Finally the goblet is in his trembling hands, full of excitement.
And he can't stop smiling.
***
The imperio subsides as he's starting to worry about how long it's going to take, and watches Bellatrix quickly enough remember what happened and lunge at him.
How unfortunate for her that human bones are surprisingly fragile and break so easily.
After that, no one sees him for a while, and Regulus has a wonderful time giving Bellatrix his due.
Every scar he has ever received reflects on her skin, as do the wounds of Pandora, Barty and Evan. They make a marvellous, breath-taking picture on the girl's pale skin. And Regulus doesn't dare slow down until his skin, too, is red rather than clear.
It's refreshing in a way he hadn't expected.
It's a shame Bellatrix ran out of breath quickly. On the bright side, one less problem, he thinks and burns his body.
***
He goes to Grimmo Square only once, making no secret of his presence. Kreacher, the loyal house elf, greets him as enthusiastically as ever, his father does not appear, nor does his mother, but Regulus hears a melody coming from the music room, slow and enchanting, as if drawing him deeper into the trap.
Slowly his feet lead him to where Walburga is seated in a soft armchair. Her skinny hands move deftly over the keys of the piano. Music once associated with his childhood. Now it seems but an echo of bygone days, no longer as innocent and beloved as it once was.
Regulus sits down next to his mother and joins in her performance, deftly becoming her second pair of hands. Their performance grows deeper and faster. Neither of them say anything the entire time they concentrate on the black and white keys sagging gently under their deft fingers.
Slowly but surely their melody fades into silence.
“Have you come at last?” she whispers, not taking her eyes off the instrument in front of her, “You've already joined the Dark Lord, and you haven't visited your parents’ house, what kind of son are you?”
“And what kind of a mother are you?” he replies just as quietly and savours the brief flash of surprise on Walburga's face, “You didn't even have to try, I came to him myself. Our family is important to him again. Are you proud of me, mum?”
He turns his attentive eyes to her and sees how there, despite everything, is not the love or tenderness he desires. Yet her hand touches his cheek in what earlier he would have mistaken for parental affection. It's been a long time since he took off those cracked rose-coloured glasses.
“Of course I'm proud, son,” she says in an icy voice, not taking her sharp gaze off him.
“Liar.”
It must be strange to see a trained and tamed dog show his temper and show his fangs. But finally Regulus removes the chain from his neck.
Even so, he touches his cheek more firmly to her hand, absorbing his mother's touch one last time.
“You'd never be proud of me, Mum,” he whispers, “no matter what I did, would you?”
She strives to pull her hand away, but Regulus grabs her wrist and won't let her do so. His body is as cold as his soul, love slowly smouldering in his chest, leaving behind ash that spreads through every cell of his body.
“Regulus..” she exhales, but doesn't continue when he interrupts her.
“You know, Mum, I've tried to be your pride for so long,’ he looks at her and knows he's smiling coldly, ’even when you tortured Sirius and I..”
“Don't you dare.”
“I was loyal to you anyway, you're my mother, how could I not be? And Sirius kept blaming me. Do you know how many arguments we had over that?” he doesn't wait for an answer, but a distant part of his soul enjoys her hesitation,” Even later, when Sirius became a Gryffindor but was still your son, I tried to make you realise that I was just as important. That I could be a good heir. A Slytherin. But you wouldn't even look at me, would you, Mum?”
He finally releases her hand and sighs as the woman recoils. A distant part of him is triumphant, finally feeling superior to his abuser, but the other, larger part of him is just deathly cold and despondent.
“Sirius is gone, and you still aren't proud of me. Why is that, Mum?”
Regulus falls silent and stares at her. Walburga gulps greedily at the air in her mouth and can barely pull herself together.
“You never obeyed…”
“You're confusing me with Sirius again, mother,” he growls, rising, “but I'm not him!”
Regulus takes a deep breath and sits back down. He strokes the padded upholstery of the bench, looking at his mother.
“Why? I was obedient. I trusted you, not my older brother.”
Walburga sighs and sits down in a chair against the wall.
“You were always the spare,” she says the information he already knows, “Orion didn't want a spare, but I insisted. He didn't want to waste energy training ‘another useless son’ and I… I'm just a woman, what could I do?’”
She throws her head up as he chuckles.
