The large house at the end of Nightingale Avenue seemed, in all forms of the word, dead. Nothing grew on the large front garden, nothing grew in the back garden and nothing grew in between the cracks on their cobbled pathway.
The people living near the house would say it was due to the fire that burned the old house down, but others disagree, waving it off as a homeowner that's too busy to tend to their garden; and that was excusable.
"Everyone's busy nowadays!" They'd say, and everyone would nod their heads in agreement, not really having a thought on the subject.
The owner of the house at the end of Nightingale Avenue, however, was none of these things. She was rich, unemployed and a murderer.
No one knew this, of course, so the owner lived mostly in peace with her daughter, avoiding the muggle neighbours and teaching her infant different spells.
One Thursday afternoon in July, neighbours watched as a heavily pregnant woman and young boy seemingly appeared out of thin air, both seeming oddly cautious as their eyes darted around the street before hurriedly entering the house.
"Freya! Oh, how I've missed you!" Walburga Black cried as she trapped her old friend in a tight embrace.
"I've missed you too, Walburga! Is this Sirius? How old is he?" Freya asked, wanting to catch up with her friend's life.
"Yes it is and he's two. Now, where is that mudblood daughter of yours?" Walburga demanded as she looked around the entrance hall.
"She's upstairs in her room but Heather isn't a mudblood-" Freya began
"But she's not a pure blood! It's just as disgraceful!" Walburga shrieked as she made her way up the stairs, leaving her small son stood awkwardly by the door.
Freya beckoned for him to follow before rushing up the stairs, not trusting her old friend with her part muggle daughter.
"Uhh, Walburga? What are you doing?" Freya asked as she entered Heather's room.
Heather lay on her stomach, idly doodling in her colouring book Walburga stood over her, a look of obvious disapproval on her face.
"She's a disgrace. She will ruin you. You know I'm right, you always knew she'd bring shame." She muttered quietly, anger boiling up inside her.
"You are right, but I'm not going to kill my daughter." Freya replied, trying to be strong but her voice weak.
"You had no problem killing her father." Walburga shouted, just as Sirius entered the room.
Immediately, his eyes went to the other child and he quickly waddled over to her and sat down before colouring in the other page.
"I had no other option!" Freya screamed, causing both two year old to start crying, neither of their mothers took notice, though.
"Tsk, tsk," Walburga mused quietly as she sauntered over to the window and peered out, glaring at the muggles in the street, "Well... you could always just lie." She suggested.
"I- what?"
"Just lie! It's simple, really, tell her she's a pureblood. Only your family and I know and they wouldn't dare let such a scandal out, so you can just lie and tell everyone else he was an American wizard who died due to an unexploded bomb!" Walburga replied, looking rather proud of herself.
"That's not too bad of an idea." Freya replied slowly, as if carefully planning her next move. She was silent for a few seconds but then her eyes changed and anyone could tell that she had made up her mind.
"Oh God! Thank you Walburga!" Freya cried before hugging her again.
"Yes but, I do have one question. Why on earth did you give the girl such a muggle name?"
"Her father wanted it..." Freya answered quietly.
"And her middle name is?" Walburga asked
"Morgana."
"Like Morgana Le Fay? Perfect! Call her by that name!" Walburga demanded.
"Okay... and you're certain this will work?"
"Yes, I am."
-F. Briar
