A/N: Apologies for missing last week's update! One of my coworkers was ill and needed a few days off, so I ended up taking on some extra shifts which messed with my writing schedule. Normal updating schedule will resume from here though.

A few review responses:

Dissyblack: I do like writing happy conclusions to my stories so despite the challenges, I'll definitely try to make it all worthwhile! Thanks for your offer as well! I'll keep it in mind for the future. For now I prefer to do everything myself and make my life more difficult than it needs to be ;D Though I do appreciate you mentioning the error in the last chapter. I've since fixed that up!

highwayblues1: Thanks! Yeah I'm currently sorting out the main plot concerning the horcruxes, which will be somewhat altered in this story what with the addition of Vivian's influence. Things will start ramping up once that's a bit more solidified within the story.

Thanks to everyone who is still with me! I know a lot of past readers have lost interest which is totally understandable seeing as I fell off the face of the earth for a while there, so I appreciate everyone who's still around :) I'll have another chapter up soon!


Chapter Thirty | Ad utrumque paratus

[Ready for any event]

Orion and Walburga Black are some of the most intimidating people that Vivian has ever met, which is saying a lot. In truth, she's never had much to do with them in the past. The dissolution of the marriage arrangement years before had thrown something of a spanner into the otherwise friendly atmosphere between their families, and though Vivian had been too young to know precisely how the matter had devolved, she has since become aware that her father had been the one to orchestrate the annulment of the contract, and that the termination of it had been unwanted on the side of the Blacks.

She supposes it makes sense that they would have tried to hold onto it for as long as they could. A marriage alliance with the Blair family could have redeemed the failings of their son and set him back upon the correct path laid out for him by their own hands. Any attempt to salvage Sirius's unfortunate sorting into the house widely considered to bear opposing views to their own would have been made in earnest. Perhaps these efforts would have worked and the arrangement not been forsaken so quickly, had Lukas Blair not been standing on the other side of it.

Prideful and ever concerned over what his fellow purebloods might think of him, ending the agreement seemed the right choice to make. After all, though Sirius had only been a boy of eleven years old, Lukas knew enough of him to see the traces of rebellion sketched within his heart. Heir to the House of Black or not, he had all the makings of a traitor brewing beneath his surface, and Lukas Blair would not take the chance. To do so would have sullied the name of his own house, and such a thing would have been deemed unforgivable to him.

With all this said, it is of no surprise that Vivian's visit to Number 12 Grimmauld Place is met with no shortage of tension and discomfort.

"Your family is well?" Walburga asks, breaking the drawn-out silence. She peers at Vivian from where she is sitting across the low, ornate coffee table between them. Her voice is cold and unwelcoming, the sound almost icy as it punctures the disquieted room. She is looking at Vivian as though she is contemplating the merits of throwing her out.

"Yes. Thank you," Vivian responds rigidly. She hesitates a moment before lifting her teacup to her mouth to take a small sip of the liquid. It is some sort of herbal blend. She nearly gags on the bitterness of it.

The loud tick, tock of an extravagant grandfather clock sounds across the room, its constant ticking the only sound besides the gentle noise of the teacup being placed back upon its saucer. Vivian's eyes drift to study the piece, more due to a desperation to distract herself from Walburga's piercing eyes than an actual interest. It is constructed of a dark, blackened wood grafted with ornate silver metalwork inlaid upon its face. It stands tall and proud, its hands noisy and impossible to ignore as it stands in the corner and looks out upon the whole of the room like an unnaturally still sentinel.

"That was given to us as a gift, from a good friend in Morocco," Walburga suddenly says. She doesn't turn her head to see where Vivian's eyes have been drawn to, yet she seems to innately know. It gives Vivian the distinct impression that this is not the first uncomfortable guest she has had, nor indeed, the first time she has sat here and basked in said discomfort.

Vivian's eyes snap back to hers. The slight embarrassment she feels at being called out for her staring is pushed forcefully down. It is no doubt orchestrated purposefully. Vivian, though young, has also been in enough of these uncomfortable situations to know how to handle herself.

