A/N: I'm so very sorry for falling away from the story again, everyone. Thanks to a few recent people who left reviews and asked for more chapters – if not for you, I probably wouldn't be updating. I just haven't been writing much fanfiction lately. I've actually been trying my hand at writing some of my own original work, which has been a bit of a whirlwind for me because I've never tried to create my own world before. But I've recently found myself missing all of you and wanting to return to my other writing (fanfics are my comfort food) so here I am.
Anyway though, I do have another chapter written for Regimentum and I will update again in the near future. From there, we'll see where the story will go. I don't like leaving things unfinished so I'm hoping to get back into it soon but I also wouldn't be surprised if I don't. We'll see.
I'm also contemplating starting to post that story about Charlie Weasley and Samantha Donahue that I mentioned a while (years) ago and never followed through with…I only have 9 chapters but I might just post what I have even if it never gets completed. Would anyone be interested in that despite it not being finished?
I'd love to hear from people if anyone has any thoughts/greetings/feedback. 😊 And of course, I hope you're all doing well. I was going to add that I hope this chapter brings you all a little bit of happiness, but considering the contents of it, I will refrain.
On that enigmatic note, I will post the next chapter soon so as not to leave you all hanging again.
Chapter Thirty Six | Peccavi
[I have sinned; I was wrong]
Outside, the jeers are louder. Narcissa's fingers feel like claws, her nails digging into Vivian's arm as they walk through the elegant glass doors leading onto the large patio. The bonfire feels oppressively warm as they come to a slow halt before the proceedings. The tight grip on her arm suddenly drops away as Narcissa steps back. Vivian jerks her eyes to her, but her friend does not meet her gaze or say anything at all as she leaves her standing there. Whatever sliver of camaraderie had remained between them fades abruptly.
Alone now in the center of this morbid scene, Vivian casts her eyes towards the many hooded figures lingering nearby. She recognizes several of the voices but doesn't dare approach any. Instead, she remains on the outskirts, itching to return inside but afraid that her obvious departure might incite further suspicion. She focuses instead on attempting to locate Regulus, but there appears to be no sign of him among the throng of hoods. If he is here at all, he must be making himself scarce. She wishes she could follow suit.
She sticks to the perimeter of the bonfire's circle of light, not wishing to venture into the shadows beyond its reach. The cages on the other side are larger now than they'd been when she was at a safe distance from them. She tries not to look at them, or at their occupants.
It goes on like this for a short time. She feels increasingly out of place with no one to stand beside, like prey in open waters. Her would-be predators circle every moment. Each time a shadow flickers, her heart jumps. She is beginning to wonder if she should just take a chance and go back inside after all when, abruptly, something changes.
There seems to be some kind of unspoken understanding between the others, for as one, the crowd begins to filter past the bonfire's light. They move into the darkness, their dark forms all but disappearing into the shadows. Eager murmurs fill the air. Across the grounds, far enough away as to be almost missed entirely, a flash of green light captures her attention.
With little else to do but follow the crowd, Vivian finds herself being pressed forward. She stumbles a few times as she leaves the smooth stones of the patio, distracted by the scene that slowly unfurls in front of her through the forms of the others. The flickering light settles, transforming into an orb that hangs, suspended, in the air. It reveals several people just beneath its glowing green light. One, whose arm is lifted as he controls the ball of light, stands in front of the others. Another man stands just off to the side with his feet planted apart and his shoulders back, standing in such a way as to remind Vivian of a military man. The last form is more of a huddled figure than anything else, kneeling on the ground with a cloth bag shrouding the person's features.
As the orb of light expands to showcase all of this, Vivian feels something inside of her chest drop like a stone into her stomach.
She supposes she can't be surprised at this macabre turn of events. The cages had clearly been little more than a precursor for something darker and more elaborate. The poor souls enclosed behind those bars will doubtlessly be in the limelight later. First, it seems, the primary entertainment is this…whatever this is.
She doesn't really want to find out. The person whose features are shrouded from view is shaking. It's impossible to tell if it's a man or a woman. The only obvious thing about the person is the fear that she can practically see emanating from those shaking shoulders.
