FIC: Toujours Pur
Here's a Harry Potter fic I wrote for springtime_gen.
I would have posted it months ago, but can't figure out how to copy/paste on my new computer. I'm using my old one for this. The old computer will not be available after today, so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE somebody go to my previous entry and help me out.
Title: Toujours Pur
Characters: Walburga Black
Rating: PG-13
Comments always appreciated. :)
Toujours Pur
1930
Once every month or so Walburga’s father would carry her over to the family tapestry. Holding her up, her arms around his neck, he would point out all their ancestors and tell her a story about what this one or that one had accomplished, and she would try to read some of the names aloud. He would grin proudly and kiss the top of her head when she learned a new one.
“Toujours pur,” he always said. “What does that mean, sweetheart?”
“Forever pure,” she answered. “Our family is the best and we’ll always be the purest of the purebloods, forever and ever!”
“Right!” Daddy hugged her close. “You’re a true Black, Walburga. You’ll make us all very proud, won’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she swore. She meant it. Deep in her heart she knew the Blacks would rule the wizard world forever, and their blood would never be tainted; she would see to it.
“We’ll always be the best. Forever.”
1958
Having spent more than a decade searching for a suitable husband, Walburga was relieved to be married at last.
It hadn’t been an easy search. There were few eligible wizards in Britain whose blood was pure enough for a Black, and fewer still with the appropriate social standing. As the years passed she had begun to feel desperate; it was scandalous for a wealthy pureblood to still be unmarried past the age of thirty. Her reputation had suffered considerably by the time a solution occurred to her: her cousin.
Orion Black was only four years her junior and had been equally unsuccessful in finding a mate, for much the same reasons. While marriage between cousins had gone out of fashion some time ago, it seemed a fine match to Walburga. She could be absolutely certain that their children would be purest of the pure. She wouldn’t even have to give up the Black name! It had taken only a year to bring Orion around to her view of things.
And today it was done: she was Mrs. Walburga Black.
With only two exceptions, the wedding had gone splendidly. The exceptions were both courtesy of her brothers, of course; Cygnus’s new baby screeching in the middle of the ceremony (and his empty-headed wife needing to be shooed out to quiet the brat) and Alphard overindulging in the Firewhiskey (however were she and Orion supposed to share the house on Grimmauld Place with these idiots?). Their disturbances were minor; Walburga’s mood wasn’t much affected. In fact, if the evening continued successfully to the end, she might not even Cruciate her sister-in-law (but Alphard, with his loose tongue, was getting it for sure).
“I wouldn’t worry too much about Alphard,” Orion said, interrupting her thoughts. “Nobody listens to him, especially when he drinks. They’ll forget what he said by tomorrow.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, “but I’m still going to teach him a damn good lesson as soon as he’s sober.”
“That won’t be for quite some time. Champagne?”
She took the glass he offered.
He raised his own glass. “To the future.”
“The future.” Their glasses clinked.
To the future indeed, she thought as she drank. No more fears of disappointing the family. Things were looking up for her at last.
1970
“At last!” Walburga said, striding into the parlour, where Cygnus’s girls were having tea. “Someone’s doing what should have been done long ago.” She laid the front page of the Daily Prophet on the table.
The girls put down their teacups and leaned over to see the headline:
MYSTERIOUS DARK WIZARD AND FOLLOWERS PUBLICLY DECLARE WAR ON MINISTRY OF MAGIC, MUGGLEBORNS
Walburga sat at the table and helped herself to a biscuit while her nieces read the article.
Bellatrix looked up from the Prophet with a triumphant smile. “Finally,” she agreed. “We’ve heard rumours of this wizard at school, but no one knew his name.”
“’Lord Voldemort’?” asked Narcissa. “That can’t be his real name.”
“Who cares if it isn’t?” Bellatrix snapped. “The point is, he’s taking action! Soon the Mudbloods and blood traitors will be grovelling at our feet.” She chuckled with glee.
“Exactly, Bellatrix,” said Walburga, finishing her biscuit. “And, as members of the noble Black family, I expect all of you to support this Lord Voldemort completely, and assist his cause every chance you get.”
“Yes, Auntie,” said Narcissa, nodding. “But why do they call themselves ‘Death Eaters’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Shut up, Cissy!” Bellatrix got up and began pacing excitedly. “My friends and I are already prepared. We’ve got all of Slytherin House under control; all the new first-years learn right quick what to do about Mudbloods. We show them what we do with traitors, too.”
Narcissa, who had just finished her first year, glared at Bellatrix. “You also use the firsties for target practice,” she grumbled.
Bellatrix ignored her. “I can’t wait to finish at Hogwarts. I want to be where the real action is, with the Death Eaters. The war had better not end too quickly.”
Walburga beamed with pride. Her eldest niece was a true Black, just like herself; occasionally wished she had a daughter like Bellatrix.
Not now, she scolded herself. This wasn’t a time for daydreaming. She had two fine pureblood sons, who would find a wonderful environment Hogwarts when they were old enough to go (how fortunate that the older Slytherins were so socially conscious!), and a new world order was coming. For now, that was enough.
