Full Summary: Vivian Blair is the summation of everything Sirius hates: a prefect, a pureblood, and a Slytherin. It doesn't matter that she makes a half decent Seeker, has an unnatural obsession for reading muggle books, or even that Lily thinks she's a reasonable human being. Vivian is just a bitchy Slytherin princess who always calls him a blood traitor and keeps giving him detentions. Fortunately, he has an idea to get back at her for everything she's ever done to him. Unfortunately, this idea of his will have consequences that he could never have anticipated. Most specifically, regarding his own heart. He should know better than to toy with Fate, for the more love poems he writes to Vivian Blair, the less of a prank they become, and the more Fate seems intent on getting some revenge of its own.

Welcome to Vivicendium! The majority of this story will focus on the Marauder days. That said, if all goes according to plan, the story will eventually encompass Sirius's imprisonment, his escape, and his reinduction into society. The main plot of Vivicendium will cover Voldemort's initial rise to power and the pureblood-lesser blood division. Vivian Blair will have to choose which side she is on, but oftentimes, choices of this caliber are not so black and white…

As always, reviews and feedback would be so appreciated, especially since I will be posting this story as I write it, instead of taking my usual route of writing the entire story before putting it up to read. Because of this, I do not have a set day of the week that I will be updating, but my writing goal for this story is to have at least one chapter up every week. This first chapter is set fifteen years ahead, when Sirius has escaped Azkaban and is just beginning to learn what has become of his old friends and acquaintances. We will then move backwards in time to Vivian and Sirius's seventh year at Hogwarts, and build the story from there.

Without dragging out this author's note any more, here is chapter one of Vivicendium.

Chapter One | Ad Meliora

Number 12 Grimmauld Place is exactly as he remembers it to be: dark, depressing, and suffocating. As a boy, Sirius hated this place. His parent's strict prejudices had been nothing short of stifling when the general uninviting atmosphere of the once-grand house had been at its zenith. These aspects of it haven't changed in the least. Years of misuse and isolation have made the entire place even more dismal. Dust layers every surface, so thick and stagnant that the very air is heavy with the scent of desolation. His parents, too, have left their mark. They may not have a physical presence here within these dreary walls, but every room is filled with memories better left to the wayside. If that isn't enough, his mother's screeching voice hasn't changed at all; it has merely been transferred to a new medium that is still just as loud and as harrowing as he remembers it to be. In short, as a man, Sirius still hates this place.

At least it's better than his eight-by-eight square foot cell. Better than the hard, cold stone floor that served as both bed and chair. Better than the singularly excruciating feeling of having the last traces of his happiness being sucked out of him and leaving him as little more than a husk of his former self. Better than the desperately long nights with only the rats for company, resigned to the fact that he is paying for another man's crime, that his name and his reputation are sullied beyond repair, and that every person he had loved in the life he'd lived before thinks that he is the most vicious, deplorable traitor to ever walk the earth.

It is better, especially now.

"I'm hoping Harry will take this room," he says, sending Remus a sidelong glance as they pause in front of an empty bedroom on the third floor. It needs a lot of work, of course. The entire house does. A renovation is necessary, but it's nothing a little magic can't fix.

Sirius shrugs and, as he turns to the next bedroom at the end of the hall, adds, "If he wants to stay with me over the summer, that is. I mentioned it to him, but we didn't have the chance to talk about it."

No, because then time had run out, and he had to escape with Buckbeak before the alarm had sounded and the dementors were sent after him. Harry and his friends had to return to school, and Sirius had to go his own way – to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, which was the only safe house he could think of that would successfully keep the hordes of Ministry Aurors away. Dumbledore had been of great use, ensuring that it is safe for him, but the place has already come equipped with complicated safety measures – his father had made the place impenetrable when he was still alive – so it had been the obvious, if not least appealing, option.

In any case, it's about to be a little bit more appealing, especially if Harry does take him up on his offer. Even if he doesn't, though, at least he won't be totally alone. Remus chuckles and follows Sirius down the hall to the door that he's now swinging open.