“Isn't that right, Mother? You could have killed him in his sleep countless times, taken over our training and loved us instead, but what did you do instead? Besides, Blacks don't bow their heads. You're a Black, but you submitted to him, of all people?”
She's silent.
“You know what, mother?” he whispers, “I want you to burn me off the family tapestry.”
“What?” she cries out, stunned.
“Get me out of there. I was a fool to think this family was worth my love. If you want to live, then burn me out and leave me alone.”
“What are you going to do?” Mother whispers, clutching the hem of her dark red dress.
Regulus looks at her carefully, smiling. He revels in the apprehension in her eyes.
“Destroy the Dark Lord,” he replies, savouring the shock and the undisguised disappointment, “and if you want to keep breathing, you will keep quiet about it, mother. There's a lot to learn in his ranks, you know. And finally the moment has come when I don't mind using him against my family.”
The woman seems unable to move, but Regulus notices the brief nod, barely perceptible. He smiles and heads for the exit.
At the very door, he takes one last look at the woman who was supposed to be his mother and says goodbye to the once bright and hopeful image of her in his head.
“I realised too late that Sirius was a bigger parent to me than you or Orion. Be quiet and stay out of my way, Walburga. I'll know if you do anything.”
Only later does he realise that the tune they played together must have been their family's requiem.
***
Malfoy Manor greets him with cold, against which Narcissa is the brightest ray of sunshine, breaking through all barriers to warm him with her warmth so that deep in the chest of his soul the ice melts, settled unnoticed in its very depths.
His cousin smiles and wraps her arms around him, pulling him tightly against her. She looks as bright and lovely as ever, but there is a sadness in the depths of her eyes that is directed at him. Regulus wishes he could comfort her, but knows that whatever he says won't matter. Not now that he is a chain dog on death's leash. And she knows it.
“Lucius told me about you,” Narcissa whispers once they are settled inside, “what are you doing, little one? What are you thinking, trying to get closer?”
And Regulus can't answer her question without revealing something he'd rather keep secret. So he limits himself to a simple ‘everything is under control’. Cousin is obviously not satisfied with this in the slightest, but she lets it go when she realises that no amount of persuasion will get him to talk.
Ridiculously habitual, he tells her of his plans and need for help. Narcissa is just as open to him as before, but this time the realisation pierces deeper into the girl as she nods thoughtfully.
Regulus can already feel the weight of the diary in his hands
***
Andromeda finds herself at his side just as easily as last time.
This time, Regulus begins to bribe his little niece now, presenting her with a modest gift in the form of a box of chocolates of various shapes and colours.
Her cousin rolls her eyes and sighs irritably, but a smile stretches her lips.
Nymphadora's contented squeal deafens him, and the child's hug is surprisingly tight so that he almost gasps, but it's worth it to see her absolutely glowing with delight.
Regulus calls her ‘birdie’ and laughs when she adorably wrinkles her nose in confusion, but then nods approvingly.
***
Finley smiles when she sees the guests in their humble, remote village and welcomes them, opening her trembling arms for them, not hesitating to show them the little attractions they have.
True, this time it is they who must approach him with amazing information about magic without having entered the cave before. The man freezes so still that he can't seem to breathe. His eyes are cold when his wand is in his hands, but Regulus endeavours to explain that they are not a threat, but instead seek to eliminate it. It succeeds with difficulty and the old wizard asks for time to think about what has happened.
How amazingly they have switched places compared to their first meeting. Regulus laughs, even though anxiety fills his body every time Finley looks at him warily and doesn't remove his wand from his hands.
He can already hear Miriam loading the gun.
***
Narcissa's trembling, pale hands hand him the now familiar diary. Regulus feels his lips stretch into a smile so wide that his cheeks ache, but nothing can dim his pleasure. He meets his eyes with his cousin's and hopes his gaze can convey the depth of his gratitude, for this life and the many others where another version of her has helped another him.
“I don't know what I'd do without you, Cissa, thank you so much,” he whispers with a huff and savours the warmth of her brief embrace.
The wind carries the girlish whisper away with him: “Be careful.”
But he can't hear it anymore.
And even if he did, he'd just laugh.
What is caution?
