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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"Mrs. Black," a voice echoed from behind as she limped down the stairs of Grimmauld Place, struggling to keep herself upright.
"Alecto," she muttered, momentarily pausing on the staircase and closing her eyes. She turned to face the young girl, her expression weary but defiant.
"I can walk in my own home. I don't need help, especially not now."
Alecto stared at her, struggling to keep her cool and resist the urge to yell.
She watched as Walburga continued to limp down the stairs, the memory of nearly having her eyes clawed out for merely trying to brush the woman's hair that evening still fresh in her mind.
Despite the rising frustration, Alecto bit her tongue, hoping the boys would soon return from their missions.
As Walburga entered the library, she flinched at the sight of the spot where Regulus often sat to read. The memory was a painful reminder of his absence, and her heart ached at the loss.
"What is the date?" she asked, her voice rough and distant, directed into the air. She knew Alecto was standing by the door, waiting silently.
Alecto stared at her, almost afraid to speak about the date. She remained silent for a moment, gathering the courage before finally saying, "October 15th."
Her voice was quiet and shaky as Walburga turned to face her.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken grief. Walburga stared at Alecto, who met her gaze with a mixture of fear and compassion.
Both women braced themselves for what was to come.
"It is the anniversary of his death?" Walburga's voice cracked, the weight of the words almost too much to bear.
Alecto took a step back, sensing the depth of her pain.
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