"I'm sure he'd love that," he tells his long-lost friend, and peers into the room. His eyebrows raise skeptically at the sight he's met with. Singed wallpaper, several inches of dust, moldy bed sheets, and curtains that were most likely white at some point, but are now a suspicious coffee color. There are cobwebs in every corner, and the subtle chattering of many Doxys coming from the suspect curtains, their buggy black eyes peering out at them from between the folds of fabric.

Scrunching his face a bit, Remus hesitantly asks, "Is this my room, then?", and hazards a glance at Sirius, who looks just as hesitant.

"…Er," he hedges, and shrugs indelicately. "Well yeah, I guess. You'll have to, you know…clean it up a bit." He shoots an apprehensive look at the curtains, but doesn't draw attention to them beyond that. Then, turning back to Remus, he shrugs innocently.

They stare at each other for a long moment, teetering between doubt and apathy, and then Sirius's mouth twitches. The silence lasts only a few seconds longer before they both burst into a laughter so strong that they have to catch themselves against the threshold of the door lest they fall.

"Oh Merlin," Remus bemoans, tilting his head back as if in prayer. "I think it would be better to just set fire to it all and start over."

Sirius is entirely unoffended by this (he does hate this house), and snorts, "My dear old mum would have a few things to say about that. Which reminds me – no loud noises or that damned painting of hers will start in with her screeching."

Remus cringes immediately at the reminder. He's already witnessed that a few more times than he cares to admit. The irate rambling of a prejudiced dead woman is not exactly the nicest sound, especially since he falls into one of the categories that she loathes the most.

Half-breed. As of late, the Ministry has been making life even more difficult to people like him, which is part of the reason he had asked if Sirius would be willing to put him up for a while. It has always been difficult for him to get by in the wizarding world. Getting a normal, respectable job was the bane of his existence, once, and even these days, he can hardly find a suitable place of lodging without the landlord fearfully tossing him out once he realizes what, exactly, Remus is. He'll admit, though, that this isn't the only reason he'd asked to come here. After all, Sirius is not the only one who finds Number 12 Grimmauld Place to be less than satisfactory.

One of his best friends, who had accepted him without pause, who had become an illegal Animagi just to keep him company during his transformations – his old friend, who has spent twelve long years in an Azkaban cell for a crime that he did not even commit – is here, and alive, and is not the traitor that Remus had once thought he was. How could he not want to support him, when Sirius would have done the same – indeed, had done the same – in a heartbeat?

"Maybe I'll sleep on the couch tonight," Remus mutters, casting a wary glance at the moldy bed. At least the couch downstairs has already been cleaned (sort of) and would make for a slightly better alternative until some work can be done in here.

Sirius cringes out his agreement and says, "Probably a good idea. Cleaning isn't my forte, you know."

Remus's mouth tilts up a bit at this. He snickers, "Neither is cooking, so I'm very hesitant about being housemates."

This doesn't seem to offend Sirius, either. He just shrugs agreeably and responds, "Well, Kreacher isn't a star cook, but he hasn't poisoned me yet." Then, under his breath, he mutters, "I'll bet he dreams about it though."

The grumpy house elf often makes himself scarce whenever Sirius is nearby, loathing the company of the 'murderous, blood traitor son' that has shaken the family's reputation so thoroughly. Sirius is just as happy for it. He can't be in Kreacher's presence for more than a few minutes before the elf's foul mutterings put him in an equally foul mood.

In truth, Sirius has never really had to cook for himself before. At Hogwarts, the hundreds of house elves had made the food. He obvious hadn't cooked in Azkaban. As for the time between his school days and the years spent behind bars, well…he knows a thing or two in the kitchen, at least, but only because she had been such an awful cook.

Oh, he had eaten his fair share of questionable meals with her around. Overcooked vegetables, burnt dinners…he hadn't known it was possible to ruin scrambled eggs until she somehow managed it one morning. One time, she'd even set fire to the dishtowels without even being near the stove. She'd promptly blamed it on him, shooting him a narrowed look that was no doubt summoned because his first reaction had been to break out into laughter. When he closes his eyes, he can still recall in stark clarity how thoroughly impressive her glowers were. She always did have the remarkable gift of setting her sharp hazel eyes into a hellish glare – a byproduct, no doubt, of her particular upbringing.

