Back to Black
Walburga knew she was destined for great things. Her mother had insisted as much practically from her birth. Being born into the Ancient and Noble House of Black was a privilege, not a curse. Not a curse.
Walburga was groomed from birth to become the perfect matriarch for the bloodline, her duty to her ancestors was to continue the Black family until the next generation. She took this in stride, never wavering and abiding by her family’s ideals, nothing would prevent her from succeeding her duty.
When Walburga was sorted into Slytherin house, she felt a deep-rooted sense of pride wash over her - she had done it, she had preserved her place in the Black family lineage. From then, Walburga was focussed purely on her studies, maintaining her highest grades and pushing herself to achieve more than what was expected of her. Her free time was spent in the Slytherin common room, studying. A part of her does regret not branching out into the aspects of Hogwarts she truly enjoyed such as Hogsmeade trips and sneaking into the astronomy tower at night but her life was centred around practicality, nothing was hypothetical, it was how she was taught by her mother and she would not disgrace the family name as such.
However, there was one guilty pleasure that Walburga could not resist within her time at Hogwarts and that was her love for music, specifically the grand piano that coincidentally only appears in a room on the seventh-floor corridor. Walburga was merely thirteen when she first discovered the room and its contents. She had a rare break in her schedule and found herself roaming the desolate corridors of Hogwarts late at night. Her school shoes clicked against the cobbled floor, echoing through the hallway with each step she took. As she passed a seemingly empty wall, a noise halted her pace, the sound of gears clicking and shifting caught her attention. "What?" Walburga turned and stared at the newly discovered oak doors on the once empty wall. She stares at it in confusion, the old wooden door was taller than her adolescent form, towering over her but Walburga did not feel threatened, more inclined to explore.
She slowly approaches the door, her nimble fingers brushing hesitantly against the oak, fingertips itching to explore every ridge and valley of the engravings. An accidental increase in pressure causes the door to shift open, revealing a whole new world for Walburga. Inside was a vast expanse of rich, mahogany walls, detailed with fine carvings and elegant pillars. Arches overhead reminded Walburga of a manor house, something she had dreamed of as a child. Each alcove was adorned with a plush seat and several paintings, different from the ones in 12 Grimmauld Place. The floors were an elegant, patterned, marble that enhanced every click of Walburga's shoes as she wandered deeper into the room. The thing that captured her attention at once was the timeless grand piano in the centre of the room, a magnetic pull tugged at her chest as she took the several heavy steps towards the magnificent wooden instrument. Her fingers brush against the sleek wood as she takes a seat on the small, plush bench in front of the keys, she finds a deep, resounding urge to tap the keys with careful precision. Her delicate fingers brushed the cool surface of the keys, coaxing a sweet tune that intensified the pull within her. This was a need, a sense of control in her predetermined life. Walburga returned to this room with each free period she had, outside of her family’s expectations and academic accomplishments, piano resonated with her and she felt compelled to continue her own legacy.
At the end of fifth year, Walburga was introduced to her position on the family tree. Her mother guides her up the rickety old stairs with a hand on the small of her back. Walburga held her head high, her long black hair was tied into a tight bun per her mother's insistence. She kept her posture prim and proper as she climbed the stairs and entered the room she had been admiring for years. A sense of excitement filled her as she would finally get a glimpse of the infamous tapestry that held all of her family members on it.
As her mother and herself stood before the wall mounted tapestry, Walburga was in awe of just how vast her history was. Her gaze locked onto her mother's picture and followed the branch to her own name, "Walburga Black".
"My darling, this is our legacy." Her mother had told her, pride in her tone and satisfaction on her face. "Soon enough, you will carry this legacy on to your own children, and their children after them."
It was a lot of pressure, Walburga felt the heavy weight on her chest and shoulders. The weight of her entire family depended on her for an heir. Her chest heaved subtly, her breathing becoming increasingly heavy as she took the words into consideration. Her mother took no notice of Walburga's plight, instead pointing to another name on the tapestry - Orion Black - according to her mother, he was to be her husband after he leaves Hogwarts. Excellent, perfect, fantastic.