She picked up the Prophet and rose from the table to spread the news to the rest of the family, but the sight of her second niece gave her pause. Andromeda was silently sipping her tea, ignoring her sisters’ chatter. Her face was devoid of expression.
“Andromeda? We haven’t heard a peep out of you.”
Andromeda put down her cup and met Walburga’s eyes. “What exactly do you think the Death Eaters are planning to do with the Mudbloods?” she asked.
“Wipe them out, of course! Haven’t you been paying attention? Honestly, you children can’t keep your head out of the clouds for two minutes, can you?”
“As in, kill them all?”
Bellatrix looked over. “Do you know any other definition of ‘wipe them out,’ moron?”
“Right, of course. Sorry.” Andromeda went back to her tea. “Pity I’ve got my O.W.L.s next year. I’ll be awfully busy.”
Walburga sighed. “Yes, that is disappointing. Especially since those pathetic Mudbloods won’t put up much fight. The war could be over before you leave Hogwarts.”
Bellatrix grinned at Andromeda. “Don’t worry, I’ll save some for you.”
Andromeda smiled back. “I’ll be forever in your debt.”
“That’s sweet of you, Bellatrix,” Walburga said. “Now where are your parents? We’ve got to organize a celebration.”
1971
“Gryffindor?!”
Walburga crumpled the parchment in her hands and threw it angrily at the fireplace. It missed. With an inarticulate snarl she pointed her wand at the wretched letter and obliterated it in a flash of flame, scorching the floor.
“Mum?”
“What?” she growled.
Regulus flinched and seemed on the verge of running for cover. “What’s wrong?” he asked timidly.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is your stubborn arse of a brother! Do you know what he’s done this time?”
Regulus shook his head.
“He’s gone and been sorted into Gryffindor House! Can you believe it? After all these years we’ve spent raising him with Slytherin values! This is outrageous! Sirius is the firstborn son! It’s his duty to be a credit to the family in everything he does. And around he goes, mindlessly rebelling every chance he gets! He knows Blacks have always been Slytherins! How can I show my face in pureblood society if my own son seems determined to humiliate me? Families fall apart if they don’t produce good, loyal sons! Whatever am I going to do?”
Regulus shuffled his feet. “Aren’t I a good son?”
“I’m not talking about you,” she said. “A Gryffindor in the family; what a disaster.”
“Maybe it won’t be so b-“
“Be quiet, Regulus, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“I’ll have to send Sirius a Howler, make sure he knows what he’s done. But you listen to me, Regulus: you had better not follow in your brother’s footsteps if you want to call yourself a Black. Are you listening?”
“Yes, Mum. I understand.”
1972
It would have been a perfectly nice Christmas dinner, if not for the blood traitor.
Bellatrix, now a full-fledged Death Eater, told the family about the Dark Lord and his future plans for the conquered Mudbloods; Sirius, Regulus, Andromeda, and Narcissa were home from Hogwarts (where Regulus had been sorted into Slytherin, like a proper Black); distant relatives were visiting from mainland Europe. Everything went beautifully until the traitor ruined it all, the rotten little whore.
Right in the middle of dessert Andromeda, who had been looking a tad green all evening, jumped up, ran for the bathroom, didn’t make it, and vomited copiously (and noisily) on the hallway floor. Still in view of some of the guests!
Cygnus immediately stormed over and hauled her away, Kreacher appeared and cleaned up the mess, and Bellatrix launched into a tale of her grandfather’s work in Magical Law Enforcement, but the damage was done: everyone had lost their appetites. They retired to the parlour for drinks.
If that had been the only disturbance, Walburga might have been willing to forgive her niece. But no, the bitch was just getting started.
After a long and vigorous scolding from her father, a pale and shaky Andromeda returned to apologize to the family and guests, only to turn ghostly white and faint in front of everyone! Alphard, who had been a Healer at St. Mungo’s (before his drunkenness got him sacked; Walburga was itching to disown the embarrassing wretch), offered to help. His diagnostic spells revealed that Andromeda was pregnant. Pregnant! And not married, or even out of Hogwarts!
Needless to say, the festivities were over.
They sent the children and guests to their bedrooms, and Walburga, Orion, Cygnus, and Druella sat down to deal with Andromeda (who, it turned out, had been hiding her condition for some time already). But no matter what they threatened she would not reveal who the father was.
In the end they resorted to Veritaserum. Andromeda put up a hell of a fight. It took all four of them to force her to swallow the potion, and then they got quite a shock.
The bitch was a blood traitor, carrying the whelp of a Mudblood.
“So,” said Orion, after they had taken Andromeda’s wand, restrained her, and sealed her securely in her bedroom, “what are we going to do with her?”
“We get rid of the Mudblood’s whelp inside her,” said Cygnus, “and make sure he never touches her again. We’ll have to kill him.”
“Of course we’ll kill him,” Walburga said. “But she’s our first priority.”
“We need a potion-maker,” said Druella. “There’s a potion that causes miscarriage, but it’s illegal. You can only get it if you know certain people, very dodgy and vulgar, low-class types. I don’t think any of us has those kinds of connections, do we?”
