Chapter Twelve | Iacta alea est
[The die is cast]
Vivian hadn't thought she'd willingly return here. After all, when last she was here, she had decided, subconsciously if nothing else, that she no longer belonged among the rooms of this manor. This realization had taken some time to fester into the hardened understanding that she now possesses. Back then, it had been little more than an inkling, a whisper in the dark parts of her mind; the parts that she had done her best to ignore and push aside, because they did not align with the image of her life that she had spent so many years cultivating. She had rebelled against that whisper at first. She hadn't wanted to fall into Fate's rocky path, hadn't wanted to let it get the better of her. It strikes her as strange, in a subtly ironic way, that despite all of this, nothing appears to have changed in any way since the last time she had stood upon this white marbled floor.
"The mistress is taking lunch in the eastern dining room," Wispy's familiar voice squeaks. The little elf looks understandably wary as she peers up at Vivian. Her long, knobby fingers twist tightly into the ragged shirt she's wearing. It's tucked into a slip of fabric that could be described as a skirt, though after a cursory glance at the scrolled hem of it, Vivian knows better. The silvery pattern that darts through the hem is a touch too familiar for her to not instantly place. The fabric belonged to the curtains that had, until very recently it seems, hung in the windows of her old bedroom.
Vivian's eyes darken. It seems to make for a frightful sight, because Wispy promptly stops fisting her hands into her clothes and shuffles back with an uneven, "Wispy will tell Mistress Blair that the young missus has returned!" Then, with hardly a backward glance, the house-elf turns on her heel and scurries away, darting out of the foyer as quickly as she had arrived. Vivian stares at the silver scrolled fabric until it disappears around the corner. Truth be told, she feels just as wary, but isn't about to let it show upon the planes of her face.
Even though it's only been a handful of months since she had graduated Hogwarts and had said goodbye to this place and the life therein, she feels as though it has been much longer. This foyer of her childhood, this bastion that had silently watched her grow into the woman she is today with all her hard edges and stubborn pride, seems foreign to her. The columns and angles of the room are familiar enough, but something about them seems to have irrevocably changed. Perhaps it is not the pillars themselves, but simply her. She is too different to still call this place home. The Vivian Blair that had once traversed these halls has been swept away and dismantled, piece by piece, transfigured into a new form; still of marble, perhaps, but divergently shaped.
Sometimes, you do not feel change as it performs its alterations, but Vivian has felt this particular change all too poignantly over the last few months. It hasn't been a change that she had rebelled against quite as profoundly as she had in the past. Rather, despite the accompanying undercurrent of fear that comes with all things unknown, she had accepted it with far more grace than she ever could have imagined. Her obstinate heart had yet clung to the remnants of her old self – those core elements that had directed her in the times before – but little else had been salvaged. She is different, now, and all the happier for it, but she must not show these changes upon her face today. She must cling longer still to the memory of those remnants, if she ever wants her plan to progress.
As she lingers in the foyer, turning to watch the setting sun dash its rays through the glimmering stained glass far above, she wonders if the other occupants of this house will see through such attempts.
"Are you crazy?" Sirius had demanded when she had told the Marauders of her plan, half-formed but promising.
James had shaken his head at her and murmured, "The chances of you being found out is too high. I'm all for taking a risk, Pride, but we're talking about Death Eaters here. You really think they'd fall for this after you walked away from them like you did?"
Sirius had nodded in agreement and added, "They disowned you, Vivian. This insane idea of yours is gonna get you killed."
But Vivian still has the last letter her mother had sent her, months ago before she had graduated. The one that says that, if she ever decided that she'd made the wrong choice in following Sirius, her mother would do what she could to convince her father to take her back. She clutches it in her pocket now, weeks after she'd had that conversation with the Marauders on the night that they had followed Lucius Malfoy through Knockturn Alley, and takes a deep breath as she hears footsteps hurrying down the hall towards the foyer.
"…Vivian?" comes her mother's voice. It's quiet, shaky almost, as if she can hardly believe that her daughter is standing there at all, in this place that she had given up. Vivian takes another breath before composing her expression and turning. Her wariness returns at full force the moment her eyes lock onto her mother's.
She isn't the only person who is wary, evidently. Isobel Blair, though clearly happy to see her, looks as if she is teetering between joy and skepticism. Her eyes are watery, but her face is hard. She looks altogether unsure of what to think, which is made all the clearer when she lifts her chin and cautiously asks, "What are you doing here, Vivian?"