He chuckles absentmindedly at the thought, and Remus raises an eyebrow to ask, "What's so funny?"

The question immediately makes Sirius pause. Past and present collide, spinning together with such vertigo that he is forced to grip the dark paneling on the threshold with tight fingers. At once, the memory of her drifts out of his mind's eyes, scattered to the winds of fate. She is not here in this house. She is nowhere to be found, and yet – everywhere, always.

"Ah…nothing," Sirius mutters, and clears his throat as he pushes off from the wall. His mood, which had been surprisingly jovial moments before, now falls into such a formidable gloom that Remus feels it as if it takes physical form – a rain cloud that claps with thunder.

Remus also has a feeling that he knows what the reason is behind it's coming, but he chooses to remain silent for now. In his experience, any topic that revolves around her is destined to be caustic in some aspect. She'd always had the most startling ability to make Sirius crazy in more ways than one, stoking within him both fire and anger; insanity and joy.

"Let's see what's in the cupboards," Sirius says, starting to make his way to the stairs. To be honest, he isn't sure why Remus had wanted to live here. He isn't sure why Harry would, either. This place is a hellhole that has few redeeming qualities to it. It's dark and depressing and filthy, and Sirius hates it with everything he is.

But – well, it does possess one redeeming aspect, at least. It makes an ideal headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, though it hasn't yet been made into a gathering place. Dumbledore is still tracking down the other Order members and informing them about the new location. As Secret-Keeper, that job is his alone, and since the current members of the Order are scattered around the wizarding world in various organizations and positions, he has to be discreet in his dealings with them lest it garner unwanted attention.

The pair silently heads downstairs to the kitchen, which is just as filthy and dismal as the rest of the house. As Remus heats up the kettle for a cup of tea, he starts catching Sirius up on the recent events in his life. Namely one Nymphadora Tonks, who happens to be Sirius's second cousin or some such thing. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been no more than a girl, but apparently she's grown into a fine young woman over the course of twelve years. He doesn't linger too long on this thought, though. It doesn't just make him feel old, but also far more removed that he'd ever admit.

"I met her when she joined the Order," Remus is saying as they sit together at the long table in the kitchen. He smiles sadly and murmurs, "She's so convinced that she's in love with me, even though I've tried to dissuade her from the notion…she could do so much better."

Sirius raises an eyebrow at his old friend – the only one he's got left – and says, "Ah. I've heard those words before."

Remus casts him a sidelong glance and sighs, "We're not teenagers anymore, Sirius. Nymphadora is young and lovely." He shakes his head. "She would regret tying herself to me. I'm too old for her. Too dangerous."

Leaning forward in his chair, Sirius slips his hands around the mug of tea that Remus had made some minutes prior and responds, "We're not that old, Moony. We're only thirty five, for Merlin's sake. Crazier things have happened."

It'd odd to think about his age. Some days, he feels like he's twenty one again, on top of the world and living on the very edge of life. Others, he feels like an old man, as if twelve years equates to fifty.

The warmth of his tea soaks through the ceramic mug. It is a luxury that Sirius has still not gotten used to, even though he's been out of Azkaban for several weeks now. It is the simple things in life, he had quickly decided, that he has missed the most. A warm bath, a home cooked meal, laughter and company, a cup of tea. Little privileges that he hasn't had in twelve long years. And – Remus. A friend. A person who knew him in the times before. Before his name was dragged through the dirt; before he was accused of murdering his best friends; before every single plan he had ever made had vanished between his fingers within the span of a single night.

An age has passed from then until now, and yet he has found that some things have yet lasted the test of time. Remus's friendship, for one. His friend's lack of confidence, another.

"Look," Sirius says, eyeing his friend carefully. "Your…condition has never mattered. If there's someone out there who loves you, you shouldn't be sitting around here with a washed-up bachelor like me. You should be out there, living."