"It is very fine," Vivian says, and forces herself not to lift her teacup back to her lips. It has not been long enough since her last sip. Walburga would see the restless move as a nervous tick, which is the very last thing Vivian wishes to portray.

"Yes, it is," Walburga responds. She thumbs over the handle of the teacup resting in her own lap, her bony fingers stark against the delicate porcelain, and says, "I am a purveyor of artifacts, as you may know. That clock is a curious piece. Only someone with the correct knowledge is able to wind it."

Vivian lifts her eyebrows at this and hums, "Oh?"

Walburga sends her a cold smile and responds, "It bears a rather nasty curse should one wind it incorrectly."

Vivian glances back to the clock and murmurs, "I see."

She wonders just how many of such artifacts reside within this house, left laying around where anyone might accidentally touch them. It's hardly any wonder why Sirius had hated this place. Not only is his mother a rather frightful woman, but it's difficult to relax when you don't know if you're about to be cursed by the random objects littering the space.

She shakes the thought of him from her mind before it can influence her outward expression. The thought of being here, in the very place that was Sirius's personal hell, brings her mixed feelings – the worst of them being the sliver of betrayal that gleams along their edges. If he knew where she was, he would not be pleased, but she had ultimately decided against informing him of her whereabouts for now. Instead, he thinks she is having lunch with Mauve, and knows nothing of her agreement with Regulus. Regulus, who is aggravatingly absent. His own whereabouts remain a mystery to Vivian as well, but this mystery is soon revealed to her when, some minutes later, the sound of the front door opening and closing can be heard from the sitting room in which her and Walburga are gathered.

"Ah. Regulus. You have kept your guest waiting," his mother drones when he appears in the threshold of the room. There is a sliver of ice wrapped up in Walburga's voice that would have made a lesser man flinch, but Regulus is either too accustomed to his mother's lack of maternal care or simply does not heed the silent message within her tone. Vivian suspects it must be the former, because even she can hear said message clear as day: that Regulus's guest is an unwanted surprise that will be spoken of later.

Vivian pretends not to hear it, of course, and instead turns to send Regulus a look from where she is perched uncomfortable upon the sofa across from his mother. He returns the look briefly, his expression carefully composed and giving no hint to his thoughts as he steps into the room. He had not bothered to remove his cloak from his shoulders upon his entrance into the house, and he bears a windblown look about him that accompanies slightly reddened cheeks from the chill of the air outside.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he smoothly replies, setting a parcel down upon the table before taking a seat beside Vivian. He keeps a good foot of space between them as he does.

Vivian presses down the urge to lift an eyebrow at his lack of explanation for his tardiness. That he makes no attempt to inform them of where he's been or what has occupied his time is curious, but judging from the shape of the parcel he had brought with him, she has a feeling he was at a book store of some kind.

"Well, now that you are here to occupy Miss Blair's time, I will resume my own tasks," Walburga declares, leaning forward to set her teacup down upon the table. She peers over at Vivian as she does and rigidly says, "I trust Regulus will show you out."

The chillness of these words cannot be understated, nor can Vivian ignore the message encased within them. A true Slytherin is an expert at weaving sentences that bear double meanings, and Walburga Black is no different. This particular meaning rings loudly for all to hear. Vivian is not welcome here. The sooner she leaves, the better.

Vivian clamps her mouth shut to avoid blundering her way into a heated response. It would certainly be against her interests to make Walburga less pleased with her presence than she already is, so she only inclines her head at her and says nothing as the woman sweeps from the room. The very moment she turns her back on them, though, Vivian scowls and glances over at Regulus, whose expression also shifts to one of slight apology.

He shrugs at her and whispers, "Sorry. My mum doesn't like you much."

Vivian's scowl grows a touch more pronounced. "I've gathered that," she mutters, just as a shadow appears within the threshold that Walburga had just exited.

