Marauder crack

Walburga Black, and the art of discipline

They are phrases that you have heard before. "It can be seen that you enjoy muddying your family's name". Thousands of times. "No, mother". Thousands of different occasions, for different reasons. "I will not have you expelled from this school". They sound empty to him as if his mother were an echo, a shadow. "I know, mother". The same sermon so many times. Identical reproaches.- Can you leave me alone with my son, Headmaster?

Leaning back in his seat, Dumbledore's only gaze moves. He asks Sirius in front of her. "Do you want me out, son?" At that moment, Sirius hates him with all his might. For calling his mother. 

For wanting to leave. For being willing to stay. "Go away". He looks away and Dumbledore limps off. When he comes back in, a while later, the room smells different but everything seems on its site. Old directors sleeping in their paintings, and magic books stacked. Walburga Black sat on her seat, erect and fearsome. And Sirius next to her, mute.

- I hope I don't get any more calls from the school, Sirius. I hope I don't have to come back again.

- Me too, mother.

As they say goodbye, Dumbledore reaches out to shake it. He tries to identify why it feels so cold and what the hell It's that smell that is giving him the chills. When Sirius lifts from his chair, the Burning fury of hatred emits powerful vibrations.

-He's a good boy, Walburga. And it was a mistake to call you. - Something naughty.

- I trust you and your professionals will teach him discipline, professor.

He leaves without looking back. Followed by her son, who looks up and down, with the hair on the face and an unknown storm on the face.

- Are you okay, son?

- Yes, Headmaster.

It is an automatic response. Dumbledore wants to ask more but he couldn't. In return, he tries to smile, gives him a friendly pat on the back, and records the moment when Sirius responds to his approach arching at first contact, closing eyes, squeezing his teeth.

- I'm fine - and everything about him says otherwise. Dumbledore receives the intensity of his thoughts, in the form of reproaches of gall and frost. Sirius says "I'm fine" but it's clearly an accusation. "You left me alone with her, professor. You don't know what my mother is like, professor. You have no idea".

When he is alone in the office, the paintings open their eyes. The old directors are silent and say everything without saying anything. The smell of the room, Dumbledore will never forget, it is the aristocratic blood of the Blacks, a legendary family that worships the power and purity of magic and that prints his lessons with the strokes of the wand when he believes it necessary, even if those blows have to fall on the back of their own children.

"I trust they teach you discipline".

Dumbledore hopes he learns something else.

- We can't call Walburga again, obviously. It would seem reckless repeating the same mistake a second time.

The paintings murmur and nod. Walburga's perfume leaves its mark, it smells for hours.