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1. Andromeda
The day ended as awful as it began.
At breakfast they had been greeted by a snow-white owl– Andromeda's owl– with an envelope in its talons.
It was a fine thing; white with gold accents and familiar loopy cursive. Walburga felt dread pool in her stomach as Cygnus’ nimble fingers pried the envelope open.
What occurred next was screaming and yelling and Walburga’s expensive porcelain plates smashing against the walls. It was a disgusting scene. Nothing at all fitting of a Black.
When Walburga caught a glimpse of the letter her breath hitched.
Andromeda Black was getting married.
To a muggle.
The next ten hours were filled with more of her brother's screaming. Eventually Bellatrix joined in with her own arguments. Narcissa said nothing the whole day.
It seems none of her brother's daughters would sleep easily tonight.
Walburga had shepherded her own sons upstairs before turning in for the night.
Or at least that was her plan.
She has just finished tucking Regulus in– a hard feat as the boy still wasn't used to sleeping alone at night. Walburga wanted to ask Orion if the boys could share rooms for one more year, but she was dismissed before she could finish.
That's when the sound of whimpers catches Walburga's attention.
It's coming from Cygnus’ room.
Walburga knows her youngest brother is quite a sensitive man. Even now, as a grown man, he's prone to hysterics. She had just assumed he had grown out of ending his tantrums in tears.
Nonetheless she pushes the grand oak door open, fully expecting to find him red-eyed and distressed. She would comfort him like a good sister and go on about her day.
She did not find Cygnus.
She finds Druella instead.
Walburga stills. The door is ajar, her hand still gripping the handle.
Druella is sitting on the bed, wedding invitation in hand. Her blonde hair is let down but for once, it's not a pretty sight– instead it's all tangled and dishevelled.
She turns and meets Walburga’s eye.
For a moment nothing happens. Pale grey meets icy blue and the world goes quiet.
Walburga feels her grip on the handle tighten. She walks over to the bed before she can choose otherwise.
Druella doesn't stand or even greet her. She doesn't offer Walburga a place on the bed either.
Walburga opens her hand for the letter.
Druella averts her gaze. The red-rimmed eyes focus on the floor instead, her lips are equally as red– probably from being bitten all day. She doesn't deny Walburga the letter though.
Walburga's eyes flit over the loopy cursive again.
Andromeda Black weds Ted Tonks–
She crumples the paper before she can finish. The name of that mudblood is enough to boil her blood.
“Don't cry,” Walburga drops the crumpled letter onto Druella's lap, “It's not worth it. Not for those people, anyway.”
Druella’s eyes harden, “That's my daughter. She isn't like that– she can't be–”
“She's marrying a muggle, Druella.”
“No!”
Druella sharply gets up. Her hands clenched at her sides, “No! She isn't! Andromeda wouldn't do that– not to me–”
“But she did.”
“No!” Druella screams, “Stop– Stop saying that!”
A new wave of tears pour from Druella's eyes now. She wipes them hastily. Walburga fights the urge to do it herself.
They don't say anything for a long time; the only sound being Druella's ragged breaths. Eventually she takes her spot back onto the bed. She doesn't stop Walburga when she quietly claims a seat next to her.
Druella's eyes tightly close. Tears run down her cheek again but she doesn't move to wipe these ones away.
“It wasn't supposed to be like this,” Druella says, “I was supposed to be there.”
Walburga's brows furrow at that.
“Their weddings,” Druella clarifies, “I was supposed to– I wanted to be there when they all got married.”
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
“I didn't have my own mother at mine so–” Druella's voice cracks, “–I just thought that maybe–”
She digs her palms into her eyes but it doesn't do much to stifle her sobs.
Walburga remembers the day like it was yesterday. She could never forget Druella's wedding day, not truly.
It was a horrible affair.
Druella didn't want it. Cygnus didn't want it.
The only good thing about that day was Druella's wedding dress. It was a lovely thing; all lace and white trim. The veil fit over her blonde curls beautifully. Walburga remembers the envy she felt, how everyone's eyes lingered on the bride, watching her just like how Walburga was forced to watch.
Walburga could never hate her brother but there was no other word to describe what she felt that day.
She was jealous. She was angry. And she hated Cygnus Black.
Cygnus didn't deserve her, not now and certainly not then.
In some ways, Andromeda is lucky.
Sweet Andy would never have to marry a man she didn't love. She would never have to succumb to her mother's fate. This Ted Tonks would never be her Walburga.