Regulus sees the shadow too, and stands up. "Kreacher, come."

The house-elf hobbles forward, his thin and wiry form clad in a gray and shapeless outfit that looks to be made of a discarded pillowcase. Vivian had met the elf before, though she's never spoken to him directly. As a young girl, back when them marriage arrangement had been in place, she had spent a handful of evenings here, dining with the Black family, though she hardly remembers much of them.

"Master Regulus," the elf croaks, bowing deeply. Then, still hunched over, he lifts his head to peer up at Vivian and add, "Mistress Blair."

It is difficult to tell whether the elf is being respectful or not when he says her name. There is something about the way he eyes her, some inkling of distrust or of wariness, that rather offsets the greeting. Vivian doesn't look into it overmuch though. She hardly cares whether she has the respect of a house-elf.

"Would you take these upstairs to the study?" Regulus asks, leaning down to hand the parcel over to Kreacher.

The house-elf bows once more as he takes it from his master as he says, "Certainly, Master Regulus."

Then, sending Vivian one last sharp glance, the house-elf turns to hobble away, the parcel tucked carefully beneath his arm as if it were made of glass. Vivian lifts an eyebrow at his departure before turning to Regulus and quietly muttering, "You left me with your mother. Do you realize how uncomfortable that was?"

Regulus sends her one of his barely-there smiles and hums, "Yes, she is a bit terrifying, isn't she?" Then, tilting his head curiously, he wonders, "Did she talk about the clock?"

At this, Vivian pauses and frowns, "…Well, yes, actually."

He nods knowingly. "It's her favorite intimidation attempt. She likes to frighten her guests with information about the various cursed artifacts around here. This room is full of them."

He gestures over to the mantle above the small fireplace nearby and murmurs, "That bust is enchanted. If you're standing in front of it and you say a certain word, the mouth opens and delivers a curse that breaks all the bones in your body."

He points to a small object next to the bust and adds, "And that's a scarab beetle from one of the cursed pyramids. With the right spell, it will come alive and it will crawl into your ear and – well, it's rather grotesque, really – basically it was used as a torture device by the ancient Egyptians."

"Ah, and this over here is from Ghana. It's a Vodoun artifact used to send illnesses. According to my mother, the bones house some sort of terminal magic that can be wielded with certain rituals and – "

"Regulus," Vivian interrupts, peering over at him with an unimpressed look on her face.

Regulus pauses, glances down at her, and then quips her a small smirk. "Right. Point is, don't touch anything in this room because it's likely cursed."

She holds back a grumble and settles for a simple, "Noted." Then, turning towards the doorway, she lifts an eyebrow and asks, "Should we get started, then?"

Regulus nods and leads her back out into the hall. Her memory of this place is hazy at best. The few dinner parties she had attended here as a young girl had all occurred before she'd started Hogwarts, before the marriage arrangement had been broken off. Orion and Walburga aren't ones to host the sort of grand affairs that some of their associates enjoy, and so there hasn't been any further reason to come here since. Their house wouldn't be very accommodating for large parties anyway. The layout is very far removed from the large, open rooms of the Malfoy manor or the arching ceilings of her own estate. Instead, everything is narrow and cramped, the rooms are rather small, and there is an ever-present shadow that seems to hang upon each surface. It is oppressive and unwelcoming.

Regulus doesn't give her a tour. Instead, he just leads her to the stairwell and they make their way to the second floor, passing a wall of house-elf heads on their way. Vivian sneers at them as they pass, not liking how one of them is peering at her with sharp, beady eyes that follow her every move. Whatever magic still exists within the heads seems to manifest in the watchful way their eyes move, and to say that it is unnerving would be an understatement of the highest caliber.

Each step she takes makes a sort of disquieted anxiety build within her, which only grows when they reach the landing and walk down the hall. Now, she is well and truly in uncharted territory. She'd never been allowed upstairs when she'd come here as a child. It is just as dark and oppressive as the rest of the house. A part of her keeps expecting Walburga to appear out of the shadows, her cold eyes flashing with offense at finding her so deeply within their home. Thankfully, the woman is nowhere to be found, apparently busy with whatever tasks she had spoken of before.