Vivian resists the urge to fidget with the hem of her cloak, and coolly responds, "I…wished to speak with you. Is father home?"
Her mother's eyes flash. From Vivian's vantage point, she can't tell if the emotion behind them is bred from anger or fear. It could be either, or something else entirely – as before, she suddenly feels like a stranger as she stands there, dismantled yet again.
"He'll be home shortly. He had a meeting at Gringotts earlier today," is the equally cool response. Like mother, like daughter. The misty eyes that had initially alighted upon Vivian are duller now, tempered back into careful indifference. After another short, stilted silence, she adds, "I told you in the hospital wing all those months ago, Vivian. I can't help you. If your father sees you here – "
"I'm not here for your help," Vivian interrupts, trying to sound as calm as she outwardly appears. Or, at least, she hopes she appears that way. She's doing all she can to become like those marble pillars, strong and cold. "I'm here to help you, actually."
At this, Isobel Blair pauses to study her daughter's face, lifting her eyebrows. Vivian holds onto her cold expression as the moments pass, willing herself not to give anything away. Her mother can be startingly perceptive at times, and she dares not falter now, not when she has come so far already.
"…Wispy, perhaps some tea," her mother slowly says after a lengthy moment. She half-turns, angling her body towards the hallway that leads further into the house. The way she lifts her hand in a silent gesture feels oddly final, as does the press of Vivian's heart against her ribcage when she accepts the invitation. She can't help but feel as though she is making a mistake by stepping out of the foyer, as if by doing so, she is moving beyond safety's reach.
"No, Vivian," Sirius had told her after James and Peter had left. He had gripped her shoulders firmly and said, "The Department of Law? That's bad enough, but going to see your father? It's a terrible idea."
She wonders if he had been right after all. Stubbornness, though – it runs through her blood. She needs to try. It could change everything for the Order. She could be useful. She could make her mark upon the world and put Adrian Mulciber into his place once and for all.
By the time they step into the sitting room about halfway down the hallway, Wispy is already setting up the tea. The small, scrawny house-elf bustles about with a harried air, looking as though she'd like to leave as quickly as possible. She sends continuous glances at Vivian and keeps twisting her new skirt in her hands every other second, so jumpy that she almost drops the plate of scones as she deposits it from tray to table.
Vivian doesn't show it, but she feels a bit jumpy herself. She isn't sure how she manages to sink down into the familiar settee so elegantly. Her legs feel like jelly, and she very nearly grimaces when Wispy abruptly disapparates from the room with a loud 'pop'.
"Your father should be home soon," her mother says, hardly casting her a glance as she reaches forward to pour them both a cup. It's only when she's setting the teapot back onto the table that she looks directly at Vivian. For a split second, Vivian swears she sees that watery glow punctuate her mother's eyes, but it disappears too quickly to grasp, leaving Vivian feeling as though she is reeling, too uncertain to see it clearly.
She remembers all too well the way her mother had grasped her hand when she had laid in that hospital bed at Hogwarts. There had been a desperation to Isobel Blair, then, that appears to have dulled in the months since. Yet some tide of it still clings to her, waxing and waning in the moments between Vivian's notice. She can't decide if there is enough of it to be a good sign, or not enough so as to breed more uncertainty and wariness.
Deciding, perhaps against her better judgement, to test the waters, Vivian slowly says, "I heard he was looking for me."
Is she referring to her father now, or to Him? The Dark Lord has also been searching her out, after all, and her mother seems to be quite aware of this as well. She stares at Vivian for another long moment before murmuring, "Where did you hear that?"
Another test, it seems.
Vivian grips the handle of her teacup. "…Regulus Black."
Her mother doesn't outwardly react, at least at first. She blinks at Vivian, pausing to mull over this information. Then, with a poise that speaks volumes to those who know how to interpret it, Isobel Blair slowly places her own teacup down onto the table and elegantly lays her hands in her lap, one over the other.
"And did Regulus Black tell you why he was looking for you?" her mother wonders, her voice a little too light to be taken at face value.
Vivian is quite sure, now, that they are not speaking of her father. She gives a brief nod, and her mother seems to hold her breath.
"…I find it rather odd that you would meet with Regulus," her mother begins, but doesn't get to finish.