They didn’t.
Druella continued, “We can’t make it ourselves. It’s difficult, and the slightest mistake turns it into a horrible poison.”
“What about Horace Slughorn?” said Orion. “He can probably make it, or find out where to get some, and he'll be very discreet.”
“Isn’t there a curse that kills an unborn baby and rips it out of the mother?” asked Walburga.
“We can’t do that!” Druella cried. “It’s dangerous. Half the witches who try it die! I’ve even heard that Grindelwald tortured prisoners with that curse. I’m not going to risk killing my daughter.”
“Frankly,” said Walburga, “it’s your daughter’s fault we’re in this position, and anything that happens to her should be regarded as richly deserved punishment!”
Cygnus had been staring at his wife. “Just how did you come to know so much about this subject, Druella?” he asked.
“I . . . I - Alphard. I was talking to Alphard one day and he told me all about it. He was drunk, of course. You know how he can be.”
“Are we contacting Slughorn or not?” Orion asked.
“Not yet,” said Walburga. “We have a larger problem: Andromeda herself.”
“Yes, obviously she needs to be taught a serious lesson - perhaps we should have her kill the Mudblood herself - but shouldn’t we take care of the pregnancy first?” said Cygnus.
Walburga shook her head. “She’s a blood traitor, Cygnus. She’s three months pregnant and hasn’t disposed of it. What if she intended to give birth to that thing, knowing its status? If we kill the father, there are more of them out there; a girl who’ll spread her legs for a Mudblood will do it for anyone at all! What if she’s fucking other Mudbloods as well? She’s a scarlet woman, a disgrace to the family.”
Orion nodded gravely. “We’ll have to disown her, Cygnus.”
Druella gasped. “Disown? Cygnus, you can’t, please!”
“Shut up,” Walburga snapped. “It gets worse. It’s not just Mudbloods. What if her standards are so low she’ll breed with werewolves and their ilk? Or even -“ she shuddered a little “- Muggles?”
The men muttered disgustedly at this. Druella choked back a sob.
“She is a danger to the blood of Wizard kind itself! By the Dark Lord’s laws, Andromeda should be put to death.”
Druella was stunned. “Walburga, you can’t really mean that! Death - no, no - I beg you, please!” She began to cry.
Walburga gritted her teeth. “Druella, stop that damned blubbing. I have an alternative: tomorrow we’ll lock her away somewhere and start breaking her down. Do whatever it takes to destroy her will completely. Then we re-teach her the importance of her pure blood. I think we can salvage her this way. Cygnus, do you agree?”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s a good plan. But I still want that baby and the Mudblood gone.”
“Naturally. Orion, see Slughorn about that potion as soon as you can. Cygnus, write to Hogwarts and tell them your daughter is ill - spattergroit perhaps? - and will not return in January. And you were right, she should kill the Mudblood herself. We’ll use the Imperius curse if necessary. And for Merlin’s sake, Druella, stop blubbing!”
Walburga went to bed that night still furious. They would save the honour of the Blacks, but a lot of relatives knew enough about Andromeda’s shameful condition to cause them some embarrassment (stupid, sodding, drunken Alphard and his loose, drunken tongue!). The fucking blood-traitorous strumpet would pay dearly.
But when they went to fetch her in the morning, she was gone.
1976
“What did you say?” Walburga demanded.
Sirius tossed his hair back and glared at his mother. “I said, the whole damn lot of you are a bunch of cowardly, inbred, trumped-up, pathetic old sods, and I’m leaving! I hope I never see you again.” With that, he turned away, swung his sack of belongings over his shoulder, and headed for the front door.
Walburga followed. “Don’t you turn your back on me, Sirius!”
He opened the door. “Shut it, Mother,” he called back.
“You’re only sixteen. You’ll come crawling back soon,” she spat, a vein pulsing in her forehead. Nobody told her to shut it! He’d be getting a very harsh lesson indeed when he returned.
He stopped in the doorway and looked back, contempt in his eyes. “If I ever come back here I’ll kill myself,” he swore. “In fact, I might even take you with me, rid the world of its ugliest old hag.”
Blood roared through Walburga’s forehead vein. Her hands clenched into fists, relaxed, clenched again, and pulled out her wand. A horrible curse was on the tip of her tongue - she wasn’t sure which one - when something yanked her wand arm down.
“What are you doing?!” Regulus asked, eyes wide. “I could hear you two shouting all the way from the third floor! What’s going on?”
“Bugger off, you stupid sod,” said Sirius, who also had his wand out.
Regulus released Walburga’s arm, startled. “Sirius, what -“
“You deaf? I said fuck off!”
Regulus backed away into the hall, apparently shocked speechless by his brother’s words.
Walburga restrained herself from trying to curse Sirius again. “If you take one more step,” she warned, “you will never be welcome in this family again. Do you hear? You’ll come to nothing but ruin! And when you and your so-called friends are at the Dark Lord’s mercy, you’ll be on your own! We won’t come to your rescue!”
