In which the untold story of Walburga Black unfolds.
She was a witch before she was a wife, mother, and cruel woman.
⭑⭑⭑
"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...
"It's past noon," Alecto announced as she walked into the room, her tone brisk and unyielding.
Without a glance at Walburga, she drew her wand and flicked it at the curtains. They flew open, letting in a flood of sunlight that chased away the shadows clinging to the room.
Walburga, who had been lying motionless in bed, squinted against the harsh light. She watched, her heart aching, as the ghostly image of Regulus dissolved into the brightness.
Her fingers clutched the bed sheets, knuckles white, as the cruel sunlight laid bare the emptiness of her room—and her heart.
Alecto moved with purpose, her actions mechanical, but there was an underlying gentleness in her movements.
She straightened the room, her eyes never quite meeting Walburga's, aware of the raw wound that still festered within the older woman.
Walburga struggled to sit up, every movement a reminder of the weight of her grief. "He's gone," she whispered, more to herself than to Alecto. "Every trace of him...gone."
Since the night they all had dinner in the kitchen, Walburga had begun to change. The episodes of mania that once gripped her with unrelenting force had lessened.
She had even started to eat regularly, sharing meals with Alecto, Amycus, and Crouch. In the young woman's mind, they had formed a fragile collective, a family of sorts, each one broken by the war in their own way.
Walburga had smiled more, her lips curving with a warmth that had long been absent from her face.
There were moments when the shadows lifted, and she even laughed, a sound so rare that it filled the room with a fleeting sense of normalcy.
Crouch, with his sharp wit, often drew out these rare moments of joy with his sardonic humor.
But it was Amycus who seemed to have the closest bond with Walburga. He had a gentle persistence, a way of coaxing her out of her shell of grief.
It was Amycus who sat with her during her darkest hours, who listened without judgment as she poured out her sorrow.
His quiet presence was a balm to her wounded heart, and slowly, he helped her find glimpses of life beyond her mourning.
Alecto, observing from the sidelines, felt a warmth she hadn't known she could feel in such a place. The girl had learned to quiet the anger that coarse through her bones like a fever, she had no choice.
Walburga turned to Alecto, her eyes reflecting a mixture of lingering sadness and a newfound resolve. "Do you not have duties tonight?" she asked, changing the subject.
Alecto hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes, I do. But Amycus will be here, as well as Crouch, I believe." She huffed, fixing her hair before looking at the woman in bed.
"Now, we can either have a late lunch or tea. Which do you prefer?"
Walburga, still blinking in the sunlight, managed a weak smile. "You—" she sighed, sitting up in bed.
"You really are something else, but tea I suppose," she murmured, her voice wavering as she struggled to get up.
Alecto, smiling, gave a dramatic bow. "I am merely at your service, my lady," she said with a playful lilt.
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