"As do I. Last I heard, Regulus isn't in the habit of speaking with traitors," her father's clipped voice suddenly sounds, and the both of them turn with a start to see that he is standing in the doorway, fists clenched and eyes sparking with quiet fury.
Vivian sits a little straighter, pressing her shoulders back as if she is trying to perfect her already flawless posture. In a collected voice, she greets, "Father."
Lukas Blair's lip curls up at the word. He looks like he wants to scoff at her for the familiar greeting. Years of noble breeding is all that holds him back – a sort of failsafe, Vivian knows, that acts as his guiding force whenever he finds himself in a situation that he is not fully prepared for. This is certainly such a situation. He had not expected to receive a visit from his wayward, disowned daughter today or on any day, for that matter.
"Did you come back to ask for money?" he pointedly wonders, looking down at her. He does not move from his place in the doorway. He looks as if he is still deciding whether or not he should entertain her at all. With an arrogant expression that looks to be seconds away from turning into a downright sneer, he drawls, "I suppose you regret running off with that blood traitor now that you've had a taste of it."
Though Vivian is tempted to bite out a cutting response to this, she holds herself back and merely arranges her expression into an arrogance of its own. If anything is true, then it is the complete opposite – that she very much regrets coming back here, if only because she must subject herself to hearing such things. She holds that back, too, though. An admittance like that would only make her plan fail all the faster.
So instead of retorting, Vivian merely drawls back, "I do regret it, but not for the reasons you think. I had to convince them, you see. It had to look believable."
This seems to pique her father's curiosity, if nothing else. His sneer becomes a little more pronounced even as his eyes flash with interest. Vivian sees it, of course. She knows her father's weaknesses well enough, and she knows how to manipulate them. Yes, he is prideful, and arrogant, and far too concerned about his standing in pureblood society. Far too concerned now, especially, about the scandal of his own daughter's disownment. There is one other trait that Lukas Blair possesses, though, that is not fully tainted by pride and arrogance, and that is his love of knowledge. One needs not look past his vast collection of books and scrolls for proof of that, and while his particular appreciation is for darker things of a more questionable nature, curiosity yet drives him to learn more, to uncover all the secrets therein. It lends itself to his expression now, as well, as he attempts to piece together his daughter's cryptic words.
"…Believable?" he repeats, and she knows she has him.
Vivian puts her teacup down and in a disparaging tone, says, "Sirius Black thinks I'm in love with him."
Her father stares at her. So does her mother. Vivian doesn't look at her, though. She's afraid that if she does, the act she is currently performing will fall away, doomed before it can truly take root. Her mother is more perceptive, after all, and had been there that day to witness the heartfelt confession that Vivian had uttered, when she had told her that she loved Sirius.
The edge of her father's mouth curves into the barest hint of a smile, but it's smothered somewhat with uncertainty. He doesn't sound entirely convinced when he says, "You're playing him." Actually, there's something in his voice that seems cautious as he utters the words, as if he's merely testing them out to see if they ring with truth. Lukas Blair is a Slytherin, and Slytherins are quite good at discerning truth from lies. Thankfully, they are also good at crafting said lies.
Vivian stands up, brushing the wrinkles from her cloak in a rather utilitarian fashion, and sets her shoulders back. She catches her father's eye when she explains, "Regulus and I have been planning this for months. He knows his brother's weaknesses and knows how to exploit them. We're doing this for the cause, father."
She sees her mother frown from the corner of her eye, but Vivian keeps her eyes trained to her father, who is peering at her with more curiosity than had graced his expression moments before. He appears to be mulling over her words when he murmurs, "If you've been planning this for so long, why did you not inform me of it?"
He studies her closely, as a snake might study its prey – poised to dart forward, each muscle at the ready, tense and prepared but with an air of careful relaxation. The better to hide your intentions.
Vivian's mouth curls into a cold smile. It is a resurrected thing, reborn for this moment and this alone, scraped by and hastily recalled. Lately, her smiles have been a touch warmer. It takes an extra amount of mental finesse to set her mouth into this expression.
"Like I said, it had to look believable. We weren't just trying to fool Sirius Black, after all," she responds, lifting an eyebrow as she locks eyes with her father. The words that are left unsaid make her father raise his own eyebrows. He hears them well enough, through the silence that perforates the room.
