Chapter Text
Walburga Irma Black knows the values and morals of being a witch born into the illustrious House of Black.
She's known from a young age her legacy and place in the wixen world... And yet...
"Drusilla, if I am to make it to my 18th year alive, I believe I shall make a dreadful wife to my dear cousin, Orion."
"Orion." Drusilla Carrow scoffs, "Wally, if he shall marry you, then everyone will question the thoughts that go through the great minds of the heads of House of Black."
Nothing. Not a miniscule thought is behind the great minds of House of Black. Walburga cannot say that aloud, however; it's untoward.
"Miss Black! We must hasten, Lady Irma will be most displeased with your state of being!"
Walburga rolls her eyes as she hastily pulls on a proper dress and robes over her rumpled night shirt and bloomers. "Please, Moss," she addresses her house elf of 16 years, "if Mother sees past her own wine glass, I'll eat my stockings dry."
Moss wrings her fingers, eyes flitting from the door, to the clock above her wardrobe and Walburga, herself. "Miss Black-"
"Yes, Moss," she sighs, quickly running her fingers through her hair getting rid of the knots, "I am aware of the time."
Her door slams open, as if a blasting hex was used against it and she's well practiced enough not to flinch at the suddenness of it as she continues braiding her hair.
Her mother strides in, in all her glory, and sneers at her from behind making eye contact with her through her vanity mirror.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you aren't ready yet." Irma tsks. "Your hair is sloppily braided."
Walburga doesn't react. "I am going to be pinning my hair up, Mother."
"It is still sloppy. It is amazing how you hear all of my lessons, yet listen to not one." Irma crosses the room and takes over, undoing the braid and braiding it tighter than before.
"Mother, I shall lose hair with how tight you're pulling." She should've stayed silent.
"We are negotiating your marriage contract, Walburga Irma! It is not done to have your hair loose and improper in front of your betrothed!" Irma all but screeches.
"He is my cousin. We grew up together, least of my concerns is some loose hair." Walburga hisses as Irma pulls her head back with her hair.
"I will not have any upstart foolishness from you today, you wretched girl. This is an advantageous match and you shall be leading our House to greatness with Orion."
Walburga grits her teeth, "Yes, Mother."
I will run the mighty House of Black to ruin.
Days later, she finds herself arms linked with Orion on a chaperoned walk through one of their family gardens. Their chaperone, Lucretia (thank Merlin), a proper 20 feet away.
"I have never seen you so silent during dinner, than I have a few days ago for our contract dinner." Orion says, conversationally.
"Irma threatened me via hair pulling. It was very thrilling, yet I never want to experience such a thing ever again. Who knows what else she would have put me through, if I breathed so much as an interpreted negative way." Walburga intones drily
Orion snorts, "I suppose Irma does bring out the worst in you. Shall we talk about our future marriage, as one does during chaperoned dates?"
"You should know that I have already envisioned our future lives."
"Oh? Do tell, Wally."
She sighs, "I shall be a dreadful wife and an even more terrible mother. Our heir will despise us and our spare will do anything to try and prove his worthiness of being born in the House of Black. You shall die of being poisoned by myself and I will eventually become a bitter portrait cursing anyone who dares to enter our marriage house."
Orion stares at Walburga, not having truly expected an well-thought-out answer. She resolutely does not look at him back. She knows her fate and others of her House, she refuses to be patronized about it.
"Wally..."
"Do not, Orion. I know what the family thinks of me. It is through sheer force of will that I am not medicated through the roof."
Orion hesitates, "What becomes of our House?"
It's then that she stops to look at him. She grins, sending a shiver down Orion's spine.
"It becomes destitute and its only salvation falls in the hands of a half-breed, a Malfoy and a Potter, of all things."
Orions stares at her uncomprehendingly, "Walburga, say you're joking right now. Our House cannot fall into the hands of Abraxas' descendants!"
She shrugs, ("unladylike!" The ghost of her mother yells behind her). "I don't quite know the details of what happens, nor do I care to find out. I just know that it happens at some point, or the other."
"There must be a way to prevent this!"
"Dissolving our marriage contract, perhaps? Or better, my own death. We could make it rather tragically beautiful, make it so Mother has no choice but to grit her teeth and act like a mourning mother." Walburga sighs, wistfully.
Orion inhales deeply, "Wally, we are not orchestrating your death."
"A shame, really."
"We also may not dissolve the contract."
"What a bother." Walburga could care less, really. There has to be an event so strong, so explosive, to change fate's design.
Now, there's a thought...
Walburga doesn't die tragically at the age of 18, like she so desperately wished. She does, unfortunately, become Walburga Black, nee Black. Pity, she wishes she could've been a better mother to her sons. She cannot change fate.