Walburga doesn't say this to Druella. It would be of no use. What Druella needs now is to forget. Forget she had a daughter. Forget she loved that daughter.
She doesn't stop herself from holding Druella's hand though. Walburga's thumb caresses the back of Druella's hand.
It is the only comfort she can offer.
2. Bellatrix
Her niece is writing– rather furiously, if you ask Walburga– when she enters the drawing room.
Bella either doesn't remember proper etiquette or she simply doesn't care because she doesn't move to greet her aunt. Instead she continues her rather scornful letter. Walburga raises a brow.
“Who are you writing to?”
“An idiot.”
Walburga doesn't laugh, “If they're such an idiot why bother wasting your time with them?”
“Unfortunately for me,” Bellatrix crosses out a line, “I like this particular idiot.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Bellatrix’s quill stops its furious assault. Her niece's shoulders quickly straighten. She looks up at Walburga, dark brown eyes blown wide, “I just mean– they're a friend. I'm writing to a friend.”
Walburga leans her hip against the desk, peering down at her niece, “A friend?”
“A friend,” She nods.
“Well, friends have names, don't they?”
Bellatrix hesitates. It's only for a second and it goes as quickly as it came but Walburga notices it anyway. “Rita. Rita Skeeter.”
Walburga recognizes that name. A writer– if she remembers correctly– for some gossip column. Platinum blonde hair and beetle-green robes.
It reminds her oddly of golden blonde curls and Slytherin green robes.
“We used to go to school together,” Bellatrix explains when her aunt doesn't say anything, “We still keep in touch, I guess.”
Druella liked to gossip too, Walburga remembers.
She had a knack for it– if you could call talking for hours at an end a talent, anyway. When Druella got started it was like she couldn't stop. Walburga admits that she misses it.
The talking– not the gossip. Walburga didn't really care which Slytherin kissed which Ravenclaw back then. She still doesn't, to be honest. But Druella's honey-sweet voice droning in her ears is a sound she will never tire of.
She pointedly doesn't look at the letter. If she acknowledges it she will have to comment on it. Walburga’s eyes drift back to her niece instead; Bellatrix's black, wild ringlets send a shiver down her spine. She was Druella's daughter but she looked so eerily similar to Walburga that it left a sour taste in her mouth.
She and Druella used to exchange letters too, Walburga remembers. Even after they got married. Even after their peculiar little friendship had ended.
In the back of her mind she silently wonders if Bellatrix has a similar friendship with Miss Skeeter. Walburga quickly ignores the thought.
She can't quite ignore the visual her mind helpfully supplies. Icy blue that stares into pale grey, two pale hands intertwined with one another.
She brushes a curl behind Bellatrix's ear instead, “That's nice, dear.”
Bellatrix, for all her bravado, hides her surprise very well.
3. Sirius
For a boy who claims he hates his family, Sirius seemed to enjoy their wealth far too much.
That's the only explanation for the mess in his room. Honestly, how hard is it to pick up a few clothes once in a while?
Walburga grimaces as she catches sight of the scattered robes, ink-stained paper and other objects she doesn't want to identify through the half-open door.
She walks in before she can think better of it.
She almost trips over an article of clothing causing her to grumble curses under her breath. Sirius was lucky they had house elves to take care of these menial tasks.
“Kreacher,” Walburga snaps her fingers,” Can you–”
Something catches her eye.
On the desk there's a pile of books– some open, some closed– and a few unfinished letters. Something addressed to a Prongs?
But that's not what she's looking at.
Walburga stares at the photograph on her son's table.
It's hidden among the mess, only noticeable if you were looking for it, but it stands out to Walburga regardless. It's a waxy polaroid, all still and bright– nothing like the moving portraits she's familiar with. A muggle device, a voice whispers in her head.
The whispers are drowned out when Walburga catches sight of the photograph’s contents.
It's Sirius, hair sticking in every direction with his tie undone. He has his arm wrapped around a boy’s shoulders. The boy looks charming enough, even with the horrific number of scars littering his face. The boy is laughing.
The boy is laughing because Sirius is kissing his cheek.
It looks sloppy and wild and comforting. It could almost look friendly if Walburga were oblivious enough.
She's suddenly very thankful for the empty house as she collapses onto the chair beside the desk.
Memories attack her once more.
A photograph. Just like the one in her hands.
Except this one consists of two Slytherin girls– one with golden blonde hair and blue eyes, the other with raven black curls and silver eyes. She had been kissing Druella in that picture as well.
