Written for Aldira's Portal Challenge, prompt: 21 Guns - Green Day.
Word count: 4587
(don't) turn over the page
Regulus wakes up gasping for breath, the feeling of cold, dead fingers dragging him down with surprising strength lingering on his body. It takes him a while (too long, too long, his mind whispers, what if the Dark Lord has you) to recognize his surrounding as his bedroom in Grimmauld's Place.
The desperation of drowning, when the pained fog the potion the Dark Lord had created to protect his Horcrux had left had finally lifted takes a bit longer to fade, even though it lingers there, at the back of his mind, not quite thought, not quite memory.
It occurs to him then, that his last memory is of dying, of how peaceful it had been to simply let go of everything, trusting that Kreacher would follow his last order, and he laughs.
The hysterical sound draws Kreacher in though, and at the sight of his House-Elf (his best friend, and isn't that sad?) he sobers up.
"Did you destroy it? Kreacher, did you destroy it?" He asks urgently. What a sight he must make, still unkept from bed, a mad edge to his voice. But he has to know. This is important, so important, in fact, that he gave his life for it.
Kreacher just looks slightly confused, and concerned. "Is Master Regulus feeling alright?"
"I'm fine, Kreacher, but what about the locket?" Regulus bates away the concern, ignoring the twinge of guilt he feels as Kreacher's ears drop down a little.
Instead of whatever answer Regulus was expecting, Kreacher looks even more concerned, even as he deflates a little more. He looks scared, Regulus realizes, and it brings back to mind the terrible memory of the night he had found out about the Dark Lord's secret.
"Kreacher still thinks that Master Regulus should leave the locket alone, but Master Regulus never listens to poor Kreacher… Master Regulus shouldn't go to the bad place, no he shouldn't…" Kreacher's mutters get more and more inaudible after that, and for a few moments Regulus is too confused, still chasing the last remnants of sleep away, to react.
"What are you talking about?" He finally asks. "We went to the cave yesterday," or at least it must have been the day before, "and I gave you the locket so that you could destroy it. Don't you remember?"
Regulus knows better than to mention his close-call with death to his House-Elf, but the knowledge sits there, on the tip of his tongue, somewhat bittersweet.
"Did Master Regulus have a bad dream?" Kreacher asks prudently, his fingers poised for a snap should Regulus need anything.
Regulus pauses. A dream. Why hadn't he thought of that? This would explain so much, like the way Kreacher isn't acting as protective as Regulus believes he would be, had Regulus been as close to death as he believes he was or the way his bedroom still looks exactly as he remembers it looking yesterday.
Feeling more grounded, Regulus runs a hand through his hair. "Yes, Kreacher, I had a bad dream." It doesn't feel quite right, though, not when the way the dream-memories are as clear and focused as his memories of the last few days, but it also the only thing that makes sense. Unless he has developed weird Divination powers, in which case, they chose a lousy time to manifest.
The thought cheers him up though, and so he waves off Kreacher with a smile and readies himself for the day.
His good mood lasts only until he is dressed, when he spots the fake Horcrux he had left on his desk. He remembers now: today is the day he has planned to go after the locket and replace it.
According to his dream, today is the day he dies. And yes, that has always been part of the plan, the risk of it, but… Brushing a finger against the cold metal of the locket, Regulus tries to shake off the thought. It works well enough, and Regulus heads out.
He spends the rest of the day in a weird haze of déjà-vu, each of his actions echoing in the part of his mind where he's shoved the memory of drowning.
Regulus is restless by the time he calls Kreacher to lead him to the cave, eager for this day to finally end.
He knows he is lost when the first drop of the potion – the poison, his mind supplies – passes his lips.
He knows he is dead when the first bony hands break through the water he's trying to use to soothe the burning of his throat. When they grab him, he is almost thankful – and then the water is everywhere, pressing down upon him, heavy and cold and he is gasping, there is no air, no light, no nothing.
He is dying, lungs burning for air he cannot have, fingers scrambling desperately for any kind of purchase to pull him up and away from the bony hands dragging him inexorably down, legs kicking uselessly in the water.
He sees nothing but the edge of his vision still seem to grow darker and he knows that this is it, that this is his last –
-and then he wakes up, gasping for breath, the cold pressure of water a shadow in his lungs.