Walburga sighs and nods politely. "Sounds excellent, mother." She replies, her voice held a slight wavering tone. Her husband, a man she was related to and had met briefly during a family gathering some years ago. Do it for the family, a niggling voice resonates in her mind, she nods once more before following her mother out of the room.
Had Walburga known at that moment that her life was to fall apart a mere two years later, she would never have accepted her role in the family.
When Walburga turned eighteen, her life changed drastically. The shift from academic prodigy to housewife was a shift she hadn't expected so suddenly. Her mother had planned an elaborate ball to celebrate her daughter's milestone and insisted Walburga stayed firmly within Orion's presence - to solidify the relationship, she had said.
Walburga agreed, purely to maintain her image and not evoke her mother's rage further after her brother, Alphard, refused to wear such a constrictive suit. She stuck with Orion diligently, her arm hooked around his whilst her other held a glass of champagne as they discussed the politics of the wizarding world. Admittedly, Walburga was moments away from keeling over in boredom, her corset was restrictive and her breathing felt unnaturally quick. When Orion insisted they danced at least once, Walburga internally sighed in defeat, this was her life now, to submit and obey her husband, she accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her to the dancefloor.
Walburga was well versed in the art of waltzing but a part of her itched to play the beauty of the piano in the corner of the ballroom. Orion's touch burned, every inch of pallid skin that came into contact with hers felt like touching hot coals. Walburga maintained her stoic expression throughout the entire dance, never missing a beat or stumbling. She could feel her mother's burning gaze linger on her stiff figure, ensuring she made no mistakes, she was the perfect daughter. She could almost hear her mother’s reptilian hiss of “toujours pur” in her ear. The epitome of perfection. That's who Walburga Black was. That was who she embodied.
By the end of the night, that urge to tap the sleek keys of piano had transpired into a need. She felt compelled, and yet she couldn't leave her position. Orion brings her hand up to his lips and kisses the smooth expanse of skin before letting go. Walburga held back a hiss, an uncomfortable tingling lingered after his touch. She breathes out a sigh of relief after he leaves and she stands solemnly in the foyer, staring up at the ceiling.
"What is wrong with me?" She questions, and receives no answer.
If Walburga thought eighteen was the peak of her disastrous life, she was in for a surprise when she hit twenty-five.
After years of being forced to be around Orion, her mother insisted (rather aggressively) that Walburga dropped her childish nonsense and married the man to continue the family bloodline. Admittedly, Walburga felt an inkling of disgust at the thought of reproducing with her second-cousin-turned-husband but for a family, she was content to obey.
Which led her to stand at the altar of their elaborate wedding venue, hands clasped in Orion's as they exchanged vows. Her veil felt incredibly itchy against her face, her dress slightly too tight against her chest which caused an increasing amount of discomfort for her. She had no say in the design of her dress nor the decorations of her venue, her mother took charge and dictated everything in her favour. If Walburga had her say, the wedding would be a small, private affair, not an elaborate, royal ball as her mother had suggested.
"Toujour Pur." Walburga and Orion repeated after the officiant finished his speech. Orion leaned in first, Walburga finished with a swift peck. She wasn't capable of much more.
If possible, the after party felt like a business meeting. Walburga and Orion sat at the head table in heavy silence, watching their relatives mingle and discuss the ceremony. Walburga felt like a caged animal, clawing for a way out but she remained still.
She felt robbed of a supposedly exciting moment. Obviously she hadn't expected anything other than tradition, but how her mother had described her wedding day felt like a stark contrast to how Walburga currently felt. She felt the overwhelming sensation of pressure on her chest and shoulders, prompting her to sit bolt upright; for the family, always for the family.
If anyone were to ask about Walburga's honeymoon, she would tell them it was acceptable at best. Her honeymoon consisted of nothing but hounding by her mother to begin conceiving a child. Time after time, Walburga tried to conceive a child for her family and yet, nothing. No child would stay, miscarriage after miscarriage, nothing was permanent.
Walburga's entire being shifted after each outcome, ranging from the deepest depths of depression to uncontrollable, seething rage. She was the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, why couldn't she conceive?
