𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟓 - 𝐇𝐨𝐠𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥.
The morning felt odd, Walburga felt eyes on her as she made her way to the great hall for breakfast. It wasn't the usual wandering eyes and snide remarks she had been given- these were pity-filled looks.
She glared at all of the faces as she made her way to the long benches. The great hall was filled with whispers and people pointing at her.
The morning light streaming through the windows seemed to cast an eerie glow on the surroundings. Walburga tried to shake off the unsettling feeling and focus on her breakfast, but the curious glances and pointed fingers persisted.
She could hear fragments of conversations around her, but the words were elusive, leaving her with a sense of isolation.
Serving herself some juice she felt her patience beginning to wear thin.
It wasn't until she heard a group of Raveclaws begin to speak "Looks like Nagel got away; though Pollux Black was able to kill Krafft. All it took was losing someone for the Blacks to realize they chose the wrong side."
"Will you shut it- she'll hear you," His friend replied. "She lost her mother last night, at least show some respect."
The revelation hit Walburga like a sudden gust of wind, leaving her momentarily stunned.
Standing up she turned towards the group of boys, her blazing with intensity. "What are you saying? Why is my father's name leaving your mouth?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the ambient noise in the great hall.
The Ravenclaws exchanged uneasy glances, realizing they had stepped into delicate territory.
However, the young fourth-year student, sensing the need for clarification, stood up and approached Walburga. In his hands, he held that day's edition of the Daily Prophet.
The friend, who had tried to hush the conversation, spoke up. "It's all over the prophet, Black."
He handed her the newspaper, and as she unfolded it, the front page revealed a headline that sent a shiver down her spine. "BLACK FAMILY MANOR ATTACKED: DAMIEN KRAFFT KILLED BY POLLUX BLACK."
The great hall, now silent with anticipation, watched as Walburga absorbed the information from the newspaper.
As her eyes read of the events that happened she felt fear creep up as she looked for mention of Cygnus. It wasn't until she read that Nagel had killed her mother that she looked up and saw all of the great hall starting at her.
Without a word, she left the great hall, the newspaper clutched tightly in her hand. The bustling halls of Hogwarts blurred as she moved through them, each step carrying the weight of the news she had just learned.
The whispers followed her, echoing in the corridors like haunting specters.
Overwhelmed by the weight of the news and the scrutinizing gazes in the great hall, Walburga felt an unsettling tightness in her chest.
As she walked through the corridors, the air seemed to thin, and her steps became unsteady. Panic clawed at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to consume her.
The vivid details of the newspaper article replayed in her mind like a relentless loop. The sudden loss of her mother, the involvement of her father, and the absence of information about Cygnus intensified the panic that welled up within her.
Her breaths became shallow, and a cold sweat formed on her forehead.
Each step felt heavier as if an invisible force were pressing down on her shoulders. The bustling energy of Hogwarts became a disorienting blur, and the familiar surroundings transformed into a maze of uncertainty.
Unable to contain the rising panic, Walburga's pace quickened, her heart pounding in her ears. A sudden wave of dizziness swept over her, and she stumbled against the stone wall for support. The world around her spun, and a suffocating feeling gripped her chest, making it harder to breathe.
She could feel eyes on her.
Desperate for a moment of respite, Walburga sought refuge in a small broom closet nearby.
With trembling hands, she fumbled to open the door, and as it creaked open, she stumbled into the confined space.
The dim light filtered through the cracks, casting shadows that danced along the walls. Alone in the narrow enclosure, Walburga fell to her knees, the cold floor providing a stark contrast to the tumultuous storm within her.
Biting her lips until they bled, Walburga felt a desperate need to redirect the overwhelming surge of emotions.
The metallic taste of blood served as a grim distraction as she tried to ground herself in the physical pain, anything to break the suffocating hold of the panic.
In the dim light of the broom closet, she began to pull on her hair with trembling hands, strands slipping through her fingers like silk. The sharp twinges of pain from each tug offered a brief reprieve from the emotional turmoil threatening to consume her.
Alone in her struggle, Walbruga grappled with the conflicting emotions, the biting pain in her lips, and the pull on her hair a visceral manifestation of the chaos within.
As she knelt there, the minutes stretched into an eternity, each second a battle against the storm raging inside her.
The broom closet, once a refuge, now bore witness to the silent agony of a young witch grappling with the harsh realities of loss and betrayal.
☆ ★ ☆
𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟓 - 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐭.
As a short amount of time passed, she sat there in the broom closet with bloodied lips and pieces of ripped hair on the floor.
With a deep breath, she had to compose herself quickly to find Alphard and share the devastating news if no one else had.
Using the edge of her sleeve, Walburga wiped away the tears that streaked her face. The cold floor beneath her seemed to anchor her thoughts as she gathered the strength to stand.
Opening the door cautiously, she peered into the corridor. The bustling sounds of Hogwarts echoed in the distance, a stark reminder of the world outside her temporary sanctuary.