The crowd presses her closer, until she is no more than ten meters away. The people standing in front of her don't create enough of a barrier from the morbid sight, but she knows better than to turn away. In any case, when the hood is suddenly removed from the person's head and Vivian catches a glimpse of the familiar face beneath, her desire to look away vanishes completely.
She could not readily identify which emotions spreads through her first, whether it is horror or fear. The two tangle together so seamlessly that it is impossible to differentiate one from the other.
The breath seems to leave her. She cannot move, not even an inch. She is a statue standing amongst a throng of black robes, too shocked to do anything at all.
The green orb of light pulses. Its light floods over Mauve's face. A sick, cloying feeling fills Vivian.
Something is being said. She acknowledges the sound of the voice, but she cannot hear the words themselves. They come out as garbled, formless noise. She can't understand what is happening, or why, or how Mauve is here. What had she done to become a target? Why had the Death Eaters singled her out? Why had they decided to bring her here, tonight, and make such an example of her in front of so many? Most important, what can be done about it?
It feels like she's under water, unable to see or hear clearly, her senses muddled and sluggish…
Until, of course, Mauve's head is pulled back, and the militant man begins to chant something over the increased murmurs from the crowd. Vivian sees something metallic appear in his hands, and every bewildering thought drops away immediately.
She feels herself surging forward without pausing to consider how her actions might be construed by those around her – how it might look, if she were to step in to save the wretched blood traitor kneeling in the grass beneath the moonless night. She thinks only of train rides to Hogwarts and comic book characters, awkward laughter in the corridors between classes, Quidditch practices in the crisp autumn wind –
She gets only two steps before a hand encloses around her arm and hauls her forcefully back, just as the knife slices across a pale, tender throat.
A noiseless heave of breath rushes into her lungs. Her back hits something warm and solid behind her, but she doesn't pause to acknowledge whoever had grabbed her. She cannot look away from Mauve. Mauve, who is making the most horrific sound as blood gushes from her wound.
"Stay still," a voice murmurs at her, and even though she wants to disregard it, Vivian finds herself obeying. The obedience does not come from any desire to listen to Adrian Mulciber, though. Rather, she is suddenly uncertain whether she would be able to make it more than a step without falling to her knees and heaving in the grass.
His grip is bruising, and yet she hardly feels it. The man holding the knife prods Mauve's shoulders. Vivian watches, trembling, as her friend falls face first into the grass. She doesn't move again.
"Smile," Adrian tells her under his breath. If she could look away from Mauve's motionless body, she might have turned around and hit him, then. He must be able to read this thought in the way she stiffens her shoulders, for he gives her a tiny jostle and whispers, "This is for you, Blair. They're watching."
His words make little sense to her in the moment. Every time she blinks, she sees the life bleeding out of Mauve's eyes. The sight of her hitting the ground. The knife dripping blood into the grass. In fact, at first, she hardly even hears Adrian's words at all.
This is for you.
You can't leave, now.
Oh.
Oh.
Mauve is still not moving. Adrian releases her. She feels weightless. Without his bruising grip, she fears she might suddenly float away.
A part of her wishes she would.
She knows two things in this moment:
First and most importantly, this is her fault. Mauve's being here tonight is her fault. Mauve's…death. Her fault.
Second, this is all some morbid test. A way to see if she would step forward to save her blood traitor friend. Adrian knew it all along. He had warned her not to come. When she hadn't listened, he had told her to stay close.
She could not begin to understand his reasoning behind these warnings, or what he hopes to gain from helping her, but what Vivian does know is that without his interference, she would most likely be in Mauve's place right now. Whatever his reasons, Adrian had stopped her from showing her hand.
Smile.
They're watching.
She doesn't smile. She couldn't possibly bring herself to. But she does try to loosen her tense shoulders and assume a blank expression. She isn't certain whether she's successful or not, but it's the best she can do.
"Follow me," Adrian mutters to her after what feels like an eternity. Some of the crowd is already breaking off from the proceedings and returning to the bonfire across the grounds. He prods her forward with a jab of his finger and leads the way towards the patio, not checking to see if she's following. She barely realizes that she's walking behind him at all until she finds herself being led through the glass doors and into the large drawing room beyond.