"What is wrong with me?" She questions harshly, and, yet again, receives no answer.
After years of unsuccessful attempts at getting pregnant, Walburga was given the news of her successful conception. She was not excited, neither was she overjoyed, she was satisfied. She finally got what she needed. She would continue the bloodline with a new heir, a son.
On November third, nineteen-fifty-nine, Sirius Orion Black was born. And yet…
From the moment Sirius began crying, Walburga felt nothing. She held no connection to the child she had just given birth to and it made her guilty. How could she not feel connected to the life she created for nine months? As she held the crying bundle in St Mungo’s, she battled with the concept of connecting with Sirius, could she connect? Would she be able to connect? Had she failed her duty? No. She had birthed an heir, she had done her due diligence to her family. She was not a failure. Her emotional unavailability with her child was a setback but nothing she couldn’t overcome for the sake of tradition.
Since Sirius' birth, the Black family had breathed a sigh of relief. Walburga's brother, Cygnus, had three girls already meaning Sirius was the first boy of the new generation, making him the heir to the empire. At this revelation, Walburga had an immense feeling of pride for her son, he would grow up to be the perfect son - the ideal son. She would make certain of it.
It had been five months since Sirius' birth and Walburga was finding it increasingly difficult to navigate the world of motherhood. Sirius was constantly screaming and wailing and Walburga couldn't understand why. She had done everything a mother could do, from feeding him, to changing his nappy to rocking him and yet, nothing would shut him up. She had hoped in the five months she spent with the infant, she would at least connect to him, alas she was wrong once again. Every time she looked at the wailing baby, all she felt was annoyance and shame. She felt disconnected and it was tearing her apart.
One night, she finally hit her limit. Sirius was screaming as usual and Walburga had had enough. She climbs out of bed and marches to Sirius' nursery. She stands before the crib and stares at the crying baby stoically.
"What do you want from me?" She yells at him, watching him gaze at her with teary eyes and a trembling lip. "What could you possibly need from me that I haven't already given you?"
She stares at Sirius, heaving from the pent up emotion she had just released. The baby continued to sob, squirming and reaching out for her. Walburga sighs, feeling her resolve shatter as her throat chokes up and her eyes burn with unshed tears. She picks Sirius up and holds him close to her chest, relieved when he stops crying. She slides down against the wall and sobs quietly, the guilt of yelling at her son eating away at her piece by tiny piece.
She looks down at Sirius, her tears dripping against his chubby cheeks and rolling down to his chin. "I'm sorry." She whispers. Finally, an inkling of emotional connection forms between them.
Shortly after Sirius had turned two years old, Walburga discovered her second successful pregnancy. Something felt different this time, she felt excited, another little one in her family. As opposed to her pregnancy with Sirius, Walburga's mother neglected to pressure her about having children, instead claiming that "it's a good idea to have a spare, you never know what will happen to the first". This irritated Walburga but she let it be.
Throughout the course of her pregnancy, Walburga felt an instant connection. She sensed it had something to do with the lack of external pressure giving her freedom to enjoy the pregnancy that she felt robbed of the first time. She found herself touching her belly more often, solidifying the bond between her and the baby.
She found an increasing pull towards the old grand piano in the spare room, unable to refrain from playing a melody or two whenever she passed the door. Sitting on the plush bench felt like a breath of fresh air. No nagging two-year-old, no distant husband, no pressure from her mother, just peace. Her, the baby and the piano. Walburga savoured every moment within that room, a moment of clarity for her mind and a moment to bond with her second child who seemed to enjoy the piano from what she could tell by its activeness within her womb.
Orion held no notable difference, a baby was a baby and no doubt this one would be the same as Sirius. To be honest, he felt more aligned with Walburga's mother, the idea of a spare child could come in handy should their obnoxious two-year-old grow into a failure.
Sirius, for all he was only two-years-old, seemed interested in his mother and her shifted disposition. He constantly wanted her attention but overall remained the same as before the discovery.
December 29th 1961 - 4:34 AM
When Walburga Black locked eyes with her second born son, Regulus Arcturus Black, she knew he was perfect.