The Tragedy of Walburga Black

☆𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏𝟓☆

(𝟐 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫)

𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟐𝟑𝐫𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟎 - 𝟏𝟐 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.

"Are you just going to stand there?" she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, as Crouch watched her like an owl from the doorway.

He leaned against the frame, his gaze unyielding as she struggled to stand. Her legs, frail and unsteady, betrayed her, the creaking of her bones echoing in the silence.

"What, now you want my help?" he taunted, his tone dripping with sarcasm as if addressing a petulant child.

In the absence of Narcissa and Lucius, Crouch had become as much a fixture in her life as the Carrow siblings. When the Carrows were sent on a mission by the Dark Lord, a month ago, Amycus had assured her they would return.

But in their absence, it was Crouch who lingered, his presence a grim reminder of the life that once was.

Crouch's grief mirrored her own, a twisted reflection of loss and madness. His devotion to Regulus had driven him to the edge, and now, in the eerie stillness of the house, their shared agony hung heavy in the air.

She looked at him, her eyes searching for something familiar in the sea of madness. His face, etched with sorrow, softened as he gave her an oddly kind smile.

For a moment, it was as if the madness retreated, leaving a glimmer of the boy she once knew.

Pushing himself off the door, he walked towards her, his steps tentative yet purposeful. The weight of his own grief mirrored in each stride. As he approached, Walburga felt a flicker of something she hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity—hope.

He reached her side, his hand extending gently. "Sorry," he said softly, his voice carrying an unexpected warmth.

Her body trembled, not just from physical frailty but from the raw, unending sorrow that had consumed her. She hesitated, the walls of her self-imposed isolation towering around her. But in his eyes, she saw a reflection of her pain and, perhaps, a lifeline.

She hadn't left the room in months. The space had become her entire world, shielding her from the memories lurking beyond its walls.

In her episodes of mania, she often imagined Regulus walking through the door. She would reach out, only to grasp the cold emptiness of reality.

With Crouch guiding her frail body, they exited the room slowly, stepping into the hallway. Walburga immediately closed her eyes against the brightness, overwhelmed by the stark contrast to the dim sanctuary she had confined herself to for so long.

Crouch glanced at her, his grip gentle but firm, ensuring she wouldn't falter. "Take your time," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

She opened her eyes slowly, squinting at first, then gradually adjusting to the light. The hallway stretched before them, familiar yet foreign, each corner holding memories she had tried to escape.

Crouch continued to guide her, step by step, down the hall. Each footfall was a painful reminder of the world she had shut out, of the people she had lost. The silence was heavy, filled with the ghosts of laughter and life that once echoed through the house.

As she passed the bedroom she had shared with Orion, an almost tangible wave of grief washed over her, eager to drown her senses. Each step felt heavier than the last, but she continued, determined to complete the walk.

When they passed Sirius's room, she forced herself not to look, clenching her jaw to suppress the memories.

It was Regulus's room that brought her to the brink of collapse. Her knees buckled as she read the sign just outside his closed door, a cruel reminder of what she had lost. If Crouch hadn't had such a firm grip on her, she would have crumpled to the ground.