Most of the students that filled the halls had gone to class.
But with determination in her eyes, Walburga emerged from the closet, leaving behind the remnants of her brief respite.
Walburga questioned herself as she walked, the weight of her mother's loss heavy on her shoulders. Was it the finality of death that unsettled her? The abruptness of the news? Or perhaps it was the realization that, despite the lack of a nurturing relationship, a chapter of her life had closed with a tragic end.
As she sought out Alphard, the internal turmoil persisted. She couldn't escape the profound impact of the news, even if her rational mind insisted that there was no genuine connection to mourn.
Walburga quickened her pace, the urgency to find Alphard driving her through the corridors of Hogwarts. The echoes of her footsteps reverberated as she neared the Transfiguration classroom. The weight of the newspaper clutched in her hand served as a stark reminder of the news she needed to share.
As she arrived at the classroom door, Walbuga hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The wooden door loomed before her, and with resolve, she pushed it open.
The Transfiguration classroom bustled with activity as students worked on their assignments, and Professor Rhodes presided over the class.
Walburga scanned the room, searching for Alphard among the familiar faces.
"Pardon me, Professor," she said, sucking on her lips to conceal the anxiety that clung to her words. "I need to urgently speak with Alphard."
The haggard-looking professor looked at the young girl with a stern expression in his withered eyes. "Go on, then—" Before he could finish, another presence had entered the room.
Headmaster Dippet.
"Worry not, Rhodes. I need to speak with both Walburga and Alphard Black" Headmaster Dippet declared with a tone that brooked no argument.
The classroom fell into a hushed silence as Walburga and Alphard exchanged glances.
As the trio stepped into the hallways, Headmaster Dippet began his long stride, leaving the two siblings to follow. Alphard, having noticed his sister's matted hair and chapped lips, knew something was wrong.
"What's happened?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice.
Walburga glanced at Alphard, her eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and determination. The weight of the news pressed heavily on her shoulders, and the words felt caught in her throat. "I-
"Come on, we must hurry." Headmaster Dippet said as he turned his head to look at the siblings.
There would be time for explanations, for grieving, but for now, they needed to follow the headmaster and face whatever awaited them.
Walburga stole a glance at Alphard, her brother, her ally in the face of the storm that awaited them. The headmaster led them onward, the weight of his steps mirroring the solemnity of the news they carried.
As they reached the entrance to the headmaster's office, a heavy door that seemed to guard the secrets within, Walburga braced herself for the discussions that would unfold.
Coughing, the headmaster sat behind the desk, offering the two chairs in front of the siblings. Alphard looked to Walburga before sitting down, his nerves rising.
"As I am sure you are aware of now, there has been another attack done by the Acolytes," Headmaster Dippet stated, his voice carrying the weight of the troubling news.
He continued "Your home was attacked in the late hours of yesterday. Damien Krafft and Draven Nagel were the two that had arrived. Though, it seems your father was able to defeat Damien Krafft in the form of defense. Nagel left the scene, but your father is alive and well," looking at the girl and boy across from him he felt pity for what he had to say.
Walburga, seeing his pity, finished what he was too afraid to. "Our mother died in the crossfire. That's it isn't it?"
Walburga's grief was palpable, and anger, a fiery response to the pain, began to spread across the blue hues of her sorrow.
Headmaster Dippet nodded solemnly, acknowledging the raw emotions laid bare in the room.
"I am truly sorry for your loss. The circumstances are dire, but we will do everything in our power to ensure your safety and to bring those responsible to justi-"
"What of Cygnus?" her voice cutting through his pity.
His eyes met Walburga's, and the unspoken understanding passed between them.
"Your mother ensured that Cygnus had been hidden; they found him in your cellar. He is safe."
The revelation brought a momentary exhale of relief to the heavy air in the room. Alphard had been silent. Looking to her left, she saw him looking down.
"You will be escorted back to your home; your manor is safe under the protection of the Ministry."
Walburga nodded, her gaze shifting between Headmaster Dippet and her brother.
She reached out to place a hand on his shoulder only for him to cower away.
Headmaster Dippet, observing the subtle dynamics, offered a gentle reassurance, "Grief takes many forms, and each person copes in their way. Give yourselves time."
Alphard's eyes remained downcast, and Walburga, though restrained by her sorrow, felt a surge of empathy for her brother.
As they prepared to leave the headmaster's office, the air carried the unspoken understanding that the Black siblings, bound by blood and history, would face the uncertainties together, supporting each other in the face of a world forever altered by tragedy.
☆ ★ ☆
𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟓 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫.
News quickly spread in the Wizarding world: Damien Krafft, leader of the acolytes, had met his end at the hands of Pollux Black.
The Black name, once mired in controversy, was now praised by many as Pollux became a defender of pureblood values. The Daily Prophet showcased Pollux as a hero, but questions lingered about the circumstances of Krafft's demise.