***
Regulus stands in front of a cave that is so familiar, yet so foreign, and where he hasn't been in what seems like forever. They were always nearby, at Finley's, but hardly any of them looked back at the cold cage of the Horcrux. And many of the loops he did get the locket that way. But the ones where he did get it. left unforgettable impressions, no amount of death would wash them away.
The wind ruffles his hair and clothes, burns the cold against his skin. Barty stands beside him, wand hanging from his belt, useless inside the magical cave. They may feel helpless without their usual magic, but if they managed it last time, they can do it again now.
A sharp blade cuts into the delicate skin of Regulus' palm, bright blood dripping onto the cold stone in front of them. The ground rumbles as the entrance to the cave finally appears and, not daring to breathe any louder than they should, the two Slytherins cautiously step inside.
A green haze has filled the entire space around them, circling gingerly around them as if threatening to suffocate them, but in reality doing nothing. The air is just as heavy as it was last time.
Following the ghosts of almost past memories, his hand wraps around the familiar space, feeling the air waver as he grips the metal invisible to the eye, cold and dangerous but so necessary to their journey.
Legs tensing, he grips the chain harder and feels another pair join him. Barty smirks, echoing his strut, and the two of them spend a humiliatingly long time trying to get the boat out. However, when it finally appears on the water surface, it is like an incomparable feeling, exhilarating and intoxicating. Now comes the hard part. The most dangerous.
At the mere thought of the challenge ahead, he feels like he could turn around right now and run away, forget the whole war and what has already passed, just to avoid the painful hallucinations that await him, but he shakes his head stubbornly, banishing the silly thoughts. He has no turning back since he got the mark.
They climb into the boat and, good thing Barty is still seventeen, otherwise it would be embarrassing if they couldn't cross the lake together just because they forgot about the magical restriction of the boat.
The water seems almost black in its darkness. Its gloom draws one to look in, to peer into its depths, to behold all the secrets of a mysterious place only to be dragged to the bottom by the hands of a hundred dead men at the slightest ripple. To join their ranks.
A green mist circles above the very surface, sickly and malevolent, perfect for such a place. Luckily for them, they don't have much time to spend here.
Regulus climbs out of the boat with Barty and repeats the routine to him again, receiving only a tired groan in response.
“I remember, Reg, you've said that a thousand and one times!”
Anyone else would have laughed, but Black notices the underlying nervousness in his friend's voice and feels it reflected in his chest. Neither of them voices it, but they both know they understand each other completely and irrevocably. Regulus smiles at the thought of it and moves towards the bowl and the liquid inside. He feels strangely calm now, as if he is finally in his place.
He laughs mockingly at his own thoughts and takes the cup in his hand. It is cold, scalding, but Regulus only grips the stem of the goblet tighter and takes the first sip, not stopping until the first cup is empty.
His stomach begins to burn from the inside out, and the liquid fills to the brim again. Barty beside him is dead pale and silent. His mere presence calms the anxiety that has reared its head again.
Regulus takes another sip and ignores the exploding pain in his head, his brother's laughter echoing in his ears. His legs grow a little weaker, but he only spreads them wider, stands steadier, but knows it won't last long.
The liquid overflows over the edge as he brings the goblet to his lips again and drinks greedily. His palm grows weak, but he holds on. Sways in place and feels the warmth of another man's touch against his side. Afraid to look round to see who it is.
Instead, he continues to drink.
From outside, there is a splash of water and the calling of his name. Instinctively turns around and sees Pandora, all glowing as if she were a jewel in the flesh.
His legs are pulling towards her, in fact his whole being is pulling towards her, but his limbs stubbornly do not move, which is strange. Then he remembers the other's touch, wondering how he could have stopped feeling it in an instant.
His senses dulled with Pandora's gentle ‘starburst’ as if dancing in his mind in a hazy haze. He looks up, following the unknown hand and sees Barty. Regulus doesn't remember how his brother ended up here, but accepts the fact as something commonplace. Barty's lips move, but only a thunderous ‘Regulus’ fills his entire consciousness.
Black turns around and sees his mother in black robes, mourning.
Something touches his lips, he drinks.
“What a shame,” he reads his mother's lips, so far away he can't hear her, “I did love you, my baby.”
Regulus reaches for her, but he can't move.
He only notices a moment later that he is drinking again.
Sirius is shouting at him. Calls him names that make the sharp needles dig deep into his skin.
