Toujours Pur

Okay, Alphard hated ballet. That was it. He had had enough. He was only five, but he felt like he had been taking classes for twenty years. His toes curled inside the leather shoes Mother had recently bought him. The wooden floor was freezing, Alphard could feel it even through his tights and shoes.

"Réveillez-vous! Le dos droit comme des arbres, solide et pur!" Father exclaimed, his cane hitting Alphard's hand for more emphasis. Wake up : backs straight like trees, solid and pure, he had said. Thing is, Alphard wasn't so sure he wanted to be a tree. He wasn't even sure he wanted to be here. But he didn't dare say so.

The studio smelled of polished wood and Mother’s floral perfume, which still lingered after she had entered to look at their progress, and mostly cooed at Walburga. Alphard's sister was standing next to him, looking every inch like the perfect Black Heir. Alphard was so tired of hearing those two words he thought there would come a time he would forget the rest of both the English and French vocabulary and only be able to say that. Black Heir.

Walburga was surely looking like a tree, her back and knees straight, her arms rounded perfectly. Head held high, neck stretched, she was looking at Father as if he had just invented the cure to Dragon Pox and was the miracle the world most needed. Typical. Alphard resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Pollux Black walked down the line, his cane tapping the floor with sharp, steady beats, at the rhythm of the piano. The cane always meant something bad. Alphard tensed as Father stopped in front of him, his dark robes swishing slightly.

"Très bien, Walburga." Father said, his voice smooth and deep, before turning his sharp gaze on Alphard "And you, mon fils? Show me the pirouette I taught you yesterday"
Oh no. Oh no no no no no. Please no. Alphard had practiced, he really had, but he knew his pirouette was going to be incredibly short of perfect.

"Well, come on, son." Father said rather impatiently, swinging his cane a bit. If anything was going to get Alphard going, it was that.

He stepped a bit forward, begging for his knees to stop wobbling. Oh, please, come on. The floor was so shiny he could see his reflection. He wished he didn’t look so small. Alphard really wanted to be brave, but his legs felt like the jelly Mother gave him when he was sick last winter.

"Qu'est-ce que tu attends, Alphard!?" Father's voice was like thunder, and Alphard felt it in his chest like a storm.

Alphard set his left foot behind his right one, and positioned his arms accordingly. His good turning side had always been the left one. He inhaled sharply, and the last thing he saw before he pushed himself into the turn was Walburga's subtle superior smirk. Mistake.

Alphard's first turn was beautiful, if you ask him, but it was a double pirouette, and he must have forgotten to keep pushing against the floor, or something like that, because he hopped a bit to finish the last quarter of the turn.

When Alphard set his two feet on the floor and straigthened himself, he was already trembling, anticipating what was coming. He raised his head, and immediately saw his seven year old sister, not longer smirking, but looking at him with utter disgust, like he wasn't worthy of the family name.

He didn't even dare to look at Father, but he could feel the burn of his eyes. And he well knew he was about to feel the burn of his cane.

"Assez." came the cold voice from his Father. Oh, the cold voice was worse than the angry one. The cold voice was the Pollux Black voice through and through. Alphard's eyes were starting to burn and he swallowed so much saliva it was a miracle he didn't choke right there and then. Still, his eyes were prickling, but if he cried it was going to be so much worse. Blacks didn't cry.

"You are clumsy." Father declared, approaching the kid, his cane gently tapping against his hand. Tut tut tut, Father came. The tension was thicker than Pollux's robes. Walburga just stood there, contemplating the scene with a highly neutral and cold expression. "Blacks are not clumsy."

Being a Black was important. Alphard liked the way the word sounded, sharp and special, but sometimes it felt heavy, too. He was sure the cane didn't feel heavy in Father's hands, though.

He was truly devastated to see with his own eyes he was right. Father swung the cane indiferently, hitting Alphard's calves two times. Hard. Alphard feel to the floor on all his fours.