She still has that picture, tucked away in the back of her drawers. Tucked away somewhere far.
Walburga wants to forget. She will forget.
A blaring pop brings her out of her trance.
“Mistress called for Kreacher?” Kreacher asks dutifully, hands tucked behind his back.
“What? Oh–” Walburga quickly straightens herself. Her eyes are void and her posture is perfect, “Yes– clean Sirius’ room. It looks disgusting in here.”
“As my Mistress wishes.” Kreacher nods and goes to pick up the strewn clothes.
Walburga pockets the photograph.
It joins her own, at the back of her drawer.
Somewhere safe. Somewhere far from Orion.
Somewhere where she can forget.
4. Narcissa
Walburga detested family dinners. It was painful enough having to share her home with barbarians that she called family, spending time with them just felt like an additional wound.
The Malfoys have joined them this time.
Lucius Malfoy sits across from her instead of at the head of the table like he's supposed to– as their guest it's only proper he's given that seat. He declined the offer almost immediately and sat next to Narcissa.
Newly wedded bliss, one might assume. Walburga rolls her eyes at the thought. As if. The two have been married for a few years but they seem to be as painstakingly in love as they were on their wedding day.
A nasally voice interrupts, “Narcissa, do you have any news?”
Her father’s grin is too wide to ignore. Pollux Black has never been a subtle man. Walburga rolls her eyes again. It's times like this that make her feel like a teenager again, under her parents’ wretched thumbs.
Narcissa's fork pauses. She smiles but it doesn't quite meet her eyes, “Excuse me, Grandfather– I'm afraid I'm a little confused.”
“A baby, darling,” Irma clarifies from the other end of the table, “Are you pregnant yet, is what he's asking.”
Walburga sips at her wine. This was going to be a long dinner.
Lucius to his credit doesn't express his surprise but poor Narcissa seems to be taken off-guard. “Uh– Well– No, no I am not..” She answers. Walburga can only silently applaud her niece for keeping her voice steady.
Walburga's mother seems to physically deflate, her shoulders and smile both dropping. Pollux's jaw tightens.
She hears an awkward cough come from next to her, Regulus most likely.
Down the table, Druella stills. Cygnus was too busy to attend so the only person next to her is Bellatrix. The two look more uncomfortable than Narcissa.
Walburga catches sight of another empty chair. Sirius’ chair.
She downs the rest of her wine.
“Pity,” Pollux says, “There's always time, dear.”
Narcissa just nods, forcing a timid smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Lucius looks like he wants to say something. Walburga prays he keeps his mouth shut.
The table stays quiet after that.
—
The whole affair drowns in her sea of bitter thoughts by the time dinner ends. Walburga had been in a foul mood since then.
The empty chair. Her parents. Orion's prattling after dinner. Cygnus’ absence. It was all grating at her nerves.
The whole house was quiet, an uncomfortable silence that didn't do anything to lift Walburga's spirits. Her husband was most likely already asleep. Bellatrix had left hours ago, swiftly making her exit after that horrid dinner while Lucius and Narcissa had decided to spend the night. She's not sure whether Druella and Cygnus are still awake.
Walburga was on her way to Regulus’ room when she suddenly comes to a halt, her eyes lingering on the guest bedroom– the room Lucius and Narcissa are supposed to be residing in. Against her better judgement, she peers inside.
From the dull light coming from the room and the quiet movement of bodies, Walburga can tell they're both awake. Her eyes catch a glimpse of their silhouettes: Narcissa sitting on the bed, head in her hands with her husband rubbing soft circles into her back. Walburga can hear her niece's muffled sobs.
She leans in closer, hand softly gripping the door handle.
Lucius kisses her temple, a gesture that was probably meant to come off as comforting, except it only makes Narcissa cry even more. He whispers something into his wife’s ear that Walburga didn't quite pick up.
“I know–” Narcissa hiccups, “I know it isn't my fault, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.”
Walburga frowns. She suspects Narcissa's tears have something to do with what happened at dinner earlier.
Lucius kisses her temple again, “It hurts me to see you this upset too, over their words no less.”
It seems she was right. Her hands tighten around the cold metal of the handle. Walburga fights the urge to throw it open and demand Narcissa to stop crying over Pollux’s harsh words– her tears weren't going to sway Walburga's cold father.
Druella went through something similar.
She and Pollux had never gotten on well. Druella was Pollux's first choice for his beloved son but Cygnus was never Druella’s first choice, she had made that quite clear to him in the beginning of their marriage.
