Final Warning by Skylar Grey
This is your final warning
Just remember what I said
Someone's gonna get hurt
And it's not gonna be me
November 25th, 1979
Ivy shifted in the dark grey armchair, doing her best to maintain her perfect posture, despite wanting nothing more than to slouch in the most satisfying and improper of ways.
Unfortunately, doing so in Walburga and Orion's drawing room after a very elegant and snooty dinner was out of the question. Not only was slouching considered unladylike, but according to Walburga, a witch crossing her legs was inviting trouble. So, Ivy was doomed to discomfort for the night, stuck with her feet flat on the floor and her back so rigid that she surely looked to have a stick up her arse.
Casting a sidelong look at Regulus, who stood beside her armchair with a glass of Dragon Barrel Brandy in hand, she knew that the drudgery of high society was weighing him down as well. Boredom was thinly veiled on his face and it would have been clear to anyone that knew him, that he was fighting off the urge to curl his lip in disdain.
Gaze moving back to Walburga, she nodded politely along as the witch spoke about her own honeymoon, which had also been spent in Greece. Ever the dutiful wife, Lady Black lingered behind the dark grey armchair that her husband sat in, her manicured but unpainted hand resting on the corner of the chair.
It was difficult to avoid Orion's gaze, as his dark eyes were focused strictly on her.
Ivy couldn't be sure whether his stare was assessing or glaring. His brow was furrowed and his mouth had been set in a flat, staunch line since they'd taken their seats a few minutes ago. Either he was upset with her, or he had a naturally grumpy countenance. It was possible that the hearth to her right wasn't giving off enough heat, as she was rather chilly, but that didn't explain why he was fixated on her alone.
Lady Black glanced between Ivy and Regulus. "I presume you're glad that you chose Greece for your honeymoon destination?"
"We certainly are," Ivy forced a polite smile.
When Walburga and Orion fixed her with critical looks, she realised that the question had been directed at Regulus. Such expressions hardly seemed warranted, but then again, she was meant to be purely ornamental from now on; Ivy was no longer a prize to be won for their son, but now their personal property. Property that was expected to speak when spoken to. She suspected that, had she spoken out of turn in a more public setting, Walburga would have thumped her upside the head.
"You were right, mother," Regulus replied quickly. "Greece was the perfect honeymoon destination. I'm glad to have gone with your suggestion."
Suggestion was sugarcoating what had happened. Walburga's head had all but exploded when she heard that they had been planning to honeymoon in Taiwan. According to her, the only acceptable options for someone of her son's calibre were in Europe. She was specifically keen on Greece, so that was where they went.
The mutual newlywed bliss that she and Regulus had been soaking in for the past three weeks had barely made it through the front door of Grimmauld Place. They'd traded hours in the sun spent devouring fasoulada and leisurely roaming Chania, for the dreary company of Regulus's parents.
Neither of them were happy about it.
"You've always been amenable," Orion drawled to his son. "We knew you would choose correctly when given the right amount of pressure." His gaze flitted back to Ivy. "You, however…"
Oh, she thought sarcastically. Am I allowed to speak now?
As though sensing her inner monologue, he narrowed his eyes. "You are in my son's chair."
"Sorry?" Ivy blinked, taken aback.
"Must I repeat myself?" Regulus's father snapped.
Evidently, she'd been right to worry over his stare. Unluckily for her, she was too rational to understand why her sitting a chair was bothersome to him. Nevertheless, she reigned in her indignance. "I apologise if I've offended you. My husband said he preferred to stand, so I thought-"
"I don't care what you think," Orion barked. "Nor do I care about my son's preferences. I care about propriety. As should both of you."
Regulus stiffened beside her and one glance told that he was thinking the same thing.
The rules of pureblood society truly were never ending. Not to mention ridiculous. She could understand being chastised for slouching, she could even deal with not crossing her legs for the evening, but being berated for sitting in a chair?
