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...
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𝐅𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝟏𝟒𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟐 - 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐂𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲.
The grass was just beginning to peek through the melting snow, its green shoots a stark contrast against the white blanket that was slowly receding. The air was crisp and cold, and the sky was a muted gray, reflecting the somber mood of the scene.
She stood in front of her father and mother's graves, her gaze shifting between the two tombstones. Her father's name was etched in elegant script on one, and her mother's on the other.
They lay side by side, a final cruel reminder of their supposed love. If they ever did one thing right, it was to convince the world that they were right for one another.
Regulus, in all his curiosity, moved from behind her to touch the mossy stone.
"Toujours Pur," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Regulus looked back to Walburga, whose eyes hadn't left the stone angel placed behind her mother's grave.
"Always pure." She moved to look at him; she saw Alphard as a child.
As Walburga spoke those words, memories flooded her mind, transporting her back to a time when she was just a child herself, standing alongside her younger brother, Alphard, in this very cemetery as if they had just buried their mother.
For a fleeting moment, she saw his face reflected in Regulus's, and it stirred something deep within her. She saw the boy she protected at all costs; she saw the boy who loved her at all costs despite everything.
With hesitation, she sighed before forcefully grabbing Regulus and bringing him into her arms. As she held Regulus close, her grip was tight, almost desperate, as if she feared he might slip away from her grasp at any moment. At that moment, her touch was both tender and possessive, as if she were trying to anchor him to her side, to shield him from the uncertainties that loomed ahead.
Regulus, caught off guard by her sudden display of affection, remained still in her embrace, unsure of how to respond. He didn't know what to do with but he knew that he didn't want her to let go. So he very carefully wrapped his arms around her pushing his head closer and gripping her.
As she felt his hands wrap around her she could feel that quiet voice in the back of her head screaming at the discomfort of his warmth. She had learned to silence those emotions, but they came back every time she tried to show affection to her sons.
As if punishing herself for seeking their love. It was a constant reminder of her inner turmoil, of the walls she had built around her heart to shield herself from the pain of rejection.
She had grown used to overcoming it by separating any form of affection between herself and her sons. It had killed a part of her, but she knew from experience how much she hurt the people around her by caring for them. And so, Walburga remained trapped in a cycle of self-imposed isolation, torn between her longing for connection and her fear of causing further harm.