Orion stands next to his brother, which is actually surprising, it seems to be the first time Regulus has seen them side by side, not arguing with each other. They are actually united in shouting at him. It makes his heart clench in his chest.
He takes a drink.
Barty's face flickers in front of him, full of worry. His lips move without sound. Only with a pause does a sound reach Regulus's ears, “Let's go for a swim, Reg, Dora's waiting there.”
He sees no point in refusing, but he can't move. Barty seems to be swearing.
Finley is standing behind him.
He's drinking.
And next to him are Miriam and Henry. They're really cute: waving and smiling at him, and even further away, Pandora is dancing with Evan.
Regulus admires them, but for a moment they all stop and stare at him intently and silently.
“Come here,” he hears his mother's voice.
“It's time for you to finally be shown what you deserve.”
“And what if not swimming proves it best?”
“The water's so good.”
“And we are so lonely here.”
“Come join us.”
“Join us.”
“Die at last.”
“We died because of you.”
Fire pierces every cell of his pathetic, insignificant body, unable to move, unable to show his worth. Now, of all times, when everyone is looking at him and he's bloody pathetic!
Regulus only realises he's crying when icy hands wipe away his tears. The face in front of him is a blur, his ears are ringing, and he drinks. And he drinks. And he drinks.
He hears something that sounds like ‘last’ and he wonders. Does that mean he needs one last shot?
He drinks.
And breaks free from the tight grip with his last strength.
In a distant part of himself he hears screams, the sound of something heavy falling, but it's all lost under a layer of desperate, wild need to prove to them all that he's not useless.
The water's edge is so close that he can feel its coldness with his skin, penetrating to the bone.
The people around him smile, even as their angry, angry words continue to echo from every direction and echo over his head.
He almost touches the water, can already see the reflection of his success in the water, but a pair of hands abruptly grab him and pull him back so sharply that he gasps.
There's not enough strength to kick, but that doesn't mean he doesn't try. Everything around him sways and floats, only getting colder, but he can't break free.
He cries and cries and cries.
He's thirsty.
***
He feels the sharp gusts of wind biting his skin with force, he hears a crackling sound like magic, and a second later he tastes the blissful, heavenly taste of cool water.
He drinks greedily until he begins to choke, and even then he tries to drink some more, even if he is already nauseous.
But his consciousness clears until he sees a panting, pale Barty in front of him, scrutinising him with painful concentration.
“I'm okay,” he whispers, “I'm okay now.”
Crouch's whole body settles down in relief and he falls to the ground, pulling him with him until they are lying on the cold stones, curled around each other. Slowly their backs relax as their breathing evens out and their heart calms its wild rhythm. The locket lies between them, clutched tightly in Barty's hands. It's cold, it reeks of evil and darkness, but Black can't hold back a smile at the monstrosity.
Regulus touches Barty's shoulder with his forehead and allows himself a wide smile. He feels the shoulders of the guy next to him shake a moment before he starts laughing loudly.
“We fucking made it, Reggie!” he shrieks, raising his hand up with the Horcrux clutched in it, “suck it, Dark Lord, you stupid piece of shit!”
Regulus held on valiantly, but gives up and succumbs to laughter as well, glowering at Barty.
“It's just a matter of time,” he whispers, jumping up impatiently.
There is no one around, only the sound of the sea waves accompanying them. The wand in Barty's hands finally feels familiar and useful, its magic working as clearly as it did all the time before. It was not for nothing that they had trained for so long.
The diary and the locket lay next to each other, innocent yet so dangerous. Even now, with the great distance between them, the dark magic's thin threads seek to braid their souls and pull them closer, to make them accept her like an old friend.
Before it can affect them any further, a huge wave of wild flame crashes over the Horcruxes. The twin shrieks are so deafening that Regulus worries for a moment that he will lose his hearing altogether, but the insistent ringing dissipates as well as the green haze in the wind, taking any semblance of remnants of dark magic into the depths of the sea. Only ash remains after the threatening Horcruxes.
Regulus doesn't hold back and clutches Barty in his arms so tightly that he has to ask him to loosen his grip if Crouch's ribs and their safety mean anything to him.
***
His hands are covered in blood. Not just his hands, though. His whole body is wet and nasty. Regulus leaves a distinct trail behind him that is unmistakable.