.x.
The second loop isn't any easier than the first, but at least this time Regulus knows that what he remembers is no dream. It doesn't help him chasing the phantom feeling of hands dragging him down to his death, but it is also somewhat reassuring, to know that both times he still succeeded in his primary goal of depriving the Dark Lord from one of his safeguards, even if that cost him his life.
He could never regret that.
He thinks about changing things, doing something – anything – differently, about trying to survive, but he also remembers the cardinal rule of Time Travel, which he had read in what feels like another life, looking up what one would need to become an Unspeakable.
That had been before the Mark staining his forearm though, but still, the knowledge had stayed with him. With a lack of any other kind of knowledge, Regulus has to follow it: he can't change anything, and if that means he has to die tonight once again, well at least he knows what to expect.
It's a bitter knowledge, but it's all he has.
.x.
The third time he wakes up coughing up water that isn't there, Regulus cries a little.
The seventh, he screams and throws his bedside lamp at the wall, a savage smile on his face as it shatters in a thousand pieces.
After two weeks of the same day – of a day that always, always ends in his death, rendered meaningless by this mad loop – he grabs his wand and slashes at everything in sight until his room is in shambles. It takes everything to reassure Kreacher that he hasn't gone off the deep end (but Merlin, maybe he has, why else would he be trapped in this infernal day?), but the chaos is worth it for the way it soothes the burning despair in his chest.
By his count, he has been doing this for a month when he decides that he might as well change something unless he really wants to go mad.
It doesn't even take much planning, not with the way his last month has been spent dreaming up every single path he could take.
That night, in a voice that shakes with anticipation, he orders Kreacher to save him too.
When they get back to Grimmauld's Place, Regulus is still soaking wet – he could dry himself, he knows, but somehow that requires more energy than he has right now – and he can still feel the bruises forming from where dead hands had grabbed on too hard, but he is also blissfully alive.
He collapses on his bed, and when he wakes, it isn't to the memory of drowning.
It is still, however, the same day.
.x.
Regulus tries so many ways to save himself before he reluctantly admits that he might as well bring in outside help. He has lost count of the amount of times he's repeated this day, and even if he has mostly managed to stop himself from drowning (and, on one particularly gruesome loop, being torn apart by the Inferis), the memory of it still haunts him.
His first thought is, strangely enough, of his brother. Maybe it's because, once upon a time, Regulus could count on Sirius whenever he had a problem, or maybe it's because he knows that his brother is fighting the Dark Lord too, but it still surprises him. He had thought he had managed to rid himself of all lingering affection for his brother.
But then again, he thinks ruefully, Sirius was never that easy to get rid of.
He can't go to Sirius, though. His brain knows this, even though part of his heart wishes it didn't. His brother doesn't trust him – hasn't for years, not since he put on that red and gold tie it seems – and he won't believe him.
There are others however, among the Death Eaters, who have grown disillusioned with their actions. They could help, maybe, and besides it isn't like Regulus has much to lose.
One way or another, he will end this day in the cave – he can't run the risk of not getting the locket, not when he doesn't know when the loop might stop resetting. Maybe having someone else there, someone other than Kreacher, who was there the first time, will be enough of a change to stop the reset, despite how dangerous it is.
He approaches Barty first, because of everyone he knows in the Death Eaters, they're the closest, both in the way they think – both of them trying to prove themselves to people who would never truly see them, both of them far too clever for their own good, both of them in over their head ever since they were branded – and in what they are – two sons of prominent pureblood families, around the same age.
They spend ten loops together, and Regulus will never forget any of them. Barty's face as he is dragged down by the Inferis in Regulus' stead the first time is terrible, but worse than that is the way he looks so broken every time he sees Regulus dies.
The eleventh time he wakes up with Barty's name on his lips, his heart desperately aching, he decides that this is the last time they can do this. The worst part is that Regulus can't even tell who he's trying to protect (himself, always himself, his mind whispers with a poisonous tone in his brother's voice, because he is a coward).
The eleventh time, he doesn't take Barty with him to the cave. He kisses him goodbye before leaving, a little desperate and very urgent. It is the first time and the last they will have this, unless this cursed loop finally ends.