Sirius scoffed. “Fine! Do your worst! I’d rather die than be rescued by you lot!” He stepped outside and slammed the door.
“Mum? What was that about?”
Walburga didn’t answer. She whirled around and stormed to the family tapestry. Pointing her wand at her elder son’s name, she cried, “Incendio!”
As she extinguished the flames before they could damage the surrounding names, she heard Regulus come up behind her.
“Is he still outside?” she asked him.
“No. He summoned the Knight Bus.”
She wrinkled her nose. The Knight Bus, what a horrible, undignified way to travel. She wiped her stinging eyes with her sleeve and turned to face her remaining son.
“Regulus,” she said grimly, “from now on you have no brother. No one is ever to speak his name. Understood?”
Gazing mournfully at the still-smouldering tapestry, he nodded.
Walburga’s vision was blurring. She wiped her eyes again and forced her anger to the back of her mind. “Look at me,” she said.
He obeyed.
“You are now my sole heir, Regulus. It’s up to you to make up for this betrayal. The family must keep its position of honour in the Dark Lord’s eyes! Will you show the world what it means to be a true Black?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Of course you will, son. You’ve become a fine boy.”
Regulus smiled, a sweet, hopeful smile. “I’ll make you proud, Mum, I promise,” he said.
“Your father and I are counting on you,” she continued. “Our family name and our pure bloodline must be preserved, and it all depends on you now.”
“What about Narcissa and Bella?”
“They will protect the bloodline, but their children won’t have the Black name, will they?”
He shook his head.
“That’s why we need you, Regulus.” Walburga reached out and grasped his shoulders. “Keep the family in the Dark Lord’s favour, and make sure the name lives on. Toujours pur, remember?”
“Forever pure,” he nodded. “I understand.”
“Excellent.”
She pulled him into an embrace. He laid his head on her shoulder and hugged back with surprising ferocity.
“I know you’ll do right by us,” she said, releasing him. “Don’t mourn your former brother; he is nothing to us.”
He nodded again, but didn’t meet her eyes.
“Look at me! I know you looked up to him, but he is a traitor. He betrayed you. Forget about him.”
He straightened his back and said firmly, “Yes, Mum. I have no brother.”
Walburga smiled and stroked his hair. “Good. I think the family is in good hands.”
1978
Walburga was enjoying a good book by a late-night fire with her favourite wine (Kreacher’s special recipe, made just for her) when her son burst in.
“What are you doing here, Regulus? I thought you were spending Easter at Hogwarts.”
“And Hogwarts thinks I came home,” said Regulus. He grinned and removed his cloak. “I was out doing something important. I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“Well, spit it out then! What have you been up to?”
Still grinning, he sat down across from her. He leaned forward, pulled up his left sleeve, and held out his arm.
Walburga shrieked. On Regulus’s forearm was a Dark Mark, the sign of the Dark Lord himself!
“Oh, Regulus! You’ve joined the Dark Lord’s army?”
“Yup!”
She leaped to her feet, pulled him out of his chair, and threw her arms around him. “This is wonderful news! My son a Death Eater! Such an honour!”
“Mum, my arm - you’re hurting me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear.” She let him go and they sat down again. Regulus carefully fixed his sleeve and smiled sheepishly at her.
“I just got the Mark tonight,” he said. “It’s still a bit sore.”
“You must have met the Dark Lord,” said Walburga.
He nodded.
“How lovely for you! What’s he like?”
Regulus lost his smile. “He’s, erm, impressive. Very powerful.”
“Anything like Bellatrix has told us?”
“Well,” he said slowly, “he’s more intimidating than she says. A lot more.” He looked away. “To be honest, he frightens me.”
Walburga turned a stern gaze his way. “Regulus, Blacks cannot be cowards.”
He glared at her. “I’m not a coward!”
“How is anyone to know that if your own leader frightens you? No son of mine should be afraid of anything!”
“I know.”
“Then get over your fear! You should be thrilled to serve him, like Bellatrix is.”
Regulus opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking and fidgeted in his seat. Walburga frowned; was he thinking of arguing with her?
“You’re right,” he eventually said. “It’s probably just nerves, my first time meeting him in person and all.”
“Of course I’m right,” she said.
For a while the two of them just sat and enjoyed the fire’s warmth. When Walburga caught herself dozing off, she shook herself awake, rose, leaned over and kissed Regulus’s cheek.
“I’m very proud of you,” she said. “And you won’t be seventeen for months yet! You’re younger than Bellatrix was when she joined!” She took his hand. “Come, we have to wake your father and tell him the news. He’ll be as proud as I am.”
1979
Dear Mum and Dad,
I’ll be dead when you read this. If you find it at all.
They’ll probably make up some story about how I died. Or maybe they’ll just say I couldn’t handle the work and ran. Whatever they say, it’s a lie; they’re all liars.
I can’t tell you the truth. All I can say is that I’m never coming back.
I’m sorry I can’t be the perfect son you always wanted. I really tried, but I just can’t.
You probably don’t know what I’m talking about. I wish I could tell you, but that would only make things worse. Just believe whatever you want, you’ve always been good at that.