Voldemort watches him carefully and nods approvingly as he reports on the destruction of another village.
And if he is silent about the fact that the inhabitants are still alive and the memories of the Death Eaters present have been altered, no one notices.
Pain courses through his veins, but it has become so familiar in this setting that he only shuffles from foot to foot for a moment before graciously tucking one knee and bowing his head.
“My lord,” he whispers, “thank you.”
Because if the Dark Lord tortures you, you say “thank you”. Regulus lets his thoughts fill with laughter so loud it overrides any sounds of the world around him.
He can't remember the last time he came back from a mission clean. Always he is covered in blood: his own or the Eaters', almost never the others.
Slowly the ranks of the Death Eaters are thinning, not without the help of the forces of light, so Regulus, thankfully, remains above suspicion, but to his deep regret, idiots continue to die on missions, which he reports to the Dark Lord with great disdain.
“How do they hope to be of any use to the lord if they can't dodge a little spell?” he sneers as another follower squirms under the torture, a shriek piercing ears accustomed to the sound, “they don't try hard enough to help their master and hope to stay alright? Idiots.”
A hoarse chuckle erupts after his heated speech. Cold eyes look at him with the semblance of respect that such a pathetic person as the Dark Lord sees everyone but himself can achieve.
“Indeed, young Black,” a sly voice answers him, “what do you think we should do with them?”
“Anything you see fit, my lord,” he whispers dreamily.
Fire boils in his blood - a silent prompt to bend lower. He obediently complies, barely clenching his teeth.
A skinny hand touches his hair, clenching it until it hurts. Regulus ignores it, raising his eyes to the Dark Lord.
“I asked for your opinion.”
He moistens his lips, suddenly nervous.
“I think, my lord, that some can be trained, but others are useless to our plans,” he whispers.
“Ours?” an interested voice answers him.
“Of course, my lord,” Regulus looks into the monster's eyes and tries not to feel like a traitor, “your plans are my plans. I officially promised that the day I swore an oath to you.”
Just as Bellatrix had once predicted, he took her place.
***
The Dark Lord, as his mood is particularly good and Regulus is served particularly humiliatingly, condescends to teach him a particularly interesting, particularly evil spell.
He doesn't dare teach it to any of his own and doesn't tell Dumbledore, but interestedly tests them on particularly unlucky Death Eaters, later telling Voldemort about it in all colours, watching the latter laugh vengefully, not even realising that those ‘stupid wizards’ tortured by his obedient dog were his own followers.
This doesn't stop Regulus from eavesdropping on each of the Death Eaters' counterspells and successfully passing them on to Dumbledore, and on to his small, cunning Order of the Phoenix.
He's getting better at duelling, though in any other situation he'd rather avoid fighting, but he's given no choice, so he's eager to teach the Gryffindors and Slytherins the same thing, and sometimes, when Dumbledore looks particularly pathetic, he tells the Order of the Phoenix about it, not that they trust him much, so it's not much use. He can only hope that they learn it without him.
Dumbledore tries to get him to summon the patronus, but Regulus arches an eyebrow expressively and looks at him like he's an idiot.
“Headmaster, I'm a Death Eater, a murderer and a traumatised child. What the hell kind of patronus do you expect to see from me?” he sneers and doesn't continue this stupid conversation.
James pulls him away from the old man's watchful gaze, grabbing his hand tightly and seemingly at the moment simply forgetting to let go.
“I'd like,” he averts his eyes uncertainly, becoming shy abruptly, “for you to meet my parents.”
“Oh my God, Potter,” Regulus drawls in surprise, “take me to dinner first, what kind of gentleman are you?”
James blushes and mumbles something unintelligible under his breath before he gathers himself enough to whisper, “That's not what I meant.”
“Then don't languish and clarify,” Black laughs.
Potter takes a little more time to gather himself, but Regulus shows surprising patience and doesn't rush him... too much.
“I just thought that Sirius was basically my brother, and now that you're obviously helping us, it's only a matter of time before your mother... does what she's already done before.”
“James,” Regulus stops him, shaking his head in surprise, “I've already spoken to Walburga and asked her to disown me. That place and those people are not family to me.”