Ivy took a breath. "I care very much-"
"I am not finished speaking." Lord Black leaned forward in his chair, dark robes rustling as he glowered at her. "You would do well to wait until I give you leave to talk before running your mouth."
She clenched her jaw tightly, doing her best not to open her mouth and let it run, no matter how many spectacularly rude insults she had on the tip of her tongue.
Still as a cat, Orion observed her with the same dark eyes that Regulus had inherited. However, where her husband's eyes were warm and affectionate, his father's were tinged with a madness she often saw in Bellatrix's gaze.
Ivy met his stare evenly, fighting to keep her face clear of her true feelings; she needed to appear as nothing more than a loving housewife if she wanted to get out of this situation unscathed. Dealing with Regulus's parents was much like dealing with her own had been. The slightest hint of disobedience would likely set them off.
"Now," Orion continued gruffly, apparently satisfied with her silence. "I will let your impropriety slide this once -and only this once- as you are yet unaccustomed to the formalities of being a wife. The fact of the matter is that my son should be seated in that chair and you should be stood behind him, at his beck and call should he need anything."
It was a struggle to keep her face neutral while he condescended to her, as her tolerance for this kind of treatment had apparently become very low. It only took her a moment until she realised why that was; she hadn't been verbally berated on a regular basis for over a year, since she'd murdered Avdima.
For the longest time, she had been used to abuse.
Now that she wasn't, her blood was absolutely boiling.
"Regardless of what my insolent son wants," Orion continued harshly. "He should be seated in that chair, as he is the husband. If he does not want to, it is your job as the wife to remind him of how to behave in polite society. Is that clear?"
Biting back words that would surely give her a world of trouble, she held his gaze for a moment longer. In her mind's eye, she pictured smothering him with a pillow and willed the image to calm her.
Momentarily, she gave a nod and rose from the chair.
But before she could exchange places with Regulus -who was clearly trembling with rage- Lord Black had propelled himself out of his chair to block her path. For such a lean man, he was plenty menacing, his eyes seemingly black in the dim lighting of the drawing room. "I said, is that clear?"
Hatred began to crawl its way up her throat, but she swallowed against it. "Yes, Lord Black."
Ivy made to turn away, only for him to grab her aggressively by the jaw. His fingers dug into her skin as he forced her to at him. His eyes bore into hers, aggressive and dominating, his breath dank.
Sensing that Regulus was going to intervene, she stuck her right arm out. Her palm collided with his chest, and she dug her nails in just a little in warning. When he gave a huff, she knew that the signal had been received.
Lowering her arm slowly, she maintained eye contact with Orion, whose vice grip on her face would certainly leave bruises. She knew what he wanted. Were she to tremble, perhaps force some tears, the situation would resolve itself. Still, she refused to flinch. She wasn't a child who needed to keep the peace for the sake of safety anymore. She was a fully grown woman who had little interest in cowering before her father-in-law, especially since it would do nothing but satisfy his little power trip.
"What is it that you want to say to me, little girl?" Regulus's father snarled. "I can tell you have something to say."
Ivy remained silent, despite how desperately she wanted to bring her knee up to make contact with his groin. It would be so easy to hurt him, and so very pleasurable.
"Spit it out!" He shouted in her face.
The leash she had on her anger slid right out of her hands.
"Your wish is my command." Ivy made a disgusting, throaty sound, and subsequently spit in his face.
Orion's fingers slipped away, but before she could react, he backhanded her across the face.
Hard.
Stumbling backwards, she collided with the armchair and let out hiss of pain. Holding her stinging cheek, she kept her face averted and pondered which curses would be best to use on him.
Deciding that the Conjunctivitis Curse would be a good start, Ivy turned back just in time to watch Regulus roll up his sleeves, then smash his fist into Orion's face.