"You should be able to leave through the front door," he tells her, spinning on his heel to glance at her. His face is expressionless and calm, considering what had just occurred. She isn't sure how to react to that.
Swallowing thickly, Vivian looks back the way they'd come, but the orb of green light has vanished in the distance, and she knows better than to obey the desire to return to Mauve's body.
"Why her?"
The question leaves her without thought. She doesn't even realize she had asked it until it is voiced, and she almost cringes at the hoarse way her voice draws forth the words.
Adrian is unfazed.
"She's a member of your little Order, isn't she?" he asks rhetorically, arms crossed. "But more importantly, she was your friend."
Their eyes meet. Neither of them speaks for a long moment.
She wants to ask him why he had stopped her, but instead all she does is murmur, "I need to go."
She isn't sure she can stay another second in this place.
Adrian doesn't respond, and Vivian doesn't wait for him to.
The cottage is dark when Vivian returns home. Sirius is not home which, for some reason, makes her angry. In the back of her mind, she's aware that she's only exchanging one emotion for another – grappling onto this anger is better than giving into the paralyzing realization of her friend's death – but she doesn't care. She throws the front door open with a vengeance and frowns at the darkened living room, adamantly ignoring the shake of her hands.
One thing at a time. She reaches for her wand to turn the lights on, but in her current state she can't seem to recall the most basic of spells. She just ends up standing there in the darkness, staring sightlessly into the shadows across the room, her wand hanging uselessly at her side. But she doesn't see the shadows. She doesn't see the room.
Smile, Adrian had said, while she had watched her friend fall to the ground.
A hysterical laugh leaves her. She raises a hand to press her palm to her forehead, recalling the way the blood had dropped down the column of Mauve's throat and stained the collar of her shirt –
This isn't what she wanted.
Another laugh shivers from her, this one more breathless than the last as it splinters into a sob. She leans against the wall in the darkness, fist clenched, and slaps a hand over her mouth as if to shove the sound aside.
It doesn't work. Of course it doesn't work. Perhaps it might have, had she been able to compose herself. She could have attempted to reorganize her thoughts, to grapple with everything that has happened and everything that has led up to this moment. But when she hears the shuffle of footsteps behind her, all of that falls away.
"Vivian?" Sirius's voice calls, evidently seeing her form through the darkness as he steps into the cottage. He sounds hesitant and wary, no doubt wondering why she is standing amongst the shadows. When he sees the way her shoulders are shaking, his wariness turns to worry.
Then he's at her side, turning her around to face him. One muttered spell later and the room is washed with light, casting away the shadows as the many candles lining the walls and ceiling are lit. He tugs her closer, his arms wrapping around her, and reaches up to turn her face towards him.
"What happened?" he demands, brow furrowed.
She tells him. The words leave her without reservation. Everything spills out of her all at once, the details jarring and difficult to follow at times, until at last she buries her face against Sirius's neck and falls silent.
He doesn't say anything for a long time, but then…
"Vivian," he murmurs quietly, his voice hushed, "look at me."
She tightens her grasp of his shirt but doesn't lift her head. She feels wretched.
Sirius exhales against her temple and pulls back to tilt her chin up. His eyes sweep over her, brimming with concern as he repeats, "Look at me." His fingers brush against her wet cheeks.
"There was nothing you could do," he tells her then.
Her throat closes up. She shakes her head, unable to answer. Unable to say anything at all.
He wipes her tears again and says, "You're not going to another gathering."
Vivian swallows, meeting his eyes. He looks worried and sad, but there is a sheen of determination in his gaze too. She supposes she can't blame him for this order. She would have said the same if their roles were reversed. And, to be honest, she isn't certain she wants to test fate again by taking another chance.
Sirius sighs and pulls her back into his arms, tucking her face against him with a gentle, "We'll talk about it later. You'll be okay, Viv. It'll be okay."
The words become a mantra upon his tongue.
She wishes she could believe them.