The look on Potter's face after this news was worth all the trouble he went through to get to this point. He wants to laugh until his stomach hurts, but he holds back with a titanic will, marvelling at his control, even though he can't keep from smiling.
“But where have you been living then all this time?” screams in horror and with some degree of delight James.
And Regulus only laughs and whispers to him, “Let me have my secrets.”
And in the end he is unable to avoid meeting Potter's parents. Standing in front of them, he once again feels like a small child wanting approval from his mother, full of anxiety and anticipation.
Euphemia ‘Effie’ and Flimont ‘Monty’ Potter turn out to be such wonderful people that Regulus refuses to believe they exist, which he unashamedly informs them of and savours the woman's bright, warm laugh and the man's contented shake of his head.
“I'm so glad to finally meet you in person, little one,” Effie smiles, stepping closer to him, “Sirius has told me a lot about you. Do you mind if I give you a hug?”
Even if he'd been against it, Regulus would have forced himself to agree, just to bask in the warmth of a mother's love. Euphemia's embrace is strong but not suffocating, making him outright melt, snuggling into the top of her head and closing his eyes in pleasure.
Flimont also asks for permission and if his wife instils a sense of security and warmth, the man is an unwavering defence. He holds him in a way that makes sure Regulus will know he will always have someone on his side. And if no one is on his side, then that means Flimont is dead, otherwise he would never have left his man.
Regulus believes that if he had to choose his parents, he would have already made his choice.
***
Repeating the actions of the previous loop, he walks down to the kitchen to the elves. There is no light outside the window, the darkness of the street is complete, and his heart is troubled.
The elves, despite everything, are as active as last time. The only difference is that this time Regulus does not allow himself to be dismissed. Resolutely he refuses any of their treats and asks Ginky to escort him to the named Bailout Room.
Once in the right corridor, the little creature hurriedly leaves, only to receive a brief permission slip. However, all Regulus sees are bare walls without the slightest hint of any door that could lead to a new room. Frowning, unable to figure out if the elves have tricked him and then what the point of this is, he walks along each wall several times, running his hand along it, hoping to fumble for at least a ledge.
Unfortunately, the walls are blissfully empty. There are no windows, no nothing. It's as if the corridor was only created to add another obstacle to the students' lives in the already confusing maze of the school. Regulus is about to give up. He walks along each wall one last time, sighing disappointedly as he freezes in surprise.
Where he swears a moment ago was a blank wall a door has appeared. Small, hardly noticeable, especially compared to the other doors in the school, but now it feels like a breath of fresh air and a sudden rush of hope into his body.
Reluctantly, he opens the door and finds himself in a room that can only be described as a junk yard, not otherwise. Huge shelves stretch all the way up to the ceiling, which seems to reach all the way to the sky, and everything is crammed to the top, so much so that even the floor is littered with rubbish. Regulus sighed in frustration. How is he supposed to look for the Horcrux if it's really here?
But as if sensing his one thought, the shelves clear. They stand in place, still reaching for the sky as well, but now there are no items on them, and the floor is blissfully clear, so Regulus doesn't have to worry about crashing in his search.
He is distracted by the sound of something soft hitting the floor. Lowering his gaze, Black notices a ball of thread bouncing impatiently in place. He arches an eyebrow in interest. Is that a Horcrux?
Regulus steps closer, but at the same moment the ball of thread begins to roll forward.
“Stop!" he barked, rushing after it, “where to?”
Looping with the ball of thread, Regulus thinks he might as well be looping through a real maze now that he can't even see the exit, but the ball keeps rolling forward, stopping when the Slytherin stops and continuing on its way when the boy does the same.
Finally the object unravelled and doesn't move as Regulus approaches. However, he doesn't feel any dark magic touching the threads. Disappointment pierces his whole body, but a strange need makes him raise his head and he sighs in surprise: at the very top, the only item among all the shelves, shines brighter than any diamond a tiara in the shape of a magnificent eagle with a large stone in the very centre.
His breath caught in his chest as Regulus pointed his wand at the artefact with a trembling hand.
“Accio diadem,” his dry lips whisper, and smoothly the Horcrux descends into his hands.
He can feel the victory getting closer and closer.
***
Regulus is in the corner of the room, hidden in the shadows. He feels cosy here, vaguely reminiscent of distant memories of his parents' home, where he used to hide so that no one noticed him, no matter how desperately he wished otherwise.