"Blacks don't fall or crumble to the floor. Learn that." Father said, with indifference, and hit him again. Alphard was sure his calves were bleeding. Again. "Get up or next one is going to your back."

Alphard had never scrambled to his feet faster.

"Walburga" Father said, not even looking at her. "Show him how it is done, or be a shame to this family like your brother."

Walburga stepped forward, straight and imperturbed. She braced herself, only for a second. Alphard hoped that maybe Walburga would trip. Just once. Just so he could see what it felt like to win.

Obviously, Walburga didn't fail. In fact, she did a triple pirouette, and landed softly, gracefully. Of course. Walburga always knew how to do things. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t even have to try.
When Father smiled at Walburga, it was like she’d swallowed the sun. Alphard didn’t think Father even knew how to smile at him like that.

"Excellent." He said. "C’est parfait." He turned back to Alphard, his eyes cold again. "Why can’t you be more like her?"

Alphard wanted to cry. He wanted to curl into a ball and cry right there. But if he did that, he would probably never be able to cry again, since Father would certainly gouge out his eyes.

"Walburga knows discipline." Father continued. Alphard hated her. He absolutely despised his sister. Perfect Walburga. The perfect heir. She had it so easy, with all the extra training she had in absolutely everything just so she could be the heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. And what about him? "And you?" Father answered his silent question. "You are a disappointment, not only to our noble family, but to the whole Magic Community. Again."

Alphard nodded, blinking rapidly.

A few hours later, the kid exited the dark studio. Grimmauld Place 12 was silent, the sound of his leather shoes across the marble floor the only sound in the quiet mansion. Mother must had gone to bed hours ago. Probably Walburga and Father too, if they weren't in one of their lessons.

Alphard walked slowly towards the stairs. His tender feet and legs hurt from the long hours of training. He had stayed until his pirouettes were perfect. At least the blood on his calves was now dry.

Alphard climbed the first flight of stairs, dark all around him. The house was alive, he was sure of it.
To be fair, Grimmauld Place was always scary, even in the daylight. All the hallways were filled with ancient portraits of their many ancestors, to which Alphard was starting to learn all the names and history. Now, at night, gratefully they seemed to be all asleep, not glaring at him sternly. But the thing that gave Alphard the creeps apart from all the heirlooms and magical dark artificats he couldn't quite comprehend, were the hanging heads of house-elves in each and every door, swinging slightly with the breeze that came through an open window.

Alphard shivered. The shadows in the corridor looked like crooked fingers in the light of the many accent table's chandeliers. His small hand slid across the bannister, steadying himself. The house had a significant smell, of old books and polish, and something Alphard could only describe as dusty magic. It was in the air, pressing against him, making him feel more little than he already was.

The faint moonlight coming through the tall windows made strange shapes on the walls. Alphard glanced nervously at one, a long, claw-like shadow, and told himself it was just the edge of the chandelier, even though it didn’t really look like one. His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped over the creaky floorboard by the library door.

He wasn’t supposed to be wandering around at night. Father would be furious if he caught him, and Alphard didn’t think his legs could take another hit from the cane. The boy stopped at the top of the stairs, gripping the bannister tightly. He looked down, at how the marble staircase glimmered slightly. It seemed that it never ended.
The house was whispering right? Alphard was five, but he wasn't stupid. He knew Grimmauld Place wasn't a normal house.

And then he heard it.

Voices.

Father's low, commanding, unmistakable voice. Alphard gripped the cold bannister even harder, and leaned over it, trying to see where he was. There. There was a yellow light coming out of his office and casting itself over the hallway. Walburga's higher but steady voice spoke too.

Alphard knew if he was caught he would be in deep, deep trouble. But he couldn't help it. He wanted to know...He always had wanted to know what all the fuss about being heir was about. What made that person so special? He descended the stairs quickly, without making a noise.

