house of black

chapter 24: a portrait of a lady

Grimmauld Place 1979

The old house heaved and groaned under the weight of the world that night. Silence permeated the halls, even the cobwebs knew not to move.

Walburga stood in the hallway, looking upwards at the stairs spiralling above her. Darkness consumed her house- not home for many years now. It wasn't a home when she was forced to marry her cousin, it was almost a home when her two boys were young. But it certainly was not a home now. The corridors were long, so long that her own shouts and cries echoed back to her after she had long finished commanding them.

Her hair hung loose around her arms and the high collar of her gown scratched at her neck. But Walburga resided outside of her body now, the meer torutre of humanity too much for her mind to take. Phantom fingers pulled at her skirts, laughter tickled her neck, tendrils twisted around her ankle as if drawing her down into the fiery pits of hell below.

She hadn't found out for weeks about where her precious boy was. Not until the men had come to her door searching for him and she could offer no answers. She shoved them hard and they pushed back, invading the house in search of the traitor.

"I've not seen that boy since he was fifteen years old!" she spat at them.

"We are not looking for your eldest." they informed her and Walburga's blood ran cold.

She caught glimpses at the marks that burned on their wrists. The same symbol she had seen on Regulus' arm. He did not tell her directly how the ink burned, but she had seen him roll his neck and pink the pale skin between his fingers. Occasionally she had snaked her cool fingers over the skin, but never long enough for the gesture to be too genuine or helpful. The primal urge of motherhood seemed to be buried under years of rage.

Her entire family had always been in agreement with Blood Purity and how the diminishing state of sacred family bloodlines was a WORD to the Wizarding World. She had, after all, married a cousin to preserve their family name. But she, nor either of her brothers had fallen in deep enough to become enthralled with any Dark Lord. She knew Cygnes' girls were involved, perhaps one more so than the other. But she had only ever worried about her son. Regulus was always pale faced and tight lipped about it. How her boy of sixteen had inducted was outside of her knowledge (perhaps in one of the many Christmas' he spent at school rather than in his home with her).

The men found nothing, dipped their head to the lonely woman and left the house without a further word, despite Walburga's protests.

They had not been the ones to tell her that Regulus was dead.

The sky was bright and warm, but it did not warm the woman's skin when she opened the door to see her young niece standing in front of her. Was it the next day? All the evenings burned together.

"Narcissa." she drawled in a bored way, hiding her twitching fingers under the black fabric of her gown. "I am in no mood for company."

"I don't care." The blonde woman said coldly. "I need to speak with you."

"On behalf of your father?" she sneered.

An expression of distaste crossed the young girl's face and she shook her head.

"I only speak to him out of necessity. I have risen well above the likes of him." she told her aunt.

"The likes of me too?" she challenged.

"Yes. But this is family business. I wanted you to hear this from family." she said.

"Firewhisky?" Walburga asked, leading the girl inside.