The Tragedy of Walburga Black

★𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗𝟐★

𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟓 - 𝟏𝟐 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.

The summer had been strangely cold, not weather-wise but in terms of the atmosphere within the home. While the sun shone brightly outside, inside the walls of their grand estate, an icy chill seemed to permeate every interaction. It was as though the family's internal conflicts had cast a shadow over the usual warmth of the season.

Each conversation with Sirius seemed to descend into heated arguments, leaving Walburga exasperated and unsure of how to mend the rift. Regulus, often silent and withdrawn, lingered in the shadows, feeling caught between his loyalty to his mother and his empathy for his brother.

He had forged a deeper connection with his mother, breaking through her formidable walls.

Both mother and son had unintentionally left Sirius behind. The oldest son was not blind to the daily tea meetings they had; though he convinced himself that he didn't care.

Orion, however, made a conscious effort to ignore both his wife and his sons.

Walburga stood before the large family portrait that adorned the long hall, its golden frame gleaming in the dim light. The painting depicted the Black family, each member positioned meticulously, capturing their noble stature and proud demeanor. Sirius and Orion, positioned on one side, stood stiffly, their expressions a mix of reluctance and forced compliance.

Walburga's gaze lingered on the image, her thoughts drifting to the day they had reluctantly posed for it, memories of raised voices and strained patience echoing in her mind.

Sighing, she moved past the portrait just barely passing Sirius's room before hearing hushed yells coming from inside. Pausing just outside his room; pressing her ear against the door she furrowed her eyebrows.

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"I think you should apologize to Mother for what you said this morning," Regulus spoke his voice dropping low.

The boy had done his best to avoid any confrontation with Sirius that involved their mother, but what had been said that morning crossed a line.

Sirius, who had been pacing his room, stopped abruptly at his brother's words. He turned to face Regulus, his expression a mixture of defiance and frustration. "Why should I apologize? She's the one who—" he began, his voice rising in agitation.

"You made it seem as though she regrets having us, you speak as if you know how she feels." Regulus interrupted, his tone firm yet tinged with concern. He stood his ground, meeting Sirius's defiant gaze with unwavering resolve.

Sirius's nostrils flared as he glared back at Regulus, his anger simmering just below the surface. "Maybe I do know how she feels," he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness.

"Maybe she does regret having us. Did you ever think of that?" His words were sharp, fueled by years of pent-up frustration and resentment.

Shaking his head, Regulus could feel any courage he had in him fade away; though his anger simmered.

"You're being foolish, Sirius," he said, his tone tinged with disappointment.

"You always think the world revolves around you, but it doesn't. Have you ever considered how much mother defends you to the other purebloods? If she regretted having us, she would have rid herself of us before we were even born." His words held a weight of truth, but also a hint of pleading, as if he hoped Sirius would see reason.

Sirius's scoff was laden with bitterness. "I didn't ask her to defend me," he retorted sharply. "She wasn't defending my honor; she was defending hers. Open your eyes, Regulus. She's not our mother. She may have given birth to me, but she's no mother of mine." His words cut through the air with a cold edge, revealing the depth of his resentment.