Alphard crouched in the shadow of the staircase, the cold marble pressing against his knees. He crawled a bit forward, just enough to see through the door of the study.

Walburga was there, standing straight as a pole, hands behind her back, in a green emerald dress Mother loved. She was listening quietly to Father, who was reciting the Black Family creed, his cane resting against the desk.

"...Nous ne plions pas. Nous ne fléchissons pas. Nous dominons. Toujours Pur." Father ended reciting, placing his gaze in Walburga, who looked like a marble statue. If Alphard hadn't known her, he would have thought she was a ghost. "What are you waiting for? You recite it now. Perfectly, Walburga."

"Yes, Father." She said, her voice detached. She took a breath and began. "Toujours Pur. La pureté est puissance. Le sang est éternel. Le legs est sacré. Les faibles doivent être écartés. Les traîtres doivent être oubliés..."

"NO!" Father's cane hit the desk, making a small crack. Alphard flinched, his heart leaping into his throat, but Walburga didn't even blink. "Again. From the start. You stumbled over the words."

Alphard looked at him, his mouth open. She had absolutely not stumbled over the words. In fact, Walburga may very well had been the person Alphard had heard recite the creed most perfectly.

Walburga looked at the floor for a second, raised her head and started speaking, slowly but equally steady.

"Toujours Pur. La pureté est puissance. Le sang est éternel. Le legs est sacré. Les faibles doivent être écartés. Les traîtres doivent être oubliés. La famille est tout. Le nom est immortel. La loyauté est absolue. Nous ne plions pas. Nous ne fléchissons pas. Nous dominons. Toujours Pur." His sister finished, without a single mistake.

Alphard looked at Walburga in complete awe. 

Father surrounded the desk, standing right in front of Walburga. Alphard knew, had it been him, he would have stepped back, intimidated. Walburga just looked their father in the eyes, waiting.
Father slapped her. Walburga's face turned to the side by the force of the hit, but she turned to look at her father again, like it hadn't even happened. Alphard was shaking.

"You think you are so clever" Father hissed grabbing Walburga's chin. "You think because I am your father, I will tolerate failure."

"I didn't fail." Walburga said calmly. Alphard had never heard her answer Father without him addressing her. He knew immediately it had been a mistake. Alphard braced himself for what was coming.

"SILENCE!" Father yelled, practically into Walburga's face, and this time, she did flinch, although only slightly. "You won't speak unless you are told to speak. You wont answer back to me. If I said you failed, you failed. You are not the Head of House yet, and if you keep this up, you will never be. You will be useless, your life won't have meaning. Don't you understand? I'm doing this for you, this will make you strong. This will make you unstoppable. I'm molding you into the perfect Black, so that there is not even a doubt of who to choose when it comes to the Heir election. You should thank me. Do you understand?"

Walburga gulped. "Yes, Father."

"Good." He said, his voice steady and cold again. "Now turn."

Walburga looked down at the floor before turning slowly, offering her back. Alphard was ready to see Father grab his cane, but instead he grabbed his wand. Alphard didn't understand. What was he about to do?

"Lacero." Father said, almost bored. Alphard had to cover his own mouth not to shout, and this time, tears rolled down his cheeks at the sight of his sister, being beaten up by a whip multiple times.
Walburga just clenched her teeth, closing her eyes hard together, as if she was used to this kind of pain. It was horrible.

The seems on the back of the girl's dress split open from the force of the whip, and their Father stopped, setting his wand aside and adjusting his cufflinks. Alphard saw with horror the white scars strecthed across Walburga's back, under all the blood that was now pooling there.

Alphard was scared his very heavy sobs were about to betray him.

Walburga turned and faced Father, like nothing had happened. Alphard really couldn't believe his eyes.

"Now, let us see." Father said, grabbing his wand again and bending in half in order to be eye to eye with Walburga. Alphard hugged his legs, scared. Pollux pressed the point of his wand to Walburga's temple, delicately, and started speaking. "You are a disappointment." Father's voice echoed around the study "But don’t worry. I’m doing this for your own good. I am molding you into perfection. I’m making you stronger."