"And Dumbledore believes that you're on his side?" he asks, sounding disbelieving again. "The man is a fool, I grant you, but he has a surprising ability to see through things."
Vivian snorts in a rather disparaging way and shrugs, "He's definitely a fool, father. If you need further proof of my allegiance, here." She dips her hand into the pocket of her cloak and pulls out a scrap of parchment. Her father reaches out to take it, looking thoroughly derogative with its blank, empty surface – until Vivian says, "It's how they communicate with each other. When they're planning on meeting up, this tells them where and when."
Her father's eyebrows lift ever higher. This time, he looks vaguely impressed.
"…That's it, then? You joined up with Sirius in order to get to Dumbledore?" he demands, looking back at her with those careful eyes again, tense but prepared. "You mean to tell me that you made a fuss over marrying Adrian because you wanted to try your hand at playing the spy for the Dark Lord? He's furious with you, Vivian. You do understand that, I'm sure."
Vivian raises her chin higher and drawls, "Once he realizes that I'm telling you the truth, he won't be. I'm doing all of this for him, after all."
Her father stares at her for another long moment, looking as though he is trying to decide what to believe. Then, tucking the scrap of parchment into his pocket, he drawls, "Well I suppose we'll have to wait to see if Dumbledore means to set a time and date to meet with his band of miscreants any time soon. Until then, I'm afraid I can't trust you, not even if Regulus comes forward to back up your claims."
Vivian doesn't appear to be surprised by this, and just shrugs, "I understand. You'll trust me eventually, when everything I've said proves correct. I want the Dark Lord to rise just as much as you do, father. I only want to do my part. Marrying Adrian wouldn't have gotten me anywhere and you know it. I want to fight. To be useful to the cause."
This, at least, is not a lie. She does want to be useful to the cause. Just not the Dark Lord's cause. Her father's eyes flicker with more of that curiosity, as if he is tempted to believe her…but when Vivian finally glances over at her mother, she sees another sight entirely.
Understanding. Perception. Knowing.
Vivian swallows as she locks eyes with her, but Isobel Blair says not a word. She merely sits on the sofa with her hands laid demurely in her lap and stares at her daughter as if she is able to see right through her. Her eyes uncover every mystery that Vivian Blair yet possesses. She knows what has brought her here. She knows that Vivian is not using Sirius Black for her own ends. She knows, too, that her daughter does not wish for the Dark Lord to rise. A mother always sees.
"I'll be speaking with Regulus about this," her father says. His voice contains the barest hint of a warning. Vivian brushes it off.
"So will I," she admits. "I'll have to tell him that he doesn't have to pretend to hate me anymore. At least not around you."
Right. Well, what she'll actually have to tell him is that she dragged him into her story without his permission, and that unless he wants her to end up dead by the Dark Lord's hands, he's going to have to pretend as if he's a part of her wayward plan when he's inevitably asked about it. She wonders how furious he'll be with her for this.
That is a thought for another day, though. For now…
"Wispy will show you out," her father says, and then promptly snaps his finger to summon the house-elf. The responding 'pop' as the elf appears is ignored as he locks eyes with his daughter and drawls, "I'm sure we'll see you soon, Vivian. Do be careful around that blood traitor in the meantime."
Vivian doesn't respond. She merely sends her father a careful look and follows Wispy back to the foyer. She can feel her father's eyes on her all the way there. Every step she takes is a challenge in itself, for she wants to run to the doors and leave this place – she wants to return to her real home. Her cottage near the sea, where Sirius is waiting, no doubt driven restless with worry.
She takes one last glance at the foyer though, before she leaves. She had written this place off with all the permanence of a person intent on closing doors no longer useful to them, and yet here she is again, reopening it. Family is, perhaps, one of the things that a Slytherin considers most important of all. They form connections and bestow opportunity. They are circles of likeminded people with which creates networks to be used to vault yourself to new heights. Vivian Blair, however, sees another purpose here; another reason to reopen this particular door, no matter how difficult it is to revisit the past she had thought she'd closed permanently.
She can use her family for more than connections and opportunities. She can use them to learn more about the Dark Lord's plan. This door will lead her on, but it won't be for the purpose that her father believes – or will believe, once her words are properly backed up with proof. No, her purposes are not so transparent as all that, but she won't tell her father such things.
Vivian Blair is, after all, a Slytherin, and she holds her cards close to her chest.