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...
The wind whipped through the bare trees, carrying with it the chill of impending winter. Walburga stood solemnly before two graves, the icy air stinging her cheeks.
One grave remained empty, a stark reminder of her son's absence, while the other held the lifeless body of her husband.
The grave markers that she had chosen were white marble. She was surrounded by her family, or what was left of it.
Cygnus stood behind her with Druella by his side, their presence offering a semblance of support amidst the desolation. Next to them was Narcissa, overcome with grief, leaning heavily on Lucius Malfoy, who struggled to hold her upright amidst her sobs.
Malfoy himself looked past melancholy.
Narcissa looked as if she was going to pass out, her face red and puffy with tears as she sobbed.
A thirst for revenge consumed Bellatrix, her madness fueled by the deaths of her uncle and cousin. She sought retribution against anything and anyone she could find.
On Walburga's other side, pureblood families gathered to pay their respects, their somber presence a testament to the interconnectedness of the wizarding world's elite.
And, of course, the three boys Regulus had considered his friends were there, they looked as if they hadn't slept in years.
Mulciber's bruised face spoke volumes, reflecting the rage and sorrow he felt at Regulus's passing. Severus Snape remained stoic, trying not to look at Walburga but at the two graves. Barty Crouch Jr., however, appeared shattered, his eyes reflecting a madness born of profound loss and despair.
Together, they formed a tableau of mourning, each grappling with their demons in the wake of Regulus's passing.
Amycus and Alecto Carrow were standing in the very back. Amycus's eyes held a glimmer of pity for the grieving woman, shadowed by an unmistakable sense of regret that seemed to cling to him.
The solemnity of the moment was palpable as the graves were covered by the earth, and the ceremony came to an end. The only sound breaking the silence was the muffled sobs of Narcissa, her grief echoing through the stillness.
Walburga, however, remained stoic, her expression a mask of anger and disgust. Since the night she learned of the deaths of her son and husband, she hadn't shed a tear. Instead, she found herself engulfed by a numbness that seemed to dull her perception of life.
She no longer felt alive; in her mind, she was already trapped in the depths of hell. The deaths of Regulus and Orion had sealed her fate, condemning her to a torturous existence.
Every moment felt like an eternity in the fiery abyss of her grief and despair.
This wasn't life; it was a relentless torment that stretched on endlessly, with no hope of escape.
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