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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𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟒𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟓 - 𝟏𝟐 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.
The next morning, as they sat down for breakfast, the exhaustion was evident in their eyes, each bearing the weight of the previous night's turmoil with dark circles beneath them.
Her gaze lingered on the empty chair opposite Regulus, her mind filled with hope that her suspicions were true and that Sirius had sought refuge at the Potter's home.
Silent since Sirius's departure, Walburga remained lost in her thoughts, her expression unreadable. It was Orion who broke the heavy silence, addressing the inevitable consequences they would all face in the wake of Sirius's departure.
"We need to discuss what comes next," he declared, his voice grave with the weight of their family's turmoil.
Regulus, his gaze shifting from his plate, directed a questioning look at his father. "What happens now?" he inquired, his tone tinged with uncertainty and apprehension.
Orion's voice carried a sense of urgency as he laid out their plan. "News will spread quickly, and we need to control the narrative. After breakfast, I'll head to the Daily Prophet and give them a statement. Regulus, you'll go to your uncle's home and inform them of what's transpired. Walburga," he paused, meeting her gaze with concern, "you'll stay here. Take some time for yourself."
They exchanged a glance, silently communicating their shared concern for Walburga. With a nod to each other, they finished their breakfast in solemn silence, knowing that their tasks awaited them. As they left the room to attend to their missions, the weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, leaving Walburga to grapple with her thoughts and emotions in the quiet solitude of the dining room.
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She remained seated, unmoving, lost in her thoughts for a good thirty minutes until Kreacher's voice broke through her reverie.
"Mistress Black?"
Her wide eyes remained fixed on the empty chair as she responded, her voice hoarse and broken. "Yes?"
"Kreacher has to clean the table." He spoke trying to get her to leave the dining room.
"Very well, Kreacher," she murmured, finally tearing her gaze away from the empty chair. She rose slowly from her seat, her movements heavy with grief, and left the dining room without another word.
As she glided along the empty halls, she entered the library once again.
The soft glow of morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the intricate patterns of the tapestry. Walburga stood before it, her fingers trembling slightly as they traced the scorched edges of Sirius's name. Each thread seemed to hold a memory, a moment frozen in time, and she couldn't help but linger on each one.
