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Walburga Black was not to be trifled with. Her pride in her noble and ancient house, her ruthlessness, and her stubbornness manufactured fear in her opposers. In her fifty-six years, few had won an argument against her, and fewer still, alive to brag about it.
Yet, the bad luck with the war meant she had to be cautious. Her name did not hold the weight it had before. Instead of threatening, she acted the wounded mother. A woman distraught over her family’s suffering, led astray by men more powerful than her. Ministry men always fell for this trope. As if, Walburga- or any other witch- held less ability than them.
The dark lord did not find witches subservient. He had valued power, had recognized all the issues with the wizarding world and placed it on his own shoulders to ameliorate it. He may be gone, but Walburga was determined to restore her family. If that meant playing the victim, then so be it.
She had built her defense on it, a defense for her sole benefactor, that is.
However, while Bellatrix mirrored her best qualities, she did not share her sense. Too blinded by righteousness, Bella was unwilling to denounce the dark lord.
This would not stop Walburga from contesting her imprisonment, but it did make the process more laborious. Since the Lestrange’s confinement, without trial she might add, Walburga has been dedicated to Bella’s freedom. Her wealth ensuring the finest attorney, her status securing her voice, and her connections finally providing a visit to her niece.
In truth, Azkaban was dreadful; the harrowed halls filled with cries of anguish, lightning serving as the only source of illumination, and the crushing sense of doom caused by the monstrous guards. Walburga held her chin high throughout it all. Albert Runcorn, new to the department of magical law enforcement, quivered beside her. Neither of them had been allowed into Bellatrix’s cell. Yet, Runcorn had opted to stay further down the hall for a semblance of privacy. Bella had been a waif of her old self. It equally pained and infuriated Walburga to see. She had made promises, offering her niece hope in such gruesome circumstances.
The dementors did not crowd her or Runcorn, yet the oppressive sense of unease lingered. The air itself trying to steal ones contentment. Walburga’s skin itched with how weak wrong she felt. Without relief, she too would soon be howling with wretchedness.
A thought struck her.
“Runcorn, may I ask for one more favor?” Walburga asked, lightly grazing his arm.
The small comfort had him melting. He, too, had looked on the verge of a breakdown.
“I cannot forgive him for his crimes, but I would like to say goodbye to my son.”
Runcorn nodded and they set course to cell 390. Just like before, Runcorn remained a respectable distance for privacy.
Walburga was disappointed with Sirius’s wellbeing. Yes, he was worse for wear; however, she herself had subjected him to harsher punishment. His uniform hung loosely and his collarbones more pronounced, but the eyes on his unshaven face remained bright. Rage flared within her; how dare this traitor show such strength. How dare his fortitude outshine Bella’s and her own.
He needed to be brought down.
Sirius did not hide his surprise at his mother’s presence. Yet, he did not rise from his seat on the floor, barely turning his head in her direction. The months of solitude had left his tongue unabashed.
“To what do I owe the pleasure,” he began haughtily, “It’s been years, mother.”
Even behind a cell, he had the audacity to mock her. Walburga wished her wand was not locked away at the entry of the prison. The curses licked her fingertips with her desire. She stalked forward, as close as the bars allowed, towering over him.
“Is that any way to treat the one person who believes your innocence?” Her tone dripped with false kindness.
This caught his attention. He was beside her in an instant. They were eye-level now, at least, with her heels. The last time she had been this close, the top of his head reached her chin. The humiliation of his fleeing to the Potter’s, the disgust of his betrayal, the scorn leading to his disownment felt as fresh as it had that day six years ago.
“Yes, Sirius, as much as it pains me to admit; I do know you.” Walburga laughed, cruel and unforgiving, “I must be the only one alive that trusts your word.”
She paused and watched a rush of emotions filter across his face. Disbelief, discontent, anger, and hurt.
Her voice dropped an octave, her gaze piercing his, “And yet, I will let you rot.”
He held his ground.
“The order will prove my innocence,” he sounded confident.
The smirk grew on Walburga’s face, “And where are they? Where are your so-called friends?”
“The legal system takes time. They-”
“They,” she poured disgust on that word, “have abandoned you.”
“No,” he vehemently denied, “They know me too! If someone as vile as you can see truth, they would have no doubt.”
Walburga watched him pace the length of the cell, fingers clawed into the knots of his hair. His resolve would crumble. She would make sure of it.
“Dumbledore has prestige, power. Others will listen to him, he can get me out.”
Sirius was behaving more rational than she expected, illuminating his terror of his situation persisting.
“That fool has not lifted a finger to aid you. In fact, he seems as content as I in your sentence.”
Walburga could see Sirius struggle with the infallible Dumbledore not holding the answers. The cell seemed to brighten as the traitor’s face fell.
“Moony,” he whispered. He met her eyes once more, “Remus, will come.”
“The wolf?” Walburga questioned his logic.
“It won’t be as easy for him. He doesn’t have Dumbledore’s connections or power, but he’s tenacious.” His confidence grew, “He’s so sodding smart: driven and capable. He’s persevered through much worse. It’ll take time, but he’ll free me.”
The heart, she reasoned. Sirius had led with his mind, providing the easiest solution, and when that failed, turned to his closest ally. How fun to dispel him of this, too.
She laughed, “No inquiries about your arrest have been filed, no acquittal proceedings, not even a verbal protest.”
Walburga paused, continuing in a much more caring tone, “I don’t care what that beast was to you, they all thought you dark. You betrayed your blood for those wretched beings, and they never even trusted you. You will die alone and tormented.”
His mouth was downturned, eyes glassy: a face so close to anguish.
“I want you to remember this, Sirius. I have the power to free you. I would have done everything necessary to bring you home. You may not have betrayed those mudblood sympathizers, but you did abandon me.” Walburga felt like a goddess, “I do not forgive. I will let you rot.”
“Bella will receive everything you could have had. I’m providing her council and the full support of the most noble and ancient house of Black. She will be free and you will suffer.” She could understand the Dementors appeal with sapping happiness, “I have such little faith in your allies that I have reinstated your claim to our Gringott vaults and manors. Unlike proud Bella, you haven’t admitted to your crime. The Lestrange estate has already been confiscated along with their gold because those daft boys were caught in the act. The ministry can’t steal your belongings. Not unless you receive a trial, and we both know that won’t happen. You will die in this cell. Bella will be granted rights upon your death giving us enough time to free her before she amasses her wealth. If your stubbornness allows you a long life, I am still of sound-mind to alter the will and instate her claim regardless.”
Sirius’s features battled with rage and despair in equal measure. She would never admit this aloud, but she had missed that look. It felt akin to eleven years ago as she punished him for his sorting. He looked at her like a vengeful deity. Her magic purred at the idea.
Walburga targeted him for the last time, striving to extinguish any lingering hope, “You are more likely to break yourself out than to expect help. Goodbye, Sirius.”
She felt victorious as she exited the inescapable prison.