He can feel his entire being, every cell of his pathetic body being filled with love, so all-encompassing that it feels as if he is love as he watches his family: Pandora, radiant with joy; Barty, grinning slyly; Evan, reaching behind their backs to startle them; they laugh openly and happily, circling around the Gryffindors, whose faces are also stretched in wide smiles that Regulus belatedly realises reflect his own, making his cheeks ache, but he can't bring himself to stop and regain the mask of seriousness he's used to.
A shadow envelops him from head to toe, and Regulus thinks he wouldn't mind being in the shade of the sun of people dear to him as long as they are happy. But he should have considered that they never forget the fourth of their company that is now absent, so Regulus is pulled violently forwards into the sun, accompanied by their bright laughter.
Regulus squirms at his master's feet as pain wracks his body. It is familiar, but as unpleasant as ever. More of a nuisance than real pain now, after so much torture.
“Thank you,” he forces a whisper through dry, blood soaked lips, “thank you very much, my lord.”
He clenched his teeth as a new wave of unending agony coursed through his blood, drawing him into an ocean of pain. The Dark Lord seems determined to make him scream tonight.
He ducks sharply, dodging the blast of the newest of Evan's potions. Looking out, Regulus notices that his friend's face is stained with soot and a strange-looking red substance, the true nature of which he does not wish to know.
Rosier looks thoughtful, clearly trying to analyse where he has made a mistake, but his concentration is interrupted when Regulus' wild laughter fills the space.
He's already imagining Barty and Dora's faces when he tells them about it.
His foot bends at a strange angle that definitely can't be called healthy, but no one cares, least of all the Dark Lord.
On the contrary, his shiny shoe with its sharp heel comes closer and digs into the very flesh, pushing the bone deeper.
Regulus howls and squirms until he begins to sob. And then he forces himself to whisper to himself:
“Thank you.”
A glow envelops the room, through which a glittering raven flies. Its wings are spread wide as the phantom wind from their flapping sweeps through their hair.
Pandora, the owner of the corporeal patronus, smiles widely as she looks at the bird. In the light of her happiness, she could compete with the glow of a raven. With a hopping gait, she approaches Regulus and clutches him tightly in her arms, whispering happily in his ear: “I did it.”
She pulls back and jumps high, swinging her arm. Squeals: “I did it!”
Regulus feels pride tearing him up inside.
Regulus feels pain tearing him from the inside out.
He bites his lip until it bleeds to hold back a scream, and when it bleeds, he bites the inside of his cheek.
The Dark Lord looks at him and smiles before plunging him into another round of his games.
Regulus has had to remind himself a lot lately what he's doing this for.
Regulus is sprawled out on the grass in a star pose, smiling happily. Barty's head is nestled on his stomach, Pandora lies on his shoulder, and Evan stretches across the three of them, piling all his weight on until he's thrown off.
James' leg is touching his, Sirius is lounging with Lupin, Pettigrew is snuggled up next to him.
Regulus closes his eyes and exhales in relief.
And the sun shines down on them.
***
The Dark Lord looks at him carefully. His dry, pale lips curve into a thoughtful smile.
“Young Black,” he drawls slowly and deathly quiet.
Not a living soul around them.
“My lord,” he nods and kneels, crushing pride and self-respect. The desire to live burns bright, fuelling him.
“Now that the lovely Bella has sadly left us, I believe you are closest to her level, after all, she trained you, didn't she?” the tone is sly, as if it were some sort of test.
After all, everyone but the Dark Lord himself had already officially considered him in his cousin's place. All that remained was for the master himself to confirm it.
“Bellatrix has indeed put a great deal of effort into making me a worthy servant of yours, my lord,” he whispers, praying to all the Gods that this answer is correct.
“Commendable,” a bony hand strokes his hair, “I think you would be a good fit for her position. An important task for you, young Black.”
His heart thumped with anticipation.
“Anything, anything at all.”
He swallows the sudden dryness in his mouth.
“There's a rat in my ranks. Someone is betraying us and I want you to deliver him to me and then teach him a lesson.”
Laughter rumbles deep in his chest, but he doesn't let it escape, not now, not when everything is at stake and the Dark Lord's gaze is burning through him. We have to wait just a little while longer.
