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...
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Succumbing to bed rot had become the natural order of things as her grief surrounded her, suffocating her every thought.
The room seemed to close in on her, the walls echoing with whispers of lost loved ones. Shadows danced around her, feeding her descent into madness. Her once vibrant eyes had dulled, now reflecting only despair. Tears stained her pillow, a constant reminder of her sorrow.
Every breath was a struggle, every heartbeat a painful reminder of the emptiness that had consumed her. She was a prisoner to her own despair, unable to escape the relentless grip of her grief.
She missed Orion desperately—the sanctuary he had provided, even their heated arguments.
Now, she spent her days staring blankly at the ceiling, her mind unraveling. During episodes of prolonged mania, the ceiling seemed to crack and collapse upon her, a nightmarish delusion she couldn't escape.
Other days, she heard the haunting voice of Regulus, murmuring unintelligible words that only deepened her torment. She cried out to him, begging for the torment to end, wishing for the cruel phantoms to leave her in peace. Her grief was a relentless specter, dragging her further into the abyss of her own shattered mind.
She could hear the sounds of glass breaking downstairs, but she remained in her bed, unmoved. The chaos below barely registered in her fractured mind, overshadowed by the turmoil within her
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"Bloody hell," she muttered, pulling out her wand to clean up the broken glass on the floor.
"You just broke a family relic," Narcissa remarked, sitting down on a stool and patting her ever-growing stomach.
As she glanced around the dining room of Grimmauld Place, everything looked grey and lifeless. Memories of countless family dinners flooded her mind, most of which had ended in drama. Leaning against the table, her eyes landed on the spot where Regulus used to sit.
"Right, I'm sure she'll miss this more than her dead son and husband," Alecto Carrow remarked, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she repaired the glass and set it back on the counter.
Sighing, she turned around and leaned against the counter, only to find Narcissa glaring at her.
The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy silence settling over them. Narcissa's hand rested protectively on her swollen belly, her expression a mix of anger and sorrow.
"Have some respect, Alecto," Narcissa said coldly. "We're all dealing with enough as it is."
Alecto rolled her eyes and sighed heavily, crossing her arms. Weariness etched her features as she moved to sit across from Narcissa, placing her wand on the table with a dull thud. Leaning back in her chair, she let out another tired sigh.