I don’t know what else to say, except goodbye.
I love you.
Regulus
I would have posted it months ago, but can't figure out how to copy/paste on my new computer. I'm using my old one for this. The old computer will not be available after today, so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE somebody go to my previous entry and help me out.
Title: Toujours Pur
Characters: Walburga Black
Rating: PG-13
Comments always appreciated. :)
Toujours Pur
1930
Once every month or so Walburga’s father would carry her over to the family tapestry. Holding her up, her arms around his neck, he would point out all their ancestors and tell her a story about what this one or that one had accomplished, and she would try to read some of the names aloud. He would grin proudly and kiss the top of her head when she learned a new one.
“Toujours pur,” he always said. “What does that mean, sweetheart?”
“Forever pure,” she answered. “Our family is the best and we’ll always be the purest of the purebloods, forever and ever!”
“Right!” Daddy hugged her close. “You’re a true Black, Walburga. You’ll make us all very proud, won’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she swore. She meant it. Deep in her heart she knew the Blacks would rule the wizard world forever, and their blood would never be tainted; she would see to it.
“We’ll always be the best. Forever.”
1958
Having spent more than a decade searching for a suitable husband, Walburga was relieved to be married at last.
It hadn’t been an easy search. There were few eligible wizards in Britain whose blood was pure enough for a Black, and fewer still with the appropriate social standing. As the years passed she had begun to feel desperate; it was scandalous for a wealthy pureblood to still be unmarried past the age of thirty. Her reputation had suffered considerably by the time a solution occurred to her: her cousin.
Orion Black was only four years her junior and had been equally unsuccessful in finding a mate, for much the same reasons. While marriage between cousins had gone out of fashion some time ago, it seemed a fine match to Walburga. She could be absolutely certain that their children would be purest of the pure. She wouldn’t even have to give up the Black name! It had taken only a year to bring Orion around to her view of things.
And today it was done: she was Mrs. Walburga Black.
With only two exceptions, the wedding had gone splendidly. The exceptions were both courtesy of her brothers, of course; Cygnus’s new baby screeching in the middle of the ceremony (and his empty-headed wife needing to be shooed out to quiet the brat) and Alphard overindulging in the Firewhiskey (however were she and Orion supposed to share the house on Grimmauld Place with these idiots?). Their disturbances were minor; Walburga’s mood wasn’t much affected. In fact, if the evening continued successfully to the end, she might not even Cruciate her sister-in-law (but Alphard, with his loose tongue, was getting it for sure).
“I wouldn’t worry too much about Alphard,” Orion said, interrupting her thoughts. “Nobody listens to him, especially when he drinks. They’ll forget what he said by tomorrow.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, “but I’m still going to teach him a damn good lesson as soon as he’s sober.”
“That won’t be for quite some time. Champagne?”
She took the glass he offered.
He raised his own glass. “To the future.”
“The future.” Their glasses clinked.
To the future indeed, she thought as she drank. No more fears of disappointing the family. Things were looking up for her at last.
1970
“At last!” Walburga said, striding into the parlour, where Cygnus’s girls were having tea. “Someone’s doing what should have been done long ago.” She laid the front page of the Daily Prophet on the table.
The girls put down their teacups and leaned over to see the headline:
MYSTERIOUS DARK WIZARD AND FOLLOWERS PUBLICLY DECLARE WAR ON MINISTRY OF MAGIC, MUGGLEBORNS
Walburga sat at the table and helped herself to a biscuit while her nieces read the article.
Bellatrix looked up from the Prophet with a triumphant smile. “Finally,” she agreed. “We’ve heard rumours of this wizard at school, but no one knew his name.”
“’Lord Voldemort’?” asked Narcissa. “That can’t be his real name.”
“Who cares if it isn’t?” Bellatrix snapped. “The point is, he’s taking action! Soon the Mudbloods and blood traitors will be grovelling at our feet.” She chuckled with glee.
“Exactly, Bellatrix,” said Walburga, finishing her biscuit. “And, as members of the noble Black family, I expect all of you to support this Lord Voldemort completely, and assist his cause every chance you get.”
“Yes, Auntie,” said Narcissa, nodding. “But why do they call themselves ‘Death Eaters’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Shut up, Cissy!” Bellatrix got up and began pacing excitedly. “My friends and I are already prepared. We’ve got all of Slytherin House under control; all the new first-years learn right quick what to do about Mudbloods. We show them what we do with traitors, too.”
Narcissa, who had just finished her first year, glared at Bellatrix. “You also use the firsties for target practice,” she grumbled.
Bellatrix ignored her. “I can’t wait to finish at Hogwarts. I want to be where the real action is, with the Death Eaters. The war had better not end too quickly.”
Walburga beamed with pride. Her eldest niece was a true Black, just like herself; occasionally wished she had a daughter like Bellatrix.
Not now, she scolded herself. This wasn’t a time for daydreaming. She had two fine pureblood sons, who would find a wonderful environment Hogwarts when they were old enough to go (how fortunate that the older Slytherins were so socially conscious!), and a new world order was coming. For now, that was enough.