Walburga remembers her father's ire towards Druella clearly. She went from his darling daughter-in-law to an ugly stain quite fast. His ire only grew when Druella produced nothing but daughters for his son.
Druella had cried at that, quite similar to the way Narcissa was crying right now . Walburga was the one to wipe away her tears that day.
Walburga had one hand cupped around Druella's jaw while the other was gripping her hand. "Your tears are of no use” Walburga had told her, ”Don't waste them on people like my father. They were cruel and cold but they were the words that Druella needed.
Lucius says none of those things. He holds his wife instead. His arm brings Narcissa closer, guiding her head to lay on his shoulder. Lucius gives her another kiss, the one landing on the crown of her hair. Narcissa doesn't bother fighting off any tears after that, dainty hands coming up to grip her husband tighter.
Walburga leaves after that, letting the door click softly behind her.
After she wishes Regulus a goodnight, Walburga finds herself lingering outside Druella's room. Her fingers close around the handle and gently pull the door open.
Druella is seated at her vanity table in silk robes. Her hair is down, falling behind her in blonde waves. She meets Walburga’s gaze in the mirror.
“Goodnight,” Walburga whispers. She leaves before Druella can answer back.
5. Regulus
Walburga wasn't fond of hosting balls. She absolutely detested it.
Orion enjoyed it though.
He liked showing off their elegant little home. He liked decorating the rooms with expensive trinkets and serving the best food money could buy. He especially liked parading himself around the guests, showing off all his achievements.
The sight made Walburga hide her scoff behind a champagne glass.
She's not quite hidden in a corner but she's not quite in the centre of the room either. Walburga had made her own little space in-between the two; a little table pushed off to the side where she can drink to her heart's content.
She always secured private little areas like this for herself at these atrocious functions. A place where she could wallow in peace.
Regulus was by her side. He was pressed against her side, talking quietly. He didn't seem to notice her crossed arms or the harsh grip she had on the champagne flute.
Walburga didn't mind his presence. She quite liked it, in fact.
She lets her gaze move away from her husband, it was getting embarrassing watching him make a fool out of himself. Her eyes look up at Regulus instead. He's still talking, making occasional gestures with his hands. A certain fondness creeps into her when she takes in the sight.
He's gotten taller, soon he'll be towering over her. She found that she didn't quite mind that either. His hair is long enough to graze the top of his shoulders now too. In certain lights Regulus looks a little bit like Sirius. Not exactly; he's a little shorter, a little smaller but it's close enough.
The thought cracks her heart, sending hairline fractures down the middle. It isn't enough to break her but it comes close.
Suddenly, Regulus grows quiet by her side. He stills, hands dropping to his sides almost instantly. Walburga's brow furrows.
His eyes seem to focus on something across the room. Walburga follows her son's eyeline.
A boy.
A boy with floppy straw color hair and a splatter of freckles on his face. He's dressed quite nicely; dark blue robes that compliment his complexion well.
Walburga squints. She knows that boy.
Barty Crouch Jr. His father worked in the Ministry of Magic.
She's seen him and his father appear on the Daily Prophet many times. Regulus would always read those papers, eyes darting across the page for something. It seems that something her son was always looking for, was standing in her ballroom.
Walburga looks at Regulus again. His eyes are still latched onto the Ministry Official's son, his mouth is slightly agape. His cheeks seem to have gone a shade of dusty pink as well. Walburga almost wants to cuff him about the head for staring so blatantly.
The boy seems to have sensed her son's eyes boring into his skull because he turns around. He seems to immediately recognizes Regulus, a hand coming up to wave in greeting.
Regulus quietly waves back, still dazed.
Walburga clears her throat, “A friend of yours?”
That snaps Regulus out of his trance. He coughs once, a hand coming up to his face before he turns back to her. “Yeah– yeah, a friend, from school.”
Walburga looks at Regulus then back at the blonde boy. “You can go speak to him if you wish, I won't be offended.”
Her son's eyes widen, Regulus steals another glance of the boy. He nods, almost hesitant like he's not sure if Walburga was serious before slowly stalking away.
Walburga's gaze never leaves the two of them.
It never leaves Druella either.
Druella's a few paces behind Regulus and the Crouch boy, eyes shining brightly and talking with such joy. Walburga almost forgot that Druella also enjoys events like this.
She was in her element. She was home.
And for once, Walburga felt like she was too.
+1
They find each other by accident.
