In which the untold story of Walburga Black unfolds.
She was a witch before she was a wife, mother, and cruel woman.
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"You failed as a mother; I failed as a son. Can you sit here truthfully, and say you love me? Look in my eyes, and say that you...
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The night was filled with dull Wizarding talk, discussing politics and pureblood matters.
Walburga and Cygnus played their parts, Walburga as the heiress, and Cygnus as the favored son. Alphard, however, found himself seeking refuge in the different wine selections, distancing himself from the tiresome conversations.
"Cygnus, where are you going?" She asked as her younger brother began to leave her side.
"You are not the only one of us who was given orders tonight." Looking up at his sister he continued "Father wants me to speak to Druella Rosier, lay the seed for our future betrothal."
Walburga arched an eyebrow. "Okay."
He nodded a resigned look on his face and walked away to fulfill his assigned duty.
As the music played and the dance floor filled with swirling robes, Walburga observed the intricate dance of alliances, rivalries, and whispered conversations that defined the world of wizarding politics.
The air was thick with unspoken agreements, and alliances were formed and broken with each turn on the dance floor.
Walburga gracefully navigated the dance floor, her steps synchronized with the enchanting melodies that filled the room. The air crackled with tension, and every glance exchanged among the pureblood families held hidden meanings, alliances, and veiled threats.
Amid the elaborate dance, Walburga noticed Alphard disappearing into the crowd. Her father, too, was likely engaged in discussions that held the fate of the House of Black.
She couldn't help but feel a momentary sense of isolation, surrounded by people yet detached from the genuine connections she longed for.
Leaving the dance floor, she moved to grab a glass of red wine taking a momentary sip.
"It's delicious isn't it?"
Startled by the unexpected voice, she turned to find the one and only, Eleanor Nott.
Eleanor, adorned in an elegant gown, stood before Walburga with a congenial smile. Walburga, though slightly taken aback, returned the gesture with a composed nod.
"Yes, it is quite exquisite," She replied, her voice maintaining the characteristic poise expected of a pureblood.
She had never truly spoken to Eleanor throughout the years, Walburga made a concerted effort to avoid the woman.
Her tone carried a certain knowingness as she remarked, "Rumors circulate, and tongues never cease to wag, especially on nights such as these. I gather congratulations are in order."
"I gather yours isn't heartfelt, is it?" Walburga couldn't help but smirk knowing full well that Eleanor was still seeing Orion.
Eleanor's expression remained composed, her features revealing little as she responded to Walburga's remark.
