In which the untold story of Walburga Black unfolds.
She was a witch before she was a wife, mother, and cruel woman.
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"You failed as a mother; I failed as a son. Can you sit here truthfully, and say you love me? Look in my eyes, and say that you...
"If you don't get out of my way, Crouch, I will not hesitate to hex you into oblivion. She is my aunt. By right, I should be here for her. I have more reason to be here than any of you, so MOVE!"
As Alecto was helping—or more so forcing—Walburga into a clean gown, both women heard the shouting echo through the home. Walburga, drifting in and out of a dissociative state, recognized the voice.
It was strong, commanding, and unmistakably belonged to her kin. The voice could only be Narcissa Black. She was technically a Malfoy, but to the family, she would remain a Black.
She could hear Crouch arguing against letting her up the stairs, his voice rising in frustration.
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed closer and closer, until the door burst open, revealing her niece—a perfect representation of what a pureblood should be. Walburga watched as Narcissa took her in, her eyes widening at the sight.
The room seemed to grow colder, the air heavy with an unsettling silence as Narcissa's gaze traveled over Walburga's disheveled form, taking in every detail of her descent into madness.
Walburga hadn't seen her since the funeral. Narcissa had tried to visit, but Walburga had refused her, even with Lucius' constant pleading to let Narcissa in.
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"Aunt Walburga," Narcissa whispered, taking a cautious step forward. Her hand instinctively rested on her growing stomach, her eyes welling with tears. The sight of her once proud and formidable aunt reduced to this state was almost too much to bear.
Crouch and Alecto remained still as the two women of the House of Black stared wide-eyed at each other. They had been the only ones in the group who had practically moved into the home.
Crouch, because he had no one else, was driven by a sense of duty born from his love for Regulus and his unwavering commitment to the war.
It was this deep-seated devotion that compelled him to care for the mother of the boy he had loved.
Alecto had stayed for her brother. Amycus would arrive every night no matter how exhausted from the terrors of war to check on both women. His guilt eating away at him.
More often than not, the group took turns juggling their duties as Death Eaters and ensuring that at least one of them kept watch over the tormented matriarch.
The eerie silence in the room seemed to pulse with an unsettling rhythm, the air thick with the weight of unsaid words and shared anguish.
Narcissa's eyes, brimming with tears, locked onto her aunt's hollow gaze.
"Leave us," Walburga commanded, her gaze fixed on Narcissa. For a moment, Narcissa thought the order was directed at her until Walburga turned her steely gaze toward the other two individuals in the room.