The impact knocked the older man to the floor and his head thwacked against the finely polished wood. He let out a groan, but Regulus was already looming over him, and she watched him grip the collar of his father's robes. Pulling the man into a half-upright position, he raised his fist and slammed it into his face.
Then, he reared back and hit the man again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Ivy stared, both startled and satisfied by the turn of events. Part of her wanted to taunt her father-in-law or egg Regulus on, but she also knew that this moment was something akin to sacred for her husband. She may have been the catalyst for the feral beating, but the satisfaction belonged to him, the same way murdering Avdima belonged to her.
His fist stayed clenched and continued to fly, white-knuckled until his own skin split with the sheer force he was inflicting upon his father. If he noticed his own injury, he didn't seem to care in the slightest, as he appeared to be putting every ounce of his strength into turning Orion's face into a bloody mess of unrecognisable pulp. All the while, a torrent of curse words came out of his mouth, unhindered and full of spite.
After a moment, Regulus staggered back, chest heaving. His dark eyes remained fixed upon his father who, despite the brutal violence, was still making sounds of protest and pain.
Ivy knew she should be worried about what Walburga was up to, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from her husband, who inhaled several ragged breaths before kneeling at Orion's side. He spared her one glance before clasping his hands together tightly and raising them overhead.
The blows rained down again, littering the dark-wooded floors and Ivy's dress with drops of dark red blood. He was fast and vicious, unleashing his fury in a ceaseless torrent of rhythmic slams that made revolting squelching noises each time his joined fists found their target.
It was clear to her with perhaps the seventh strike that Orion was dead.
Black ashes had begun to arise from the floor, dissipating when they drew far enough away. His face was unrecognisable, a mass of flesh and blood and mangled tissue. His body no longer jerked with each hit, but remained limp and indifferent to Regulus's mindless violence.
Perhaps it was overkill, but if it was, it didn't bother her. Ivy had done the same thing to Ezra Wilkes when he'd tried to rape her. That was plenty warranted, and so was Regulus's abuse of his father's corpse.
Drawing her gaze upward, she located Walburga.
The woman had not moved a centimetre from her place behind Orion's chair. Her hand was still resting on the corner of it, though her sharp grey eyes were secured on her son. Not her freshly murdered husband, but on Regulus.
Her expression was odd, one that Ivy had never seen on Walburga's face.
The rotten witch looked… pleased. Her eyes glittered with something like sadistic glee, one corner of her mouth turned upward in a rather disconcerting half-smile.
Quite unsure what to make of the expression, she looked back to her husband.
Regulus had staggered to his feet, chest rising and falling with rapid intakes of breath. He wiped his brow, then raised a foot and ended the attack with the sickening crunch of a caved-in skull.
The air was heavy with a metallic smell and silence.
He looked at Ivy, a smug smile on his blood-splattered face.
She smiled back.
"A simple Killing Curse would've done," Walburga drawled.
Regulus's gaze snapped to his mother, as though he'd forgotten she was there. He seemed to consider her for a moment, before speaking in a low, rough tone. "I don't think it needs to be said, but I'll say it anyway. If you ever touch my wife - if you so much as look at her the wrong way, you will get the same treatment."
His mother's half-smile grew into a grin. It was a cold, sardonic thing that looked wrong on her, like a statue repurposed from its original shape. "I have no interest in death, but I also have no interest in holding my tongue for any longer than I already have."
Ivy raised a brow.
"I propose to you this," the witch continued. "I will take care of the mess you just made all over my drawing room floor, and in exchange, you will spare my life."
"You're mad," Regulus chuckled lowly. "If you think I'm going to allow you to treat my wife like the filth beneath your feet. You've done it to me long enough; I won't subject her to that."
"You misunderstand me," Walburga folded her arms haughtily. "I cannot stand to keep silent and you cannot stand me. I will dispose of Orion's body, and once we are through with all that it entails, you and your wife need never see me again."
Ivy had several things to say, but thought better of inserting herself into the conversation. Especially since it appeared to be going so shockingly well.