It ends too soon, and when the loops resets, Regulus touches a finger to his lips before he locks the memories away, trusting his Occlumency to keep them safe.
He doesn't ask for help for a while after that, and lets himself drown for the first time in forever, if only to chase that phantom feeling of another's lips on his.
.x.
Regulus tries very hard not to think about the way he's losing hope that it ever will, about the way he lost count of the repeats so long ago.
How many times has he been through this now? How long ago was it that time made sense?
Has it been a year yet? More? Less? It feels like more but is probably less, but Regulus knows that one day, a year of the same day will have passed.
He doesn't like to think about what he might do then, how desperate it might make him.
.x.
This is the loop he tries to forget. This is the loop where the Dark Lord finds him before the cave, where everything goes wrong, where Regulus begs for a death that won't come, where one moment he's lying in his own blood and the next he wakes up in his bed, still shaking from the Cruciatus curse, the taste of blood in his mouth.
The Dark Lord only has him for a few hours, but with every second that passes, with every curse the man he once admired and swore to serve throws at him, a little more of his sanity slips away.
"Who else knows? Who else knows?" The Dark Lord keeps asking in between the curses, as if Regulus had any kind of breath left to answer him.
He laughs instead, blood bubbling between his lips, because he knows something the Dark Lord doesn't: this isn't real. Tomorrow will still be today and this will never have happened. Whatever the Dark Lord inflicts on him will only linger in his mind, and it occurs to Regulus that he is never been glad for his cursed existence before.
The Dark Lord breaks into his mind with an ease that would be offending had Regulus not been tortured within an inch of his life, and it is his turn to laugh.
The Dark Lord has a terrifying laugh. It is cold and it sounds like nails dragging against a blackboard, like a sound from another world.
For the first time in so, so long, Regulus is afraid. He doesn't know why he's the only one this loop affects, what made it start or how to stop it, but he knows that this knowledge in the Dark Lord's hands can't be good.
Thankfully though, it becomes clear that the man, if he even can be called that anymore, only believes that the images he saw are the work of the addled mind of a man driven insane by torture.
"This is such a shame, Regulus," the monster in a man's clothes hisses, tilting his head to the right. He sounds almost disappointed, and Regulus laughs quietly at that thought. "You could have been so much more – you were brilliant, one of my best."
He tuts patronizingly, and turns, robes swishing grandly around him, facing his Death Eaters.
"Let this be an example of what happens to those who betray me," he continues, and with a swish of his wand, Regulus is under the Cruciatus again.
He would scream if he still had the voice for it, but all that comes out of his mouth are garbled gasps as blood pools in his mouth.
Through a sight blurred by pain and blood, Regulus can see someone jerk forward, their movement aborted at the last moment, and he smiles slightly, knowing that Barty is there. He is ridiculously thankful that he won't have to see the man's face as he dies.
Please, he tries to say, please let me die.
The blood in his mouth won't let him speak, and it occurs to him that he's drowning again. Somehow, this seems worse, and he tries to cough it off once the curse lets off.
The curse hits again and again and again, until there is no longer any respite from it.
He is drowning still, blood thick and heavy as it runs down his throat. There is too much of it to swallow even if Regulus wanted to and his last thought is that he preferred the water before –
he wakes up gasping for breath, limbs tangled in the covers of his bed like they're vines holding him down, keeping him trapped there, desperately thankful to have escaped that hell.
.x.
At first, Regulus thought that this was a consequence of dragging the Horcrux, a particularly creative curse the Dark Lord had created to protect a piece of his soul. It sounds like something he would do, after all.
The Dark Lord would never have been able to stop himself from boasting about that accomplishment – playing with Time is no small feat, after all – the way he boasted about everything, and that causes Regulus to discard that theory after only a few loops spent researching it.
The only ways to Time Travel he knows about work through Time Sand and Time Turners, but those are tightly regulated by the Ministry, and there is no way Regulus wouldn't have noticed he had been in contact with any of those.
The books from the Black Library become useless after a while. Regulus has read them so many times he might as well know them by heart, and none of them can tell him what he seeks, though he does finally find how to destroy Horcruxes. Learning Fiendyfire is easy once you have the proper motivation. Controlling it is harder, but Regulus doesn't need it to last long.
