The Fearsome Name of Riddle

Drunken Affair

1955

As wine warmed her stomach, Victoria enjoyed the sound of her heels clicking on the hardwood floors. She wore black boots with short heels, each step tapping down with a crisp sound that left a lazy smile on her lips. A simple entertainment for her own enjoyment. Abraxas spent most of his time at work in the Ministry, he had long hours and tended to take more. She didn't know if it was because she was home. Sometimes she wondered if her brother hated her guts for leaving. His wife didn't want to make friends either, not after the first few months she had spent at the Manor. She went to every tea party she could, every dinner date. That, Victoria was sure, was because she was home. 

Her foot slipped and her glass tipped. Victoria Malfoy stared at the red liquid pooling on the floor next to her shoe. She dipped her toe into it and spread it across the boards. 

"Victoria." A soft voice called her name, a voice she liked to hear. "Darling, look at me will you." 

The Dark Lady turned to meet her mother's painted gaze. She could see herself mirrored in the oils, animated to make it seem like she was still alive. 

"You know what this behaviour will do to you," Roanna Malfoy said softly, pausing beside a man with one hand on the hilt of a sword and the other clasped around his wand. His father had stood beside William the Conqueror on the boat over to England from Normandy, but her mother shooed him out of his frame nonetheless. "You shouldn't be drinking so much." 

"The wine is there for a reason, mother." Victoria sighed, placing herself down on a long stool opposite to the portrait. 

"It's meant to be enjoyed." Her mother frowned down at her, leaning forward like she wanted to climb out of the painting but couldn't. "Not wallowed in." 

"I am enjoying it." Victoria giggled self-deprecatingly, leaning against the dark wall without her usual grace. "Much more than most of my life so I don't think I'll be putting the bottles away for a while." 

"Victoria," Roanna snapped at her daughter, her soft expression hardening in an instant. "I will not watch you waste away in your melancholy, you have to make the effort." 

"Then don't look," Victoria said bitterly, standing from her seat. "Dobby!" 

"Victoria." 

A cracking pop sounded and the house elf appeared beside her. His large yellow eyes looked up at her, his boney hands clasped in front of him. 

"The moment that my mother steps back into her frame, I want you to take her up to the attic." She spoke firmly, lifting the skirt of her dress as she turned. “I do not want to be nagged.”

"Yes, my Lady." 

"Victoria, you will listen to me," her mother yelled after her as the house elf watched the painting carefully. "I am your mother!" 

“No, you're not!” Victoria whipped round, teeth gritted and glare vicious. “My mother is dead. You are nothing but an echo in oils.”

Roanna clenched her jaw shut and the yelling stopped. She hated the loud noise. The crying baby. Her mother's nagging. All of it was too much for her.

Her tapping shoes slammed down with each charging step. Some days are worse than others and the drink didn't help. Fermented fruit festered her emotions. Her anger burned and sorrow wallowed. Victoria knew only one thing. She was happier in Knockturn Alley with her husband. 

#####

Victoria's room was dark. Her walls were decorated with a deep emerald green wallpaper that had an intricate vine pattern across it. Her dark mahogany bed frame stood to the side of the door, four posts and thick curtains tied back a strap of the same fabric. Lavender lingered in the air, drifting from her vanity desk and the perfume bottle that rested there.