It is a conundrum swept up into a thunderstorm, these words, because if he could, he'd be out there too. Dumbledore had been a great support, keeping him under the radar and out of the public eye. Even if he has to live within these dark walls for the foreseeable future, at least it's an improvement from the cell that he still sometimes thinks he's in, late at night when his nightmares keep him awake and all the unstable hope he has cultivated is washed away. Still, he'd be lying if he claimed that he's happy about his current living conditions. Sometimes it feels as though he is little more than a ghost left to haunt the halls of his youth, and the memories of his teenage self creates a bitter backdrop that he cannot be free of.

Remus sighs again. It is a heavy sound. These walls are filled with heavy sounds.

"You know it isn't that simple," he murmurs, lifting his eyes to study his long-lost friend. Quietly, he thinks that Sirius is wrong. Not just about pursuing Nymphadora as he yearns to do, but also the other aspects of his words. Sirius has never been a washed-up bachelor. This persona that he hides behind is merely a glamour; a veneer made of smoke and mirror. It is a safety net and nothing more. Besides, even after twelve years spent in the worst place on earth, Sirius Black has not lost his remarkable good looks.

Age has crept into his face, of course. There are wrinkles around his eyes that had not been there before, and the pallor of his skin is more ashen. His hair is duller and his eyes are darker. There is a haunted way about his countenance that is obvious to anyone that looks at him, but even though it is a far-cry different from the boyish happiness of his youth, Sirius is still just the same as ever. Age may have altered him, and his experiences may have changed him, but he is not a washed-up anything.

"Your tendency of overthinking everything hasn't changed at all," Sirius mutters, but his voice is light and the words clearly not meant as an insult.

Remus chuckles a bit. Sirius's personality isn't very different either, when it all boils down to it.

They fall silent. The creaking noises of the house invade their small sliver of peace. It is a windy evening, and even now the windowpanes rattle and an eerie atmosphere falls upon them. It is subtly construed of a great many things, this eeriness, though not all of it is bad. Gloom, to be back in this place that had been the epitome of his youth; surprise, to be sitting at this table with Remus of all people, as if nothing has changed at all; flimsy hope, that the course of his life might change and that his name will be cleared; and more, too many things that fill the silence like heavy weights dropping one by one into a vast sea.

"There's going to be a meeting at the end of the week," Remus informs him after several minutes. "Dumbledore will be here."

The Order – that, too, has changed. New faces have joined the ranks. Sirius used to know every single person involved, but these days, he recognizes only a handful of names.

Sirius stares into his tea for a long moment, thinking about the Order, both past and present, and then slowly says, "It'll be good, having some life in this hellhole."

Remus pauses, but ultimately agrees. It is a bit of a hellhole, in several ways. He had only just arrived that day, and though he had heard plenty of stories about the grandeur of this place back during their Hogwarts days, it's difficult to picture how it was before it had fallen into such disrepair. As for Sirius himself, it's been several weeks since his own arrival, and any relief that he had felt upon reentering the house of his youth has since then dissipated entirely. It's one thing to be grateful to have a safe place to bunker down until his name is cleared; another to be forced to live in the very manor that had been the bane of his existence when he was a teenager.

Sirius is itching for something to happen. He's never been the most patient man alive, but sitting around at all hours of the day has been a true test to his spirit. He should be used to it by now – sitting around doing nothing is basically how he's spent the last twelve years, after all – but the feeling is quite different now. Now, he can be useful. Now, he can make the most of the good fortune that has finally come around to grace him.

"Moody's still in the Order, I take it?" Sirius asks, his voice purposefully light. He doesn't truly care to know the answer, if he's being honest. Moody was and still is a great Auror who had taken Sirius under his wing once upon a time, before fate had dealt him a harder hand, but the true nature of his inquiry actually has little to do with Alastor Moody himself.

Before Remus can respond, he leans forward to dig around in his pocket, and pulls out a photograph that he'd found in his old bedroom. It's folded in half and wrinkled as a result. He smooths it open on the table's surface and passes it to Remus. Age has made the coloring fade into a dull sepia tone, but it doesn't take anything away from the image.

