In which the untold story of Walburga Black unfolds.
She was a witch before she was a wife, mother, and cruel woman.
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"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...
The Christmas holiday brought a contrasting atmosphere to Grimmauld Place. While the festive decorations adorned the ancient halls, there was an undeniable air of somberness that clung to the Black family home.
The grand entrance hall welcomed visitors with a massive, exquisitely decorated Christmas tree standing tall and proud. The branches were adorned with silver and emerald-green ornaments, glinting in the soft glow of enchanted candles that floated around them.
The walls were draped with velvety, deep green tapestries that depicted scenes of wizarding celebrations from centuries past. Garlands made of shimmering silver and green ribbons crisscrossed along the railings of the grand staircase, creating a dazzling effect as they caught the light.
In the drawing-room, a majestic fireplace roared with magical blue flames, casting a warm and inviting glow. Throughout the house, magical snowflakes gently fell from the ceiling, disappearing before touching the ground. The chandeliers sparkled with floating candles, and silver lanterns floated in the air, casting a soft, ambient light.
As Walburga moved through the halls, the difference of the festive decor against the somber backdrop of Grimmauld Place intensified, creating an atmosphere that was both enchanting and laden with the weight of history.
The air was charged with a sense of duty, each step a deliberate affirmation of her commitment to uphold the legacy of the ancient house.
Knowing that the company would soon arrive she entered Orion's study without knocking.
Orion, seated behind the desk with a contemplative expression, looked up at her entrance. His eyes, tired and burdened, met hers as he stubbed out a half-finished cigar in the ashtray.
"Is it time already?" he asked, the weariness in his voice betraying the weight of the responsibilities and grief.
Walburga, standing tall and composed, nodded curtly. "Yes, the guests will be here soon. We need to present a united front."
He was a broken man. She broke him the day she decided to kill the love of his life, that was the same day she lost him.
She lived with the immense weight of guilt, it attacked her at night - every night. She hadn't had a complete night's sleep since the murder of Eleanor Nott. The nightmares of seeing her face haunted Walburga.
She had the blood of an innocent person on her hands, and most nights she would bite her lips raw and pull at her wavy raven locks trying to rid herself of all that blood.
The weight of her choices hung heavy in the air, and the pain she had inflicted upon Orion was a constant reminder of the irreversible damage she had caused.
She could see the fragments of his former self scattered like shards of glass, a painful mosaic of a man who had once been whole.
Each glance in his direction carried the weight of her actions, a fate worse than any self-inflicted beating she had imposed upon herself.
Orion sighed, the lines on his face deepening. "United front, indeed."
He rose from his chair, adjusting the fall of his robes, and cast a gaze toward Walburga. "Pretending everything is okay has become a skill we've honed, one of the few things we still have in common, Walburga. Let's navigate through tonight; it's something we both excel at."
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