They wrinkle like the river
Chapter 1
They wrinkle like the river
Ink drains and turns into swirly lines with the press of the quill against parchment, Walburga Black still isn’t used to seeing her own signature. Her dearest Regulus leans over her shoulder as she practises signing her name; she’s wanting her signature to look nice for her documents.
“I think that one looks nice,” Regulus taps her parchment with his pointer finger, above his short-clipped fingernail sits her name spelled in swirly letters.
“You do?” She looks over her shoulder to look at her baby’s face, he nods, “Yes, try to keep writing it like that,” She nods curtly and drags the quill over the parchment, attempting to recreate the strokes she had made before. Regulus pats the back of her chair and stands straight, Walburga looks up from her work.
“Something wrong, Dear?” Regulus shakes his head, “No, Mother, I am just hungry. Care for a snack?” Walburga smiles, “Yes, please,” Regulus gives her a nod and stalks into the kitchen of their new flat, the pads of his bare feet slap against the linoleum of the kitchen floor as he shuffles around the small kitchen.
Walburga closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, the sound of Regulus’ feet and the refrigerator humming calms her aching nerves. Here, on a wednesday afternoon, within what she believes has to be the smallest apartment in all of England, Walburga Black realises that she has never felt more alive.
She continues to write her name, again and again. Regulus brings her tea and some biscuits, she kisses him on his head and sends him off the Muggle library down the street so he can return his old books and take-out some new ones. And while he’s gone she continues to write her name. She writes until her tea goes cold. Until Regulus heads off to bed, and until she can hear the hoot of the owls and the chirp of the crickets outside her window. Only then does she shut the book she completely filled with her name. She massages her aching wrist with her non-dominant hand as she peeks her head into Regulus room and smiles when she sees that he has gripped onto the stuffed toy that his friend, Dorcas as she recalls, had bought him for his birthday.
Regulus’ door shuts with a soft click and Walburga sways into their bathroom, she brushes her teeth like a muggle would, a habit she quite enjoys, and washes her face with cold water before applying a generous amount of night cream to her skin. She drops the face cloth into the laundry bin and steps into her own room, stripping down to her undies and pulling a silk nightgown over her head. She slips into her bed with one thought on her mind, the thought that has been consuming her consciousness since the day she was divorced.
‘I will get my baby back’