She picked up the Prophet and rose from the table to spread the news to the rest of the family, but the sight of her second niece gave her pause. Andromeda was silently sipping her tea, ignoring her sisters’ chatter. Her face was devoid of expression.
“Andromeda? We haven’t heard a peep out of you.”
Andromeda put down her cup and met Walburga’s eyes. “What exactly do you think the Death Eaters are planning to do with the Mudbloods?” she asked.
“Wipe them out, of course! Haven’t you been paying attention? Honestly, you children can’t keep your head out of the clouds for two minutes, can you?”
“As in, kill them all?”
Bellatrix looked over. “Do you know any other definition of ‘wipe them out,’ moron?”
“Right, of course. Sorry.” Andromeda went back to her tea. “Pity I’ve got my O.W.L.s next year. I’ll be awfully busy.”
Walburga sighed. “Yes, that is disappointing. Especially since those pathetic Mudbloods won’t put up much fight. The war could be over before you leave Hogwarts.”
Bellatrix grinned at Andromeda. “Don’t worry, I’ll save some for you.”
Andromeda smiled back. “I’ll be forever in your debt.”
“That’s sweet of you, Bellatrix,” Walburga said. “Now where are your parents? We’ve got to organize a celebration.”
1971
“Gryffindor?!”
Walburga crumpled the parchment in her hands and threw it angrily at the fireplace. It missed. With an inarticulate snarl she pointed her wand at the wretched letter and obliterated it in a flash of flame, scorching the floor.
“Mum?”
“What?” she growled.
Regulus flinched and seemed on the verge of running for cover. “What’s wrong?” he asked timidly.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is your stubborn arse of a brother! Do you know what he’s done this time?”
Regulus shook his head.
“He’s gone and been sorted into Gryffindor House! Can you believe it? After all these years we’ve spent raising him with Slytherin values! This is outrageous! Sirius is the firstborn son! It’s his duty to be a credit to the family in everything he does. And around he goes, mindlessly rebelling every chance he gets! He knows Blacks have always been Slytherins! How can I show my face in pureblood society if my own son seems determined to humiliate me? Families fall apart if they don’t produce good, loyal sons! Whatever am I going to do?”
Regulus shuffled his feet. “Aren’t I a good son?”
“I’m not talking about you,” she said. “A Gryffindor in the family; what a disaster.”
“Maybe it won’t be so b-“
“Be quiet, Regulus, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“I’ll have to send Sirius a Howler, make sure he knows what he’s done. But you listen to me, Regulus: you had better not follow in your brother’s footsteps if you want to call yourself a Black. Are you listening?”
“Yes, Mum. I understand.”
1972
It would have been a perfectly nice Christmas dinner, if not for the blood traitor.
Bellatrix, now a full-fledged Death Eater, told the family about the Dark Lord and his future plans for the conquered Mudbloods; Sirius, Regulus, Andromeda, and Narcissa were home from Hogwarts (where Regulus had been sorted into Slytherin, like a proper Black); distant relatives were visiting from mainland Europe. Everything went beautifully until the traitor ruined it all, the rotten little whore.
Right in the middle of dessert Andromeda, who had been looking a tad green all evening, jumped up, ran for the bathroom, didn’t make it, and vomited copiously (and noisily) on the hallway floor. Still in view of some of the guests!
Cygnus immediately stormed over and hauled her away, Kreacher appeared and cleaned up the mess, and Bellatrix launched into a tale of her grandfather’s work in Magical Law Enforcement, but the damage was done: everyone had lost their appetites. They retired to the parlour for drinks.
If that had been the only disturbance, Walburga might have been willing to forgive her niece. But no, the bitch was just getting started.
After a long and vigorous scolding from her father, a pale and shaky Andromeda returned to apologize to the family and guests, only to turn ghostly white and faint in front of everyone! Alphard, who had been a Healer at St. Mungo’s (before his drunkenness got him sacked; Walburga was itching to disown the embarrassing wretch), offered to help. His diagnostic spells revealed that Andromeda was pregnant. Pregnant! And not married, or even out of Hogwarts!
Needless to say, the festivities were over.
They sent the children and guests to their bedrooms, and Walburga, Orion, Cygnus, and Druella sat down to deal with Andromeda (who, it turned out, had been hiding her condition for some time already). But no matter what they threatened she would not reveal who the father was.
In the end they resorted to Veritaserum. Andromeda put up a hell of a fight. It took all four of them to force her to swallow the potion, and then they got quite a shock.
The bitch was a blood traitor, carrying the whelp of a Mudblood.
“So,” said Orion, after they had taken Andromeda’s wand, restrained her, and sealed her securely in her bedroom, “what are we going to do with her?”
“We get rid of the Mudblood’s whelp inside her,” said Cygnus, “and make sure he never touches her again. We’ll have to kill him.”
“Of course we’ll kill him,” Walburga said. “But she’s our first priority.”
“We need a potion-maker,” said Druella. “There’s a potion that causes miscarriage, but it’s illegal. You can only get it if you know certain people, very dodgy and vulgar, low-class types. I don’t think any of us has those kinds of connections, do we?”