Irma Black's role in the night's events remained shrouded in secrecy. The official account circulated was that she fell victim to Draven Nagel's curse during the crossfire.
Once they came back to the manor on the 5th, the siblings were met with a battered home.
The aftermath of the attack left visible scars on the Black family home. The once elegant manor now bore the marks of a fierce struggle, a testament to the chaos that had unfolded within its walls.
Broken artifacts, scorched walls, and remnants of protective enchantments showcased the intensity of the confrontation.
Walburga and Alphard entered the manor, their steps cautious as they navigated the familiar yet transformed surroundings.
Alphard hadn't spoken more than 4 words to her throughout the journey home. A part of her was angry, though she did nothing to try and get him to speak.
Upon entering the dining room, they were both met by their father, aunt, and uncle. Not one of them stood to greet either of them.
The burden of grief weighed heavily on each family member, carving a divide that seemed insurmountable.
Aunt and uncle, usually figures of authority and guidance, remained seated, their expressions stoic.
Her father looked as ambivalent as ever as he held a glass of wine. "Well, no use in telling you what's happened when you already know."
The room fell into a heavy silence, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the manor settling. Walburga and Alphard, sitting in the presence of their family, felt the weight of the unspoken words that hung in the air.
Unable to contain the frustration within him, Alphard finally spoke, his voice cutting through the quiet tension. "I want to know," he looked at his father straight in the eyes, "I want to understand exactly how it happened."
Pollux Black's gaze remained fixed on the wine glass, his expression unchanged.
After a moment that felt like an eternity, he slowly lifted his eyes to meet Alphard's, and a chilling smile played on his lips. "You want to know, do you? You think understanding will change anything?"
His voice, cold and menacing, sent shivers down their spines. Walburga, accustomed to her father's stoic demeanor, felt an unsettling unease as the air thickened with an oppressive tension.
Pollux leaned forward, placing the wine glass on the table with deliberate precision. Glancing at his brother and sister-in-law he smirked. "Your mother is dead. We knew the price we would pay in choosing the easy way out."
As the sinister words lingered in the room, Pollux's gaze turned back to his children, his eyes glinting with a darkness that seemed to mirror the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight.
"You two, born into privilege, believe that you can escape the consequences of our failure. But the world we live in is ruthless, and sacrifices must be made for power," he hissed, the malice in his tone sending a shudder through the room.
Alphard, his frustration boiling over, shot back, "Failure? We're paying the price for your choices, for your misguided allegiance."
Both Pollux and Walburga were stunned by the boy's sudden courage. Even Arcturus and his wife looked at the boy with wide eyes.
"Misguided? You are but pawns in a game much larger than you can fathom." Pollux's smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a glint of surprise in his eyes.
Walburga, her anger simmering beneath the surface spoke, "What kind of father are you, to speak so callously of your wife's death?"
"A father who knows the value of power. We are now seen as heroes to the ministry and therefore; the Wizarding world. You will understand, in time, that sentimentality is a luxury we cannot afford."
Relaxing back into the chair he looked back to Alphard seeing the boy glare at him.
"We'll have a small memorial for her in the morrow. I suggest you both get some rest."
His words hung in the air like a decree, and the room, charged with tension, seemed to exhale at the prospect of a brief respite.
As Pollux rose from his chair, the air of authority surrounding him, he glanced at Arcturus and his wife. "Prepare for the memorial. It's time to show the Wizarding world the strength of the Black family, even in the face of loss."
The older couple nodded solemnly, understanding the role they played in upholding the legacy.
Both siblings had been excused to their rooms. As they walked up the stairs she could hear him muttering to himself. "Heroes do not sacrifice their own for the sake of power or safety."
As they reached the top of the stairs she looked down to him. "We'll be fine. Come on I want to see Cygnus."
Shaking his head at her "I think I want to be alone for tonight Walburga." he walked away before she could say anything.
She hesitated for a moment, torn between respecting Alphard's need for solitude and her desire to force him to be with her and Cygnus.
Entering Cygnus's room, Walburga couldn't help but notice the change in her youngest brother's demeanor. The now seven-year-old boy looked paler than ever before, a stark contrast to his usual vibrant energy.
"Cygnus? How are you doing?" She felt uncomfortable as the words left her mouth.
The boy looked up from his books wide-eyed. "I did not know, mum just said to stay there, hiding"
Walburga fidgeted with the hem of her robes, searching for the right words in the uncomfortable silence. "That's because... well, there were some people who wanted to do bad things," seeing the boy's eyes begin to water.
Gathering herself, she continued, "What matters is that you are okay."
Walburga shifted uncomfortably, her awkwardness accentuated by the weight of the unspoken truth. "Mother had to go away, and she won't be coming back. But, father will care for you now."
The room seemed to hang in a moment of poignant silence, the reality of the situation settling like a heavy mist.
She did not know how to comfort the people she cared for. It seemed all her tries at being kind and comforting came across as false, even when she truly meant them.
☆ ★ ☆