In the end, he decides to seek out the Unspeakable. They study Time Travel, and though what Regulus is experiencing is, as far as he knows, unprecedented, surely the brightest minds of their country can help him find a way to end it.
He spends an entire loop convincing them of his story, but it is worth it. They give him codes that he uses religiously in every loop that follows, even though he grows tired of the disbelieving look he gets every time he does.
"And you're the only one who remembers this loop?" The Head Unspeakable asks at the end of the first time, his grey eyes sharp and contemplative.
"Yes," Regulus replies curtly, feeling ill-at-ease in this place where he once dreamed he could work.
"Fascinating. And you're sure of this?
"Yes," Regulus replies, trying not to feel like this was an useless venture.
The man hums lightly, and shuffles some papers on his desk.
"I see," he says, even though Regulus is sure that he doesn't.
He gives him the codes son after that, and Regulus doesn't see him until three loops later.
"The problem," the man starts with, eyes glowing with the light of a yet to be solved challenge, "is that we do not remember any progress we make. None of our protocols for such event seem to work, so either you are lying, or we need to make new protocols."
"I'm not lying."
"I didn't think you were," the man replies, teeth bared in a smile that looks vicious. "But seeing as you're the only one who remembers these 'loops', as you call them, you seem to be the only one able to transmit whatever information we may gather back to us."
Heart pounding in his chest, Regulus asks, "What do you mean?"
"I mean, Mr. Black, that you are now considered an honorary Unspeakable, and as such are required to come by twice every day, once to give us the information, and once to gather it. I trust that you will be able to remember everything we show you?"
"I will be," Regulus replies, voice sounding more sure than he felt.
"I'm sure you will," the man agrees.
The thing is, Regulus doesn't really have a choice. If he wants a chance – any chance – at getting out of those endless loops, trusting the Unspeakable and memorizing whatever they put in front of him, no matter how hard that will be, is what he'll do.
Besides, if he misses something, he can always let the day repeat until he gets everything right, he thinks bitterly.
The thought doesn't reassure him.
He goes to the cave later in the day now. It changes nothing. Every time he brings them something new, the Unspeakables hum at him and shoo him out once he's accomplished his duty, only allowing him back in in the evening to memorize everything.
The only thing they figure out is that the loop always rests at midnight, and that's not exactly helpful to him. Still, though, Regulus keeps going to them, hoping that this loop will be the one where they have an actual answer for him.
They never do. Loop after loop, and all he gets are noncommittal hums and headshakes, whispers of fascination, and more and more equations and elaborate theories to memorize.
He doesn't know how many loops it takes him to realize that they have no idea what's happening to him and probably never will, that their research has been going nowhere – worse, that they've been using him for research on other subjects.
He destroys half the Department that day and leaves with Aurors on his tail.
It's the first time in years he sees his brother, and Sirius is hunting him down with a fierce expression on his face, Potter – the brother he chose to betray Regulus, his true blood brother, for – by his side.
It hurts more than he had thought it could.
Regulus runs, and doesn't look back. He doesn't go back to Grimmauld's, leaves directly for the cave – he doesn't bother to call Kreacher most of the time, not now that he knows where the cave is or how to save himself – and tries not to hope for them to follow him.
They don't, but the next loop Regulus seeks out his brother, heart a hummingbird against his ribcage.
.x.
"So you want me to believe that you're trapped in the same day? Come on, Reggie, pull the other one." The nickname that Sirius used to say with affection is now spat out with contempt, his brother's eyebrows arched in a 'do you really expect me to fall for that?' expression that pulls at Regulus' heartstrings, reminding him of better days.
Beside him, Potter nods, looking as unconvinced. Regulus had asked his brother to come alone, but he guesses that this is the best he can get. At least Sirius came.
"Fine, don't believe me. But tell me what I should say for you to believe me."
"What, so you can use it to make me trust you? Because that will never happen," Sirius snorts, crossing his arms defensively on his chest. His eyes are shadowed in mistrust, but they've been that way for years. If Regulus let himself hurt every time his brother proved that nothing Regulus could do would repair their relationship, he'd have broken years ago.