They didn’t.
Druella continued, “We can’t make it ourselves. It’s difficult, and the slightest mistake turns it into a horrible poison.”
“What about Horace Slughorn?” said Orion. “He can probably make it, or find out where to get some, and he'll be very discreet.”
“Isn’t there a curse that kills an unborn baby and rips it out of the mother?” asked Walburga.
“We can’t do that!” Druella cried. “It’s dangerous. Half the witches who try it die! I’ve even heard that Grindelwald tortured prisoners with that curse. I’m not going to risk killing my daughter.”
“Frankly,” said Walburga, “it’s your daughter’s fault we’re in this position, and anything that happens to her should be regarded as richly deserved punishment!”
Cygnus had been staring at his wife. “Just how did you come to know so much about this subject, Druella?” he asked.
“I . . . I - Alphard. I was talking to Alphard one day and he told me all about it. He was drunk, of course. You know how he can be.”
“Are we contacting Slughorn or not?” Orion asked.
“Not yet,” said Walburga. “We have a larger problem: Andromeda herself.”
“Yes, obviously she needs to be taught a serious lesson - perhaps we should have her kill the Mudblood herself - but shouldn’t we take care of the pregnancy first?” said Cygnus.
Walburga shook her head. “She’s a blood traitor, Cygnus. She’s three months pregnant and hasn’t disposed of it. What if she intended to give birth to that thing, knowing its status? If we kill the father, there are more of them out there; a girl who’ll spread her legs for a Mudblood will do it for anyone at all! What if she’s fucking other Mudbloods as well? She’s a scarlet woman, a disgrace to the family.”
Orion nodded gravely. “We’ll have to disown her, Cygnus.”
Druella gasped. “Disown? Cygnus, you can’t, please!”
“Shut up,” Walburga snapped. “It gets worse. It’s not just Mudbloods. What if her standards are so low she’ll breed with werewolves and their ilk? Or even -“ she shuddered a little “- Muggles?”
The men muttered disgustedly at this. Druella choked back a sob.
“She is a danger to the blood of Wizard kind itself! By the Dark Lord’s laws, Andromeda should be put to death.”
Druella was stunned. “Walburga, you can’t really mean that! Death - no, no - I beg you, please!” She began to cry.
Walburga gritted her teeth. “Druella, stop that damned blubbing. I have an alternative: tomorrow we’ll lock her away somewhere and start breaking her down. Do whatever it takes to destroy her will completely. Then we re-teach her the importance of her pure blood. I think we can salvage her this way. Cygnus, do you agree?”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s a good plan. But I still want that baby and the Mudblood gone.”
“Naturally. Orion, see Slughorn about that potion as soon as you can. Cygnus, write to Hogwarts and tell them your daughter is ill - spattergroit perhaps? - and will not return in January. And you were right, she should kill the Mudblood herself. We’ll use the Imperius curse if necessary. And for Merlin’s sake, Druella, stop blubbing!”
Walburga went to bed that night still furious. They would save the honour of the Blacks, but a lot of relatives knew enough about Andromeda’s shameful condition to cause them some embarrassment (stupid, sodding, drunken Alphard and his loose, drunken tongue!). The fucking blood-traitorous strumpet would pay dearly.
But when they went to fetch her in the morning, she was gone.
1976
“What did you say?” Walburga demanded.
Sirius tossed his hair back and glared at his mother. “I said, the whole damn lot of you are a bunch of cowardly, inbred, trumped-up, pathetic old sods, and I’m leaving! I hope I never see you again.” With that, he turned away, swung his sack of belongings over his shoulder, and headed for the front door.
Walburga followed. “Don’t you turn your back on me, Sirius!”
He opened the door. “Shut it, Mother,” he called back.
“You’re only sixteen. You’ll come crawling back soon,” she spat, a vein pulsing in her forehead. Nobody told her to shut it! He’d be getting a very harsh lesson indeed when he returned.
He stopped in the doorway and looked back, contempt in his eyes. “If I ever come back here I’ll kill myself,” he swore. “In fact, I might even take you with me, rid the world of its ugliest old hag.”
Blood roared through Walburga’s forehead vein. Her hands clenched into fists, relaxed, clenched again, and pulled out her wand. A horrible curse was on the tip of her tongue - she wasn’t sure which one - when something yanked her wand arm down.
“What are you doing?!” Regulus asked, eyes wide. “I could hear you two shouting all the way from the third floor! What’s going on?”
“Bugger off, you stupid sod,” said Sirius, who also had his wand out.
Regulus released Walburga’s arm, startled. “Sirius, what -“
“You deaf? I said fuck off!”
Regulus backed away into the hall, apparently shocked speechless by his brother’s words.
Walburga restrained herself from trying to curse Sirius again. “If you take one more step,” she warned, “you will never be welcome in this family again. Do you hear? You’ll come to nothing but ruin! And when you and your so-called friends are at the Dark Lord’s mercy, you’ll be on your own! We won’t come to your rescue!”
Sirius scoffed. “Fine! Do your worst! I’d rather die than be rescued by you lot!” He stepped outside and slammed the door.