Remus looks positively delighted to see it.

"Where'd you find this?" he asks rhetorically, and chuckles, "We were all so young…ah, and there's James and Lily…" He trails off with a fond smile, the trace of sadness clinging just so to his eyes as he looks at the smiling image of his old friends.

Sirius leans forward to look at the photograph too, and says, "Found it while I was cleaning up my room, trying to get the permanent sticking charm off the posters of those girls on the motorcycles." He pauses to send Remus a grinning shrug, undoubtedly a halfhearted attempt at admitting that he may have been a bit too headstrong at some points of his life (some, mind you). Then he continues, "It was slipped behind one of them. I have no idea how it got there."

The mystery makes Remus's eyebrows lift. "That's strange," he responds, thumbing over the edge of the picture. If he's being truthful, he can think of one person who might have left it there. One person who had spent some time in this house after Sirius had been tossed into Azkaban. He decides not to say anything about it, though. Sirius would of course have questions, and Remus isn't sure that he's the right person to provide the answers he'd likely demand.

Thankfully, Sirius doesn't seem to hear the strange tone of his friend's voice. He's too busy gazing down at the photograph. A nostalgic expression subtly overcomes his face, and the corner of his mouth tilts up just so as he peers at the familiar faces he used to know. It's depressing to think that more than half of the people in this picture are now dead, including his best friend, so he tries to push the thought away.

"To answer your previous question, Moody is still in the Order," Remus tells him, pushing the photograph back to Sirius. "He's still working as an Auror at the Ministry, though his outspoken nature is definitely making things difficult for him."

With the Ministry being corrupt these days (all speculation, of course, but anyone with half a brain can see it), this is hardly surprising.

Sirius hums, sounding a bit disinterested. It doesn't take Remus very long to figure out that he really only wants to know about one person. If his apathetic response isn't enough of an indication, his eyes are trained almost exclusively to one person in the photograph. He doesn't even seem to be aware that he's being so obvious, but then again, this doesn't surprise Remus either. He's always been able to see right through Sirius when it comes to her, even back in their school days when Sirius had claimed to loathe the very ground she walked on.

To be honest, Remus has been waiting for him to ask about her for ages now, ever since their initial reunion at Hogwarts some weeks prior. They hadn't had much time then, but now, they've got plenty of it. Still, Sirius has been oddly close-lipped about the questions that are clearly spinning through his mind. Perhaps he's afraid to ask. After all, he's already gotten a less than stellar taste of how many things have changed since he's been locked up. Twelve years is a long time, and this particular topic is even more caustic than most.

What does one do, when one reemerges into the world after years of being isolated from it, only to find that everything that had once been familiar has long since disappeared? The world has changed without him. Sirius Black has been left behind, and all his friends and loved ones have gone on ahead. How does Remus explain that everything is different, these days? How does he tell him that the woman he used to love – still loves, if his ardently nostalgic eyes are any indication – has changed, too? Surely, on some level, Sirius must already know this, but to hear it said aloud is quite a different matter.

Remus stares at him carefully, and very slowly says, "…You can ask, you know."

The words make Sirius immediately stiffen. When he lifts his gaze to meet his, it's painfully obvious that he's a little embarrassed to have been called out in such a way. Remus almost wishes he could retract the statement entirely.

Clearing his throat, Sirius pushes the photograph away and mumbles, "I'm…not sure that I want to."

Sometimes, it's easier not knowing. Sometimes it hurts less.

Remus looks down at the photograph, where a pretty young woman is leaning against Sirius. She's smiling one of her rare smiles – the ones that are unexpected, because they make her entire countenance so vivacious and inviting. She looks perfectly content to be right where she is, if not a little austere. She'd felt that she had never quite fit in with their group, no matter how many times Sirius had told her that her family history didn't matter.

The younger version of Sirius, who stands beside her with his arm slung around her waist, looks down at her as if he thinks she's the most incredible creature in the world. It's a similar expression to the one that the older version of Sirius now has as he glances into the window of his past.