"I didn't say anything about trust," Regulus snaps back. "I just want you to believe me. I'm not happy about it either, but I need your help."
Potter and Sirius turn to each other at that, Sirius still scowling, and seem to have an entire conversation without saying anything.
This hurts – once, Sirius and Regulus had been like that too.
"Fine," Sirius finally states, though he doesn't look happy about it. "If you tell me your story, and then say that Padfoot and Prongs told you to say 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good', I might believe you. I might," he stresses, like Regulus doesn't know that his story sounds crazy. "But you can't use that for any of your Master's evil schemes, so don't even try it."
Sirius' defensive tone makes Regulus think that this isn't quite right, but it's been so long in his timeline since he last obeyed one of the Dark Lord's orders that he finds the idea, never mind the use of the expression 'evil schemes', slightly hilarious.
"Worried, Siri?" Regulus teases, a smile on the edge of mean dancing on his lips. "You shouldn't, you know. If tomorrow ever comes, I'll either be too dead to cause you any trouble, or too busy running for my life to care for your silly safe words."
The words come out bitterer than he expected, and for a moment Sirius does look truly concerned. For an instant, Regulus thinks he's going to ask – he can see the question forming on his brother's lips. The moment passes though, and Sirius remains silent, and Regulus doesn't know if he's disappointed or not.
He leaves after that. That night, he burns the cave around him, Inferis and locket melting in the cursed fire. Kreacher drags him away at the last moment, and Regulus waits for midnight on the coast, watching the flames dance until the water swallows them, nursing a bottle of Firewhiskey Kreacher gave him.
At midnight, the stars rewind until he wakes up in his own bed.
.x.
He brings Sirius to the cave only once. The man drags Potter with him and spends the entire time they're there shooting Regulus distrustful looks, like he expects the former Slytherin to suddenly turn around and stab them in the back the moment they lower their guard.
That changes the instant Regulus starts drinking the potion. It had been so long since someone else had last been there to see him ingest it that he had forgotten the things it made him say out loud.
That potion is the worst part of this loop – he can't make someone else drink it, and whatever spell protects it makes it so animals can't be used, so loop after loop Regulus lets his demons have him.
Something goes wrong – Regulus knows he has told the two Gryffindors about the Inferis protecting the water, but Regulus always craves water too much to truly care. Having Sirius there makes the craving worse somehow, and he's a fraction of a second too late to avoid the hands that pull him under.
The last thing he sees is Sirius' horrified face and the broken, broken look in his eyes.
He wakes up with the sound of his brother screaming his name still echoing in his ears.
So yes, he only brings Sirius to the cave once.
.x.
The thing is, after a while Regulus grows used to the loop. It might never stop, and it might end gruesomely more often than not, but it's also familiar in the way only something well-worn (well-lived, his minds whispers) can be.
The thing is, Regulus doesn't know what he would do if he woke up one day and found that the loop hadn't reset.
.x.
"How many times, Reggie? How many times have you…" Sirius' voice sounds wrecked. They're at Potter's place this time, and the man and his wife have given the two brothers some space. For some reason, Regulus' revelation of the time loop has hit him harder than it usually does.
(Regulus doesn't take Sirius to the cave with him anymore, but he can't stop himself from going to him anyway, hoping that this loop will be one of those where he sees at least a glimpse of affection shine in his brother's grey eyes – it's rare, but somehow it makes all the pain worth it)
"Died?" Regulus jokes, his lips half-twisted in a smile. "I think I lost count, honestly."
Sirius makes a strangled kind of noise, and drags him into a hug. It hurts, to know that tomorrow Regulus will have to start over again with his brother, but it's a good kind of hurt.
"It's really not that bad, you know," Regulus tries to comfort him, patting his arm. Because really, it isn't. It could be so, so much worse.
"You're dying – of course it's bad!" Sirius protests.
"Waking up the hardest part," Regulus confesses softly.
For all answer, Sirius just pulls him in a little closer. Above them, the clock inexorably ticks the seconds away.
Just before the hand hits midnight, Regulus closes his eyes and wishes that this time could be the last.
He feels the soft fabric of his sheets, and lets himself cry.