Regulus lifted his chin. "You've been nothing but heinous my entire life, and now you want not only to cover up your husband's murder for me, but to fuck off after. Why?"
"Orion was a duty I grew tired of tending to decades ago," Walburga told him coldly. "You did me a favour getting rid of him and I repay my more importantly, you are the future of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, a bloodline that I have always protected. I did so by raising you to be a proper pureblood and by marrying you off to another proper pureblood. I never cared for you or… the other one. I never cared for motherhood."
Watching her husband's face, Ivy searched for signs of hurt beneath the blood.
She found none.
"I did what had to be done," the witch continued. "Now that you're married and set to inherit the Black family title, my job is done. You simply removed the last obstacle in my way; my husband. I'm free to, as you so eloquently put it, fuck off."
"Alright," Regulus said slowly. "Do what you have to do to fix all this and I will gladly never speak to you again. So long as you don't speak to me either."
"That won't be a problem." Walburga issued another unsettling smile, before stepping around the dark grey armchair and sweeping from the room, the skirts of her dark gown rustling as she went.
Alone with Regulus and his father's mutilated body, her husband walked over. He took her face in his hands gently, tilting it this way and that to inspect her for injuries. "You're alright?"
"I'm alright," Ivy told him earnestly. "There'll be some bruising tomorrow, but I'm quite fine. Are you?"
His blood-spattered face broke into a grin. "I've never been better."
December 5th, 1979
Releasing a yawn, Regulus watched his breath fog the glass he'd just finished wiping. Knelt on the filthy floor of Borgin and Burkes, he shifted his weight back onto his feet and wrung his wrist, which was becoming bothered by the angle at which he was cleaning.
Really, he didn't know why Borgin subjected him to the task. Seeing as the already dirty rags did nothing but spread the filth around, cleaning was pointless. He'd even grown accustomed to wearing his shabbiest set of robes to work, as he always left with something stuck to his sleeve or a dusty arse print on the back of his trousers. No chair was safe to sit in and no surface was safe to lean on.
"Stop breathing all over the display," Borgin appeared at his side, making him jump. "You'd better wipe it again or I'll have your hide."
"You got it," Regulus sighed.
"While you're at it, lock up for me." The oily-haired man tossed a ring of keys at Regulus, who scrambled to catch them. "I've a date to get to. And don't even think about taking anything while I'm gone, I've got eyes all over this shop, Black."
Getting to his feet, the knees of his trousers caked in grime, he mumbled a farewell as the shop owner headed for the door and disappeared into the night.
"Barmy, that one," he muttered as the door snapped shut.
Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he looked up at the creepy masks on the wall. One set of empty eyes seemed to be squinting at him, making him shudder. Pocketing the keys, he worked his way through the maze of glass display cases to drop the filthy cleaning rag on the counter.
Circling it, he made for the back room.
He paused upon entering the dusty room when he noticed Longbottom. The wizard had his back turned as he organised Borgin's newest arrivals, which included a rusty pair of scissors, a black quill he knew better than to write with, and several other odd and ends.
"What're you still doing here?" Regulus undid his apron and pulled it overhead, before hanging it on a half-hinged hook on the wall. "I thought you left an hour ago."
"Nah." Longbottom turned round, but didn't look at him. Instead, he crossed the room to set what appeared to be a mangled foot on a different shelf. "Apparently, I didn't categorise the new acquisitions correctly."
"Just redo it tomorrow, they're not going on display for days anyway."
"I am rather tired of shuffling this shite about." Longbottom tugged off the pair of thick, thoroughly beaten gloves he was wearing and tossed them on a worktable in the centre of the room. "Borgin was raving about some big upcoming acquisition - know what he's on about?"
"Oh, that," Regulus stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. "It's just some magical artefact he has his sights set on. He claims its an ancient relic, but he claims a lot of things. And upcoming is too strong of a word. From the sound of things, he's months away from getting his grimy hands on it, if he even can."
