Black Rose [Regulus Black]

12 - irate matriarchs & heartbroken girls

Alessandra's fingers ghosted over the tattoo she had no recollection of getting as she approached Number 12 Grimmauld Place. She'd taken off the bandage too soon as she hadn't known it was a tattoo, and the magic she'd used only slightly soothed her irritated skin.

What had she even done last night?

When she'd gone back home earlier that day, she couldn't help but think that Reg might have been on to something that morning. There was a small voice insistently nagging her, ricocheting about in her head like a stray bullet. She'd done something, something she wouldn't have tried while she was sober, but it was something good because there was not a trace of regret present in her thoughts.

Reg's house appeared on the street, and she twisted the doorknob to open the door, slightly uncertain of herself. It was a chilly night, yet that wasn't why goosebumps were rising on her skin. Her intuition was conflicted, warning her that there was something terrible to come and something exhilarating, and she didn't know if she was waiting in anticipation or dread.

Her thoughts instantly halted, however, when her eyes landed on his mother.

There was something alive about the ghosts of the house as they flickered around Walburga Black menacingly, draping her in slivers of moonlight and shadows that wove together to form an exquisite cape. It was in her name and in her blood, both by marriage and birth, to be someone of the darkness, someone who reveled in the glorious caliginosity the night brought.

And she wore it well.

"You," she spat, the venom in her voice enough to kill a thousand soldiers.

A shiver ran down Alessandra's spine as she took in the sight of the formidable woman in front of her, as she noted down all the things that made Regulus and his mother so distinct yet akin. There were very few similarities, and they were painfully obvious. There were even more differences, but they were only noticed by anyone who bravely delved below the surface.

Walburga Black reminded Alessandra of a magpie, or perhaps even a dragon. Actually, Walburga and the dragon Smaug from the Lord of The Rings were terrifyingly identical. They both spent their days possessively guarding something that didn't belong to them in the first place, allowing their surroundings to turn to rubble and wastelands. Reg may have been her son, but it was fairly obvious at this point that she didn't care about his feelings or emotions, as any regular mother would've. He was a commodity in her eyes, a sort of card in a diminishing pack that she was desperately trying to salvage given the resources. She wasn't just being protective and looking out for her son, Alessandra would've respected that and perhaps even admired her for it. However, that wasn't the case. She was trying to use him for some sort of twisted plan, and was now under the impression that Alessandra was some sort of pest in the large garden that she had spent hours cultivating.

Everything in Sandra's body screamed at her to open that door and run right back out as Walburga took menacing steps towards her, but she held her ground with bated breath, waiting for the strikes to fall.

"HOW DARE YOU?"

It was a miracle Reg wasn't deaf after living with this woman for over fifteen years, because bloody hell was she loud.

"I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE THE MOMENT YOU WALKED IN THROUGH THAT DOOR. I KNEW YOU WERE SOME MUDBLOOD LOVING SLAG HELLBENT ON DESTROYING OUR FAMILY."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied quietly, her jaw clenched as her blood boiled over. She didn't want to say anything bad to or about his mother, not because of how he would react, but because she didn't want to overstep her boundaries and disrespect the woman in her own house. However, her self-restraint was painfully close to snapping every time they had an interaction, and she wasn't sure how long she'd hold out.