The Tragedy of Walburga Black

☆𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐𝟓☆

( 𝟏 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫)

𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝐬𝐭, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟏 - 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.

She awoke early the next morning, the night's rest eluding her again.

She drew herself a warm bath, the steam filling the bathroom with a soothing mist. Taking her time, she washed away the remnants of the previous day.

After her bath, she selected one of her old dresses, the fabric soft and familiar against her skin. She fastened each button with care, and even took the time to style her hair, pinning it up in a manner she hadn't done since before she lost everything.

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the room.

Sitting at her vanity, she gazed at her reflection and sighed, a sad smile on her lips. The woman staring back at her was a blend of who she once was and who she had become.

Through the mirror, standing behind her, she saw him again.

Standing up, she did her best to remind herself that Regulus was not there; he was a figment of her imagination. It was a cruel trick her mind played on her, a manifestation of her grief and longing.

She squared her shoulders, willing herself to remain grounded in the present, to find strength in the reality before her.

Walking out of her door, for the first time in a long time, she walked with a stride; a remembrance of the matriarch, of a strong woman. Her head held high, her steps purposeful, she moved with a grace and authority that had long been absent from her demeanor.

The morning light seemed to follow her, casting a gentle glow around her as if acknowledging her renewed sense of self.

As she made her way down towards the kitchen, she sat down, enjoying the ambiance of Kreacher bustling about, the teapot whistling, the dishes washing, and the warm fire crackling in the hearth.

She took the time to try and feel anything else but sorrow.

"Kreacher," she spoke, her voice steady, causing the house elf to stop what he was doing and look up at her.

"Yes, Mistress?" His eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and attentiveness.

"Begin preparing breakfast, please, and bring me today's Prophet."

Kreacher nodded quickly and scurried off to fulfill her requests. Walburga watched him for a moment, then turned her gaze back to the window, where the first rays of morning light painted the room in a golden hue.

Her moment of peace was shattered when Kreacher arrived, holding a bundle of the new Daily Prophet. He placed it on the table before scurrying off to begin cooking.

Walburga unfolded the newspaper, the rustling sound breaking the serene atmosphere. As she scanned the front page, her heart sank.

"𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃."

Her hands trembled as she read the article, each word cutting deeper into her soul. The defeat of the Dark Lord meant the end of everything they had fought for, everything they had sacrificed.

As she opened it and read how it had occurred, she couldn't believe it. James and Lily Potter are dead. What's more, her eyes widened in disbelief as she read about a boy who had survived it all.

The boy who lived.

The words seemed to leap off the page, echoing in her mind. That was it—just like that.