"Ah." Longbottom looked up at him, though he didn't make eye contact. He stared over Regulus's shoulder for a moment, before quietly adding: "I should offer you my condolences before you leave. I was sorry to hear about your father."
Unable to help himself, he snorted.
Orion's body had been discovered -far more intact than Regulus remembered leaving it- only three days prior in a seedy back alley in Ilkley. According to official news reports, passersby had merely thought him a sleeping vagrant, until a shop owner tried to shoo him away.
When the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol made their way to the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, they found a wife who suspected that her husband owed money to some very bad people, and a son whose father had invited him to an underground gambling ring a few months prior. Seeing as Cygnus Black III, Walburga's very own brother, was in charge of the investigation, Regulus was certain he wouldn't see a day in Azkaban.
"I'm surprised you have condolences to offer," he eventually said. "Or are you just sorry to hear about my father because you would've preferred to throw him in Azkaban?"
Longbottom averted his gaze. "I'm sorry to hear about your father because he's dead."
"Oh, come off it," he rolled his eyes. "No piss off, or you're next, Black?"
The other wizard just shrugged, making Regulus all the more irritated with him.
Ever since that day at Selwyn Estate, the man had become practically docile. Gone were the days of spitting venom at each other and riling Longbottom up until he lost the ability to speak. He detested this meek, polite, spineless version of the Order member.
"The air in here is stale enough as it is," Regulus said dryly. "If we let our animosity become stagnate, I'll suffocate from boredom."
The man didn't reply, and only began to undo his apron.
"I miss the dramatics, Longbottom." He heaved a sigh and retrieved the jangling ring of keys from his pocket. "I really do."
Turning to leave, he was nearly back to the front of the store when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Halting to card a glance over his shoulder, the other wizard let him go and took a step back.
Regulus faced him expectantly.
"Listen…" Longbottom cleared his throat and shifted his weight, before looking him evenly in the eye. "I appreciate what you did for me."
He smirked. "I've no clue what you're on about."
"You know exactly what I'm on about. If you do me the courtesy of dropping the facade, maybe we can have a real conversation."
"There is no facade."
"Yes, there is. And I for one think that Sirius would want to know about it."
The mention of his brother was enough to make Regulus's stomach lurch. How would Sirius react if Longbottom told him what he'd done? He couldn't imagine it would be any less dramatic than dropping dead on the spot.
"Sirius would want to know that you're not…"
"A Death Eater?" Regulus laughed mirthlessly. "I assure you, I am."
"With an admission like that," Longbottom said carefully. "I could have you shipped off to Azkaban within the hour."
"If you ask me, the best case scenario would end with you tied up in litigation until you drown in it. Worst case scenario, your Order would be on the front page of the Daily Prophet first thing tomorrow."
"You sure don't like to make things easy, do you?" He sighed and ran a hand through his light brown hair. "The point, is that I know what you did. And I'm grateful."
Clearly, the Order member wasn't in the mood to engage in petty banter.
So, Regulus analysed him. The weariness of his loosened shoulders and the sincerity of his demeanour. Wordlessly, he poked his head out of the back room to scour the display cases, in search of anyone who may have snuck in.
All was hushed and still.
Fumbling with the keys in his hand, he kept his back turned, debating whether he should ask what he wanted to. After a moment, he looked over his shoulder at the Order member, who was watching him keenly.
"Is Alice alright?" He asked brusquely.
"She's fine," Longbottom gave a small smile.
Regulus nodded once, then went to lock up the store.
December 16th, 1979
Standing in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, Regulus found that Orion's funeral was exactly what he'd expected it to be.
Monotone, tedious, and above all, fun.