“Mum? What was that about?”
Walburga didn’t answer. She whirled around and stormed to the family tapestry. Pointing her wand at her elder son’s name, she cried, “Incendio!”
As she extinguished the flames before they could damage the surrounding names, she heard Regulus come up behind her.
“Is he still outside?” she asked him.
“No. He summoned the Knight Bus.”
She wrinkled her nose. The Knight Bus, what a horrible, undignified way to travel. She wiped her stinging eyes with her sleeve and turned to face her remaining son.
“Regulus,” she said grimly, “from now on you have no brother. No one is ever to speak his name. Understood?”
Gazing mournfully at the still-smouldering tapestry, he nodded.
Walburga’s vision was blurring. She wiped her eyes again and forced her anger to the back of her mind. “Look at me,” she said.
He obeyed.
“You are now my sole heir, Regulus. It’s up to you to make up for this betrayal. The family must keep its position of honour in the Dark Lord’s eyes! Will you show the world what it means to be a true Black?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Of course you will, son. You’ve become a fine boy.”
Regulus smiled, a sweet, hopeful smile. “I’ll make you proud, Mum, I promise,” he said.
“Your father and I are counting on you,” she continued. “Our family name and our pure bloodline must be preserved, and it all depends on you now.”
“What about Narcissa and Bella?”
“They will protect the bloodline, but their children won’t have the Black name, will they?”
He shook his head.
“That’s why we need you, Regulus.” Walburga reached out and grasped his shoulders. “Keep the family in the Dark Lord’s favour, and make sure the name lives on. Toujours pur, remember?”
“Forever pure,” he nodded. “I understand.”
“Excellent.”
She pulled him into an embrace. He laid his head on her shoulder and hugged back with surprising ferocity.
“I know you’ll do right by us,” she said, releasing him. “Don’t mourn your former brother; he is nothing to us.”
He nodded again, but didn’t meet her eyes.
“Look at me! I know you looked up to him, but he is a traitor. He betrayed you. Forget about him.”
He straightened his back and said firmly, “Yes, Mum. I have no brother.”
Walburga smiled and stroked his hair. “Good. I think the family is in good hands.”
1978
Walburga was enjoying a good book by a late-night fire with her favourite wine (Kreacher’s special recipe, made just for her) when her son burst in.
“What are you doing here, Regulus? I thought you were spending Easter at Hogwarts.”
“And Hogwarts thinks I came home,” said Regulus. He grinned and removed his cloak. “I was out doing something important. I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“Well, spit it out then! What have you been up to?”
Still grinning, he sat down across from her. He leaned forward, pulled up his left sleeve, and held out his arm.
Walburga shrieked. On Regulus’s forearm was a Dark Mark, the sign of the Dark Lord himself!
“Oh, Regulus! You’ve joined the Dark Lord’s army?”
“Yup!”
She leaped to her feet, pulled him out of his chair, and threw her arms around him. “This is wonderful news! My son a Death Eater! Such an honour!”
“Mum, my arm - you’re hurting me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear.” She let him go and they sat down again. Regulus carefully fixed his sleeve and smiled sheepishly at her.
“I just got the Mark tonight,” he said. “It’s still a bit sore.”
“You must have met the Dark Lord,” said Walburga.
He nodded.
“How lovely for you! What’s he like?”
Regulus lost his smile. “He’s, erm, impressive. Very powerful.”
“Anything like Bellatrix has told us?”
“Well,” he said slowly, “he’s more intimidating than she says. A lot more.” He looked away. “To be honest, he frightens me.”
Walburga turned a stern gaze his way. “Regulus, Blacks cannot be cowards.”
He glared at her. “I’m not a coward!”
“How is anyone to know that if your own leader frightens you? No son of mine should be afraid of anything!”
“I know.”
“Then get over your fear! You should be thrilled to serve him, like Bellatrix is.”
Regulus opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking and fidgeted in his seat. Walburga frowned; was he thinking of arguing with her?
“You’re right,” he eventually said. “It’s probably just nerves, my first time meeting him in person and all.”
“Of course I’m right,” she said.
For a while the two of them just sat and enjoyed the fire’s warmth. When Walburga caught herself dozing off, she shook herself awake, rose, leaned over and kissed Regulus’s cheek.
“I’m very proud of you,” she said. “And you won’t be seventeen for months yet! You’re younger than Bellatrix was when she joined!” She took his hand. “Come, we have to wake your father and tell him the news. He’ll be as proud as I am.”
1979
Dear Mum and Dad,
I’ll be dead when you read this. If you find it at all.
They’ll probably make up some story about how I died. Or maybe they’ll just say I couldn’t handle the work and ran. Whatever they say, it’s a lie; they’re all liars.
I can’t tell you the truth. All I can say is that I’m never coming back.
I’m sorry I can’t be the perfect son you always wanted. I really tried, but I just can’t.
You probably don’t know what I’m talking about. I wish I could tell you, but that would only make things worse. Just believe whatever you want, you’ve always been good at that.
I don’t know what else to say, except goodbye.
I love you.
Regulus