The Tragedy of Walburga Black

★𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗𝟑★

(𝟐 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫)

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟓 - 𝟏𝟐 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.

By the time October had arrived, both Sirius and Regulus had returned to Hogwarts. Their silent treatment towards each other had marked the remainder of the summer, each harboring a newfound jealousy towards the other.

Regulus had even gone as far as to request spending weekends at Malfoy Manor with Lucius, or the Black Manor with Narcissa, just to escape the tension between him and Sirius.

Walburga found herself once again alone with Orion, facing his vacant stares and enduring his frequent outbursts of anger.

His missions with the Death Eaters had become increasingly frequent, much to her dismay. She often found herself spending her late nights removing his shoes and cleaning the blood stains off his clothes while he slept exhausted on the sofa.

When she wasn't consumed by worry for his safety, she immersed herself in reading about the crimes he and the Death Eaters committed in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds.

Sipping her hot tea, she laid the wrinkled Daily Prophet on the table as he entered, still clad in the clothes he had worn the day before. Settling across from her, he poured himself a cup of coffee, his movements weary but practiced.

He had aged, a shadow of his former self. His once striking features still held a sharpness but were now marred by the weight of his burdens. His eyes, once bright with vitality, now bore the weariness of countless sleepless nights and the weight of his dark deeds.

He was still the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes on.

Feeling her gaze upon him, he furrowed his brows, his voice gruff from the night's exertions. "What are you staring at?" he asked, his tone tinged with exhaustion and irritation.

Not reacting to him, she gave a small smile. "Not much," she replied, her tone light. "Just admiring my husband, flaws and all." Taking a sip of her tea, she leaned back in her chair, her gaze still fixed on him.

He gave her a sidelong glance, a hint of annoyance in his eyes as he took a sip of his coffee. "I'm the one with flaws?" He scoffed shaking his head at her.

"Well, I certainly don't have any," she replied with mock innocence, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

He rolled his eyes, setting down his cup with a clatter. "Not on the outside you don't," he muttered, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head, but the amusement quickly faded, leaving behind a somber atmosphere. A familiar silence settled between them, a silence that spoke volumes of the growing distance between them despite their years together.

They may have shared a home and a family, but in that moment, they felt like strangers.

"Was this your doing?" she asked, her gaze drifting to the moving image on the cover of the Daily Prophet—a picture of a burning muggle home engulfed in flames.

He reached for the Prophet, his eyes skimming the headlines before he placed it back on the table. His gaze returned to the moving image of the burning muggle home, a vacant look in his eyes. "Yes," he replied.

"If it wasn't their family, it would have been mine. Cygnus and I were quick about it, and killed the family before setting the cottage on fire." He paused, a grim expression on his face. "Bellatrix wasn't as merciful in her attack on the family she targeted."

Her voice was cold and devoid of any empathy as she spoke. "You are simply doing your duty to the Dark Lord."

She knew, ever since the night she had been forced to kill her brother, that there was no going back. In her mind, if she and her family weren't fully committed to the cause, then everything she did—murdering her own kin, all of it—would have been for nothing.