Walburga couldn't sleep, she had been tossing and turning all night. Even when she shut her eyes tightly, searching for the reward of sleep in the dark void behind her eyelids, Walburga had come up with nothing.
It was of no use, so she carefully curled out of bed, careful not to wake up her husband and snatched her robe off of her vanity before slowly descending down the stairs.
She wanted to be alone, she wanted to find her own solace in a room that she could pretend was her own.
Walburga was never a lucky woman.
That's how she ends up staring at the back of Druella's frame. She's perched on a loveseat with the fireplace turned on. Her blonde hair that tumbles down her back seems to light up because of the fire, shifting from a warm amber to a pale white whenever she shifts. Druella hasn't noticed her staring yet.
Walburga lets herself admire the woman in front of her for a little while longer, her gaze dropping to the silk, blue nightgown she has on and then back up to her dainty hands where her fingers linger above the warm flames. It was never in question that Druella Black was a beautiful woman.
She doesn't bother announcing her presence, instead she glides over to the fireplace Druella is in front of.
She pointedly doesn't look at her again, grey eyes locked onto the dancing flames instead, but from the corner of her eye she can see Druella's eyes widen; the only sign that Walburga's presence has taken her by surprise.
“Couldn't sleep?” Druella questions softly. Walburga crosses her arms against her chest, still refusing to look at Druella. She only nods in answer.
Druella doesn't seem to take offense at that. She pats the space next to her on the loveseat.
Walburga clenches her jaw once, then twice. Her nails dig deeper into her forearm.
She should leave. Every instinct is telling her to bolt outside the room and run back upstairs. To climb back into bed with her husband and simply forget once more.
Walburga ignores Druella's eyes on her and she ignores the cruel thoughts racing through her mind.
She moves towards the seat offered and instead of sitting next to Druella, Walburga sinks down onto the floor, knees tucked behind her. She lays her head gently onto Druella’s lap.
Druella's lips part in surprise. Walburga can feel the blonde’s gaze all over her but she pays it no heed, choosing to close her eyes and bring a hand to place onto Druella's thigh. She rubs soothing circles onto the silk underneath her fingers and hopes Druella's skin will feel the fondness just the same.
Eventually, after a painstakingly long minute, Walburga feels fingers comb through her hair.
Druella is soft and gentle and just as lovely as Walburga remembered. Her fingers wrap around the dark ringlets, coiling them gently against her pointer before letting it bounce back. They take extra care when they meet a tangle, carding through them slowly.
“What brought this on?” Druella asks. Her voice is shaky. It sounds all wrong.
It makes Walburga look up.
Pale grey eyes finally meet icy blue and Walburga feels her own body start to shake as well. She doesn't look away, no matter how wrong it feels.
“Not sure.” Walburga says. Her hand smooths out a wrinkle in Druella's nightgown but her gaze never strays. “I suppose I just felt like it.”
Druella's lips quirk up, “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
Walburga looks into the endless blue of Druella's eyes once more before closing the distance.
Soft lips press against her own and Walburga feels a hand press against the back of her neck urging her closer. Walburga can only happily comply.
It's not at all angry or desperate or anything like the bitter emotions that have been pooling inside her all these years. This kiss feels more quiet, like the calm after a storm. She chases after it greedily. She doesn't want to let this go. She doesn't want to forget. Not anymore.
That's why when she feels Druella pull away, probably to catch her breath, Walburga follows her lips once more. It's not a conscious decision, not entirely anyway.
Druella smiles into this kiss but she still pulls away. Her hand moves from Walburga's neck onto her cheek. Her thumb rubs absentmindedly against it, like it's compensation for ending the kiss so abruptly.
“Do you want to go to sleep? It's awfully late.” Druella asks against her lips. They haven't pulled that far apart, but it still doesn't feel close enough.
Walburga shakes her head. “I think I'll stay here with you.”
Druella presses a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth, right on top of one of her moles. She feels Druella's smile linger against it.
“Come up here then,” Druella places her hand on top of Walburga's own, the one still rubbing circles onto her nightgown, “I doubt the carpet is very comfortable.”
Walburga complies, moving to her feet swiftly. Druella immediately clasps her hand again in her lap.
They don't say anything, they don't need to.
The only movement in the room is the roaring flames in the fireplace and the chaste kisses Druella sneaks onto Walburga's hands.
Walburga drops her head onto Druella's shoulder and lets her eyes close.
She might not find sleep, she might not find solace. But maybe, just maybe, she might be able to dream of her memories.
For the first time in years, Walburga let herself remember.