Remus looks away. For some reason, it almost feels like he's encroaching on an intimate moment. It feels odd to think that way, and yet…

"She'll be at the meeting," Remus quietly informs him, and watches Sirius cringe a little. With a frown, he wonders, "…Is that a bad thing?"

Sirius Black doesn't much like talking about his feelings, but, well, Remus has always been the quiet, enduring friend, and Sirius finds that it isn't so very hard, saying what he says next.

"It's not bad. It's just that…I'm sure she's still as gorgeous as ever."

"So?"

"So the thought of being in the same room with her after all this time is…"

Remus knows that he should tread delicately around this conversation, but he can't help but raise an eyebrow and ask, "Are you scared?"

Sirius Black, being scared of a girl? Impossible.

Sirius doesn't much appreciate his friend's question. He narrows his eyes at him and mutters, "Look at me, Remus. I'm a washed-up old man who spent half his life in the most notorious prison on earth. The entire wizarding world thinks I murdered my best friend, and…" he trails off, muttering the last of his sentence beneath his breath.

Remus leans forward in hopes of catching it, but Sirius's mutterings are too quiet for him to hear.

"…And?" he pries.

Sirius sighs in frustration and snaps, "I'm not the same man I was before. I'm not handsome or innocent or young. I'll bet she's moved on a long time ago, but I haven't. I haven't moved on, Remus."

A large part of Remus wants to point out that Sirius Black has never been 'innocent', but he holds back this sarcastic comment. It isn't the right thing to say at this moment in time. Not when his usually closed-off friend is actually admitting that he doesn't think he's part god. Sirius has never been overly arrogant, per se, but his confidence has always been like a magnetic field drawn around every part of him.

Remus runs a hand through his hair and turns to study his friend. Sure, Sirius might not have the same youthful glow that he once possessed. His face has aged somewhat, both from the passage of years as well as the difficult experiences he's been through. But still…

"Like you said, we're only thirty five, Padfoot," he says, purposefully using his old nickname in hopes that it might make him smile. It does, thankfully. Sirius glances at him out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching up just so, and Remus chuckles.

But then, in a more solemn tone, he tells him, "I don't know what's in her heart. She's always been hard to read, as you well know." Sirius hums in dry agreement and opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Remus quickly adds, "She's missed you. I do know that much."

Falling silent once more, Sirius cautiously looks over at him as if he thinks that Remus is lying, but his friend merely murmurs, "She's not that hard to read, when it all comes down to it."

Indeed, she's always been a conundrum; a windstorm swept out to sea, stirring the skies and the oceans with a ferocity like no other. Soft but hard; stubborn but pliant. It's been twelve years since the fateful day of Sirius's arrest. Twelve years since his name had been dragged through the dirt. Twelve years since everyone had been convinced that Sirius Black is a murdering traitorous bastard. Twelve years since she had lost him, and cried for him, and missed him. It doesn't matter that she'd done it by herself, away from the eyes of everyone around her. Remus had noticed. Of course he had.

"Merlin, I've missed her too," Sirius whispers, lowering his head into his hand and returning his gaze to the photograph.

The sight of her smile makes his heart shake, even now.

A conundrum, yes, that is a good word to describe her. She is a mixture of polar opposites. A mystery carefully tucked just out of sight. A tornado of good and evil and all the shades in between.

Sometimes, it amazes him when he thinks about how much they hated each other back in Hogwarts. It amazes him still, that the icy Slytherin princess had fallen in love with the spurned heir of a noble pureblood legacy. Blood traitor, she had called him, so many times. He had hated her for it, and in turn, she had hated him.

Fate is strange. Sometimes, its course is insensible, and yet at the end of the day the pieces of its broken picture fit together with such a startling accuracy that it can be nothing but sensible. The broken pieces that shouldn't fit suddenly do, with such precision that you can hardly believe a time in your life when they hadn't.

And the catalyst that had thrown them together? The broken piece that had changed that course of fate? Well, that is a story that truly begins at the start of seventh year, when Vivian Blair had given him a detention before the train had even left King's Cross station.

As many things do in the life of Sirius Black, this story starts with a prank.