[COMPLETED] 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 s...
Within a week, her routine had shifted. Following the confrontation with Dumbledore, she promptly delivered the scrolls detailing her potions and their antidotes. Soon after, reports surfaced of the Dark Lord's victims no longer succumbing to the poisons in the field.
However, she paid little heed to these developments, consumed instead by her singular focus: protecting all she loved.
Emerging from her chamber, she entered the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Kreacher, her loyal house elf, had faithfully kept his vow. Regulus would often request the company of the house elf on solo missions with Barty Crouch Jr. The usual noises of his chores were replaced by silence.
With a heavy heart, she poured herself a generous glass of fire whiskey, the taste a growing familiarity to her.
"Careful, any more whiskey and you might be a tolerable person to be around."
A voice behind her made her startle slightly. Turning, she found Orion leaning against the doorway, a half-smirk playing on his lips.
He was dressed to the nines, as always, his demeanor exuding an air of aristocratic refinement.
Raising an eyebrow, she shrugged. "Well, in that case, maybe I should pour myself another one," she quipped, her tone laced with sarcasm.
"Wouldn't want to deprive you of your only source of charm."
She huffed, eyeing him warily as he moved to grab a glass and walked towards her, yanking the whiskey from her hands. It was then that she noticed his bloodied sleeves, scratched face, and bloody knuckles. It was obvious he had charmed his robes before coming back home, she wondered how bloody he was beforehand.
"Should I bother asking what you did?"
Ignoring her question, he served himself and chugged the whiskey. After a moment, his gaze shifted to the grandfather clock in the corner, which was nearing midnight.
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𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲, 𝟏𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟖 - 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐩𝐮𝐛.
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He walked in, the hinges of the door creaking softly as he pushed it open. A gust of chilly air swept in with him, stirring the dimly lit interior of the pub. His eyes, keen and observant, swept across the room, taking note of every detail—the worn wooden tables, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows on the walls, and the hunched figures of the muggle men seated at the bar.
With a practiced motion, he reached up and removed his cap, revealing tousled dark hair that fell effortlessly into place, framing his rugged features. Cygnus and Amycus followed in his wake, their expressions guarded and alert, ready for whatever may unfold in the dimly lit establishment.