Standing beside Walburga while people came up to give their condolences wouldn't typically be his idea of a good time, but his piece of shit father was dead. And Regulus had killed him. And he was getting away with the murder. Participants of the underground gambling ring hadn't been located, but Regulus was far from looking suspicious. Especially since evidence of his father's gambling addiction had been found all around Grimmauld Place when it was searched.
Glancing at Walburga, who was a metre to his right and clad head-to-toe in mourning garb, he was grudgingly thankful to have her in his corner. He still hated her to his very core, as covering up a murder didn't make up for years of torment. But after today, he was going to be rid of her for good, and that was far more than he expected to get out of bashing Orion's skull in.
Another miscellaneous funeral goer approached Walburga from the back of the room to shake her hand and murmur something in a low, cracked-with-grief voice. He would be next to speak with the woman, whose face was covered with a black mourning veil, but he had no clue who she was. Not that it was the veil's fault; Regulus didn't recognise half the people at his father's funeral.
When the witch reached him, he forced a morose look onto his face and let her prattle on about how wonderful of a man his father was. It was easy enough to tune out the mourners who approached him, as they all said the same thing. And if he was caught not paying attention, mustering up a few tears was enough to make the other person bolt. Or, at the very least, excuse his absent-mindedness.
Nodding along as the lady spoke, he let his gaze wander to the rest of Malfoy Manor's drawing room. He and Walburga were stationed in front of the marble mantlepiece, with a good metre of space separating them from the mass of ever-moving black. The other funeral goers were speaking in hushed tones, some weeping, while other reminisced over the supposedly good times they'd had with Orion.
A sizable pipe organ at the other end of the room was playing some of the most depressing music he'd ever heard, but he wasn't about to let it kill his mood. Truthfully, it was quite the effort, trying to contain his joy.
He wondered if this was how Ivy felt at her parents' funerals.
"He really was such a charming man," the witch before him suddenly broke down into tears. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, then shook her head and promptly walked off, evidently embarrassed by her emotional outburst.
It was all the better for him, seeing as he hadn't wanted to talk to her anyway.
"Hey."
Theya appeared before him, wearing a black gown that he suspected she'd worn to Slughorn's Easter Holiday party. The suspicion was confirmed when he noticed her shoes. They were a pair of fuzzy black heels, a set that he distinctly remembering taking the piss out of her for wearing - a set that she'd quickly whacked him upside the head with.
"Very funny," he muttered.
"Thought it might brighten your day," the golden-haired witch grinned at him.
"My day was plenty bright," Regulus spoke under his breath and rubbed the back of his head, feeling a ghost of the lump she'd given him years ago. "Without the reminder of being assaulted, thank you very much."
"Alright, alright," Theya laughed quietly. "I'll admit it was for my own amusement. Anyhow, I just came over to tell you about some exciting news."
"And what's that?"
She slyly glanced towards Walburga before pulling him in for a hug. Holding him as though she was trying to ease his sorrows, she whispered: "It's done."
"What is?" He murmured back.
Theya gave him a squeeze and pulled away. Bringing her hand to her sternum, she grasped the ruby necklace she was wearing. Digging a black-painted fingernail into the side of it, she pried it open to reveal a tiny moving photo of her, Ivy, and their parents.
The motion was supposed to be meaningful, but Regulus was at a loss. "Huh?"
"Don't make me say it," she whispered. "Think."
He frowned at the locket in her hand.
The locket.
Regulus's eyes went wide.
Theya nodded vigorously in response. "The Haven. Tonight. Eight o'clock. We'll make a plan and put this insanity in motion."
It was happening and it was happening soon.
A pit dropped into his stomach at the idea of what could happen to them. Not what could happen to him, as he didn't care if he wound up at the bottom of a lake - but what could happen to Theya. To his wife.
It was then that a memory from sixth year popped into mind, a memory that sent chills down his spine. He'd dreamt about a big black dog in a cave, and when interpreting the dream with his mates, Severus had only one thing to say about it: Pretty sure that means you're going to die in a cave, actually.