Contemplation
Walburga was currently panicking.
The words of her oath to her account manger rang in her ears as she tried to logically assess her situation and pretend like she had planned for any of this to happen.
She had just kidnapped the boy who lived, the saviour of the wizarding world – and merlin it was so easy how had the boy survived up until now, really it was lucky it just happened to be his grandmother who abducted him never mind a broom-riding and chocolate-laden wizarding creep.
Said boy was currently trying to act all tough and stoic while trying not to spew all over her ridiculously expensive robes from the unexpected apparition and while he was obviously going to fail it was the thought that counts. Gingerly, Walburga spun him around to face the lifeless rose bushes and tried rubbing circles and patting his back in what she prayed was comforting, Harry eventually ceased trying to delay the inevitable and threw up acid on the already suffering plants so she must have been doing something right – or did that mean she had done something wrong?
Merlin’s beard what on earth had she signed up for?
The boy began groaning, for what? She wished she knew – trying not to panic even more, she hurriedly escorted him to the ominous door which swung open upon her approach at tried to keep him from spying the decapitated elf heads hanging motionlessly upon the gloomy staircase. She didn’t remember much about young children but if pleasant company found her decorations macabre at best and petrifying at worst it would probably not be a good first impression for her new grandson.
“Kreacher!” she spat out a harsh whisper and the one living house elf appeared before them with a sharp crack and stared at their new visitor with a look of utmost befuddlement which his recipient returned with equal bafflement.
Smiling a strained appeasing smile she ordered softly. “Kreacher this is Harry, Harry this is Kreacher a house-elf, would you mind escorting him to the kitchen? Perhaps a give him a glass of water as well…” she began mumbling to herself as she nudged the still slightly green boy towards Kreacher before he reluctantly shuffled towards him – breaking the elf in question out of his catatonic state of shock, leaving him to warily beckon him towards the dining area.
At least I’m not alone in my confusion. Yes at least, Walburga did not think she could stand being alone again – maybe that’s why she felt compelled to offer an unprompted and ludicrous invitation to a boy with as much stranger-danger sense as a pygmy puff. Who knows? She’s still trying to figure it out herself.
But what to do? That’s the question, what does one do when you have semi-abducted a child from under his guardian’s noses and are now hiding him in your home? If there is an answer, Walburga doesn’t know it, so the only option is plan B – which she has not made yet.
Sighing deeply, she paced up and down the hall in front of three generations of ancestors whose paintings she had obscured during one of her episodes. She rubbed her face with her lace gloves, trying to distract herself with its texture upon her skin, it did not work so she went back to pacing. She could return him? But then he would have to return to those filthy muggles, and he will never trust you again. She could contact the prophet and expose his living conditions? No, she would be dismissed as mad and hysterical – that damned reputation coming back to bite her. She could ask the ministry for help? No, she technically still abducted him - she could be arrested, or he will just be sent back, and she would be back at square one. Who else could she ask for help? The answer hit over the back of the head as she stopped abruptly. How could she forget?
First and foremost, a Black should stop at nothing to help their family.
She could still vividly remember sitting on her grandfather’s knee – her nose overwhelmed by the deep smell of ancient forests and the unidentifiable smoke from his pipe, back when she was young, and he was the epitome of wisdom in her life. Yes. Harry was a Black too, though his blood may not yet be theirs his magic was and that was more than enough now adays – now there was so few of their magic at all.
Now was not the time to be distracted with thoughts of their demise however, they had hope in their grasp and they would be fools not to hold on for dear life. Striding with a purpose now, she approached the fireplace with determination and for the first time in years, clutched the floo powder with a desperate hand and dispersed them upon the dying flames – watching in awe as they roared back to life – taking a deep breath, she knelt and prayed to magic that she was making the right decision before screeching, “BLACK MANOR!” and submerging her head in the flames.
It was all or nothing.
The green flames engulfed her head and mind, incinerating any thoughts of retreat and making her dizzy with all the rooms flashing past her eyes like a motion-picture.
All of a sudden, the rooms stopped flickering in front of her eyes and settled on a grand sitting room, cast in darkness that made it all the more intimidating. Walburga eyed the unfamiliar plush armchairs and knew immediately that Narcissa must have had a redecorating-spree recently – disrupting her trip down memory lane however, a house-elf dressed in fine, miniature butler robes apparated with a large crack directly in front of her face nearly making her jump straight out of the fire.
“Please state your business!” The thing squeaked out primly and looked down its pointy nose at the deranged woman in the fireplace – Walburga had to do a quick breathing exercise to stop herself from screaming bloody murder at it. No that’s not why she was here.
Mustering her best collected expression, she stated equally as prim. “Please notify Lord Black that his daughter-in-law Walburga wishes to speak with him and that it is most urgent.” The house-elf raised a hair-less eyebrow at that addition but didn’t retort and obediently apparated away once more.
This cursed thing making me wait, her knees were aching painfully by the time, roughly 5 minutes later, the doors to the opulent sitting room burst open revealing a stupefied Arcturus Black.
It appears time has been kind to none of us, she mused as she took in the withered appearance of her father’s cousin as he tried to piece together why exactly his insane daughter-in-law had suddenly emerged from her grief induced hibernation.
Before the war, Lord Black was the epitome of power and pure-blooded nobility– Sleek dark hair, a thin glass-like face, sharp aristocratic features and cold, callous eyes the colour of stars. Now however, that paragon of power had collapsed inwards withs self-imposed age and maltreatment. With his fine hair more grey than black, sallow skin and eyes clouded with misery. Oh, how the mighty fall so they may keep each other company in the coldest pits of hell.
Yet even with his deterioration, his mind still seemed as sharp as a silver knife – head tilted slightly as he analysed the situation from a distant point of view, one not clouded by things like family and the bitter resentment the held for each other, as much as she blamed him for the pressure, the wedding vows, screaming children and her hellish marriage she trusted him with detached and logical decisions like this. At such times she could almost forget her harboured hatred for him. Almost.
“Walburga! This must truly be important for you to contact me of all people.” Snide barstard.
“Unfortunately there is no time for pleasantries, come to Grimmauld place immediately I am not explaining this to you over floo.” A small pathetic part of her relished at the slightly alarmed look that crossed his face at her command.
He screwed his face up in response, “Well at least explain the simplified version, I don’t want to walk into your disaster blind.” What he received however was her joyous and extremely unsettling grin as she delighted in pulling his doomed world from beneath his feet.
“I have an heir.”