The Tragedy of Walburga Black

☆𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏𝟗☆

(A/N - For the best reading experience I recommend listening to 'Vicious' by Daniel Hart it's on the book playlist.)

(𝟐 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫)

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟓𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟎 - 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.

As the months passed and winter settled in, Walburga's grief began to lift, if only slightly. She fought against the sadness and the generations of madness in her blood.

Each day was a struggle to keep her mind intact, but she resisted fiercely.

Though she improved and leaned on the Carrows and Crouch, Walburga never spoke of the ghostly visions of Regulus that still haunted her. His memory made real, he would often stand in the corners of her room, leaning against the wall, trying to speak to her but always muted.

She would never tell anyone how sad he looked when she cried to him, nor would she ever reveal to Crouch how Regulus would smile when he came to be with her.

These were her private sorrows, the silent specters of her grief.

Sometimes, she would see him in the mirror while brushing her hair. Regulus never smiled at her; he only looked at her with a profound sense of sadness.

She ignored the notion that no matter how much better she got, no matter how long she lived, she would rather live in her mania, seeing him, than come to her senses and realize he was never really there.

He was her baby, her boy.

Nothing and no one could fill the gaping hole in her heart. She would often try to tell him that, but the specter would vanish whenever she wanted to say she loved him.

Sighing, she placed down the book of tomes that Regulus had never finished reading and stood from his favorite chair in the Library. Stretching out her limbs she wrapped her thin white rober around her thin body.

Here she was, on Christmas night, alone in a library filled with books. Outside, people were dying, fighting a war right beyond her doors.

"It is not my fight," she murmured to herself, trying to silence the thoughts swirling in her mind.

As she looked around the candle-lit room, she wondered if Sirius was out there, fighting. She knew that the Carrows and Crouch were on the front lines alongside the most vile and proficient Death Eaters.

Was Sirius safe? She didn't worry much about his ability to fight; if there was one thing they agreed on, it was the need to always be prepared for battle and to win.

Even if she didn't see it in person, she knew her son was a great wizard. She knew he could handle himself.

Sighing, she shook her head, trying to imagine anything but him. Leaving the library, she wandered through the halls of Grimmauld Place, her presence as haunting as the ghosts that lived in her mind.

As she entered the main room, she sank into a chair, the steady rhythm of heavy rain outside providing no solace. She sat in silence, unmoved by the relentless downpour against the windows.

For over a year, she hadn't dared to step beyond the walls of her home, the sanctuary that had become her refuge.

In the hushed stillness of the room, she confronted the familiar ache of longing. Despite the warmth emanating from the fireplace, it felt cold against the emptiness inside her.

A small, inconsolable part of her yearned for it, for release from the terror of her life.

Perhaps this yearning had always lingered within her, or perhaps it was death itself, mocking her with its cruel reminders.