A skinny hand strokes his while the other, he thinks, holds an invisible leash between them.
It's just a pity that Regulus holds his leash himself, so he could rip it out.
“Are you loyal to me, young Black?”
Regulus feels his lips stretch into a smile. He raises his eyes and looks directly at Voldemort, without a shadow of fear.
“I am loyal to you,” he whispers the lie shamelessly as his lips curve wider, “Tom Riddle.”
A powerful gust of magic shatters the windows: shards fly inwards and roll at their feet, Regulus leaps to his feet as he and the Dark Lord are consumed by the raging flames of hellfire. The last two Horcruxes in his hand let out an angry shriek, echoed by Voldemort, already hurling deadly curses. He must have realised this was a crappy business. Unless he's a complete idiot, of course.
The space around them is already filled with the Order of the Phoenix, led by Dumbledore, frantically fighting Voldemort. Along with the fire, the space is abruptly filled with Death Eaters who have come running in to howl.
The infernal flames envelop Regulus, but do not burn him - Evan's potion does its job perfectly, protecting him. Finally, the flames dissolve and Barty is by his side, zealously checking him for wounds but finding none, exhaling in relief.
Unfortunately, they don't have much time to check now that the others need help, so they are forced to rush into action.
Voldemort, previously cocky and proud, now looks completely lousy and enraged. He's fighting Dumbledore, but his gaze occasionally falls on Regulus and the hatred that burns so brightly there makes him worried.
Death Eaters don't give up. One dies, the next comes, if not two. Black can't help but wonder where so many of them are coming from when he's worked so hard to get rid of as many as possible.
Regulus has to quickly put those thoughts out of his mind when he almost loses an arm for his distraction. Luckily for him, Barty didn't go far and killed his enemy with particular fervour, but he also took the time to hit him particularly hard and call him an idiot.
Time stands still as a loud scream echoes through the room, quickly drowned out by the loss of strength.
And it comes from the corner where two of the strongest mages were fighting.
Everyone stops to see who has managed to overpower the other, and at that moment Regulus feels elation fill his entire body.
The Dark Lord slowly sinks to his feet, though they are crumbling into ash now that the spell has struck him. No one utters a word until the body of the mage who claimed the entire world disappears completely.
Then chaos ensues: the Death Eaters scatter who knows where, some fleeing, others apparating, some of the Order rushing after them, others unable to contain their joy, Dumbledore himself not forcing them to pursue.
“We'll have time to find the rest of them,” the old man assures them and breaks into a smile, “congratulations, friends. We've won!”
Barty grabs him by the shoulder, pushing him with all his weight, and is the first to shriek with joy, deafening Regulus.
He assumes this is a once-in-a-lifetime moment, and squeals himself, hugging his friend while the others join in.
Pandora and Evan have been huddled amongst the crowd for the duration of the battle, but are already coming closer, smiling broadly as they do so.
A little further away, the Gryffindors are huddled together and bickering habitually, but finally their shoulders are free from the weight of the oppressive days.
They notice them and hurry closer. Sirius speeds up and leaps at Regulus, so that they are both on the ground, laughing and sobbing intermingled.
Evan hugs Remus, apparently having forgiven him for that awkward flirtation of Barty's, Pandora twirls with James, and Peter is surprisingly received into Crouch's arms.
When Sirius allows him to stand up, he exchanges a tight, relief-filled hug with the others.
He's so overcome with happiness that when Dumbledore comes over and shakes his hand, for a moment he wants to hug the old man. But he's ecstatic, not an idiot, so he doesn't.
Regulus looks round and absorbs the atmosphere around him: everyone is laughing, happy and content.
He finds himself in Potter's tight grip and can't help himself, so he squeezes the boy back. He lifts him into the air and spins him around, clearly enjoying the deafening scream.
Finally eyes full of tenderness look up at him, and a quiet voice says: “So what were you saying about dinner back there?”
He laughs and assumes he doesn't mind.
And Regulus lives.
***
Much later, prodded by the encouraging smiles of his family, he pulls his wand forward and sighs deeply.
With a sinking heart, he thinks of one particular memory and whispers with suddenly dry lips: “Expecto patronum.”
He smiles broadly as he is clutched in the vise of a loving embrace.
And the little scorpion crawls around excitedly.