Regulus leads her past several closed doors before stopping at the end of the hall. He reaches out to turn the knob and gestures at her to follow him inside. She does, though not without one last glance over her shoulder, still half-expecting to see Walburga's icy gaze locked onto her from one of the great, looming shadows they had passed. Despite still not seeing any trace of the woman, Vivian feels as though she's being watched nonetheless, and she turns back to enter the room with a jittery sort of energy that brews below the surface of her careful mask. The moment she steps into the room, though, her nerves seem to settle down, distracted by the strangely cheerful atmosphere to the space they are now standing within.

"This is my father's study, though he doesn't spend much time here," Regulus explains, closing the door behind her. "I've sort of taken it over."

Ah. That explains it. Vivian's mouth quirks up slightly as she looks around. Regulus's presence here is impossible to ignore. It is as if the room is completely separate from the rest of the house. There is no trace of dark magic in the air, no questionable objects littered about the surfaces. Though the walls are painted a rather dark and forlorn olive, the multiple windows that line two of the walls let enough light in to contradict the otherwise gloomy color. A fire has been lit in the grate and is crackling enthusiastically across the way, housed between two large shelves that have been built into the wall and surround the fireplace on every side. There is an upholstered chair placed in front of the fire, but little other furniture besides the large oak desk that is pressed into the far corner of the room, turned out to face the whole of it. A few lamps are smattered here and there about the space on low tables, some of which are laden with books yet to be put away.

"I've already started looking into this dream of yours," Regulus says, striding over to the desk where Kreacher had placed the parcel. Vivian trails after him, still looking around the space as he slips the brown paper away and reveals three books nestled within. As she moves to stand beside him, she glances down at the topmost book, whose title reads, 'Mental Control: Its Uses in the Discipline of Legimency'.

She reaches over to trace the title, hesitantly wondering, "Do you really think someone is messing with my mind?"

She doesn't want to believe it could be true. In fact, for the past week, she's been trying to think up reasons why it is not. The most prevailing reason she's come up with is simply the fact that she cannot think of why someone would even bother in the first place. What purpose exists behind such an action, other than to frighten her? Furthermore, at least according to Regulus himself, there is only one person who could possibly be behind it, and seeing as Vivian is so low upon the ladder of the Dark Lord's sphere, she does not understand why he would waste his time targeting her personally. She's never thoroughly studied the art of Legimency, but she does know that it takes a great deal of magical prowess to master, and no shortage of strength to wield.

"All I know is that none of it adds up," Regulus responds, turning to study her profile with a discerning eye. "You created a spell to make Inferi more powerful, and the moment you hand the spell over to the Dark Lord, you suddenly start having dreams of those very Inferi? I would put it down to nightmares…if it wasn't for the fact that the cave you've been dreaming of exists."

This logical response is difficult to cast away. It is the very reason why Vivian has been unable to fully quiet her racing thoughts this past week. The reason she had agreed to come here after all, despite the uncertainty that it brings.

Regulus sets his shoulders and moves the first book off the pile, shuffling the stack around to show off one of the others he had purchased. As Vivian looks down at it, he says, "Luckily, it's a bit easier to learn Occlumency compared to Legimency."

'The Art of Shielding Your Mind From Mental Attacks' is etched upon the cover of the book. Vivian stares at it for a moment before sighing, "It takes some wizards years to master, Reg."

Regulus hardly bats an eye at the doubt that plagues her voice. He merely takes the book, pushes it into her arms, and walks around the desk to heave the chair standing behind it across the room. Once it is deposited beside the one in front of the fireplace, he gestures at her to join him. Vivian sighs but doesn't argue.

"I have every faith in you," Regulus murmurs as he watches her sink down into the upholstered cushions.

She just shoots him a doubtful look and doesn't respond.