Walburga’s lips trembled slightly, but she stayed silent, her eyes unfocused, her posture still unbroken.

Pollux’s expression turned darker as he continued. "Do you see? Do you understand? I do this because I love you. I punish you so you can be the heir. You will be the heir. You can’t fail me, Walburga."

Alphard felt a strange mix of disgust and horror. What was Father doing? Was he altering her memories? Her opinions? Rewiring her thoughts? Was his father twisting his sister's reality, rewriting her memories so she could accept this cruelty as love?

"You failed." Pollux continued, his voice now cold, controlled. "And I am doing this for you. You must understand, Walburga... if you fail, everything will be for nothing. You are nothing without me. You will be perfect. This is how you will be strong."

"I understand." Walburga said, in a soft whisper.

It was barely a recognition. She wasn’t even looking at him anymore, her eyes glassy and distant. Was she even really hearing him anymore? Or was it only the words he had implanted in her mind, repeating over and over like a mantra that she now believed?

Father’s hand fell away from her temple. He looked satisfied. "Good. You understand. Remember this. You are strong because of me. You can never forget that, Walburga. I am your Father, and I shape you for the family. I shape you for our legacy."

Walburga nodded slowly, still expressionless. She didn’t even glance at the raw, bleeding marks on her back.

How long would this last?, Alphard couldn't help ask himslef. Would she ever be the same? How much of her would remain, if anything, once Father was done?

Suddenly, Walburga turned and walked toward the door. Alphard scrambled back, hiding behind the staircase, his heart pounding.

She didn’t see him at first, but when she passed, she paused, just for a moment. She glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes met his.
For a second, Alphard thought she might say something. But she didn’t. She just glared at him, her face as blank as ever. Then she turned away, her back straight, her head held high, and walked down the hall.

When the study door closed behind her, Alphard leaned back against the wall, his little hands trembling. The house seemed darker now, heavier. For the first time, Alphard wasn’t sure if it was the house he was scared of, or the people who lived in it.

After a few minutes, Alphard quickly ran after her, cleaning his tears, protected by the darkness of the night.

"Walburga?" He whispered, as he entered her room, silently.

"What do you want, Alphard?" She answered coldly. She was standing in front of her ornate mirror, cleaning her back with a damp handkerchief.

Alphard gulped, standing by the door. "Are you...are you okay?" He said, not even looking at her.

His sister stopped moving. Silence reigned in the bedroom, and he felt her burning eyes on his head. "You were spying on us. Father and I. That was wrong." She said softly.

"I...I know" Alphard stammered. "But what he did to you? Walburga, that was wrong too."

It was sudden. Walburga turned to look at him, with such rage in her gaze, Alphard stumbled backwards.

"I failed. I deserved everything and more Father did to me. He did it because he loves me, don't you understand? You're just jealous, jealous because he doesn't love you the way he loves me, he doesn't mold you to be the perfect Black." She hissed, in a tone really similar to Father's, which made Alphard's back shiver. She looked crazy.

"Wal...You are just repeating everything Father said to you, don't you realize?"

"Get out." Walburga said, turning to the mirror. "Get out before I cut your tongue for speaking ill of Father."

Her tone was so serious Alphard hurried out the door into his own bedroom. The last thing he thought before he went to bed was how mistaken he had been. Walburga, the perfect heir, the one who never failed, had scars.
Alphard’s breath hitched, and for the first time, he felt something strange, something almost like pity. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her. He didn’t want to feel anything for her. But now he wasn’t so sure.

By next morning, Alphard was sure. Alphard was so sure he hated his sister when she didn't even look at him while she walked through the living room, where he was lying on the couch, a creamy antidote placed on his raw calves' skin, after he had been beaten for spying on Father and his sister.

Walburga had betrayed him.