Walburga's New Clothes
"Nooooooooo! Get out, get out!"
Walking down the hallway, Orion winced at the high-pitched screech that echoed throughout the house. Great, just what he needed; by the sounds of it, a ghost or ghoul was loose in the house. Pausing at the top of the staircase, he listened out for it.
"I absolutely refuse to believe this is happening! This cannot be, not today! Oooooooh!" a female voice shrieked.
A crack sounded to his left, and Orion saw one of the House-elves running past, skinny, green arms shielding his head. Yes, there was definitely a mad spirit in the house.
Sighing, he gripped the polished bannister and walked down the stairs, careful to avoid any steps that would creak. Slowly, he made his way to the parlour door, listening to the inhabitants within.
"My evening is ruined! Absolutely ruined!" the voice shrieked again.
"Calm down, Walburga, you're over-reacting again," a male voice said.
"Don't you tell me to calm down! What a mess this is. Orion! Orion, where are you? We're already late. Orion!"
Orion shook his head, refusing to enter the grand room. His lovely wife seemed to believe that his whole life revolved around pleasing her, particularly adhering to her every beck and call. Well, she would just have to wait. Ensuring that the majority of his body was still concealed, he cracked open the door a little, peering inside the room.
Walburga was pacing the room, her hands by her side in fists and cheeks red. Her eyes flashed as she continued wailing, "My whole evening is ruined!"
His brother-in-law, Alphard—the owner of the voice he had heard before—stood against the fireplace, rolling his eyes at his sister. He did not appear worried by the mad look in her eyes, most likely used to it from growing up with the woman. Regulus, on the other hand, seemed to be the only one trying to calm her down.
"Mother, please, stop worrying," Regulus said and held his hands up. "It'll be alright."
"Alright? Alright? Of course it's not going to be alright! How dare she do this to me! This is so inconvenient."
Copying his uncle's gesture, Regulus rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother, I'm sure Grandmama died on your wedding anniversary just to spite you."
Ah, so that was what this what about. Walburga hadn't said anything earlier when he showed her the owl he had received informing him that his mother had passed away. He wasn't surprised, really; even he had not been able to muster up the sadness one would normally expect when a relative died. When she had not said anything as he excused himself to get ready for the night, he had assumed no more would be said about it, save for the possibility of what would come of the house—Black Manor was nice, but Grimmauld Place offered close proximity to the hub of the Wizarding world.
As he now watched on, Walburga seemed enraged by the death. "I wouldn't put it past that witch! Sneaky old bat, I'm sure she calculated it just right."
Striding over to the mantle piece—Alphard wisely ducking out of the way—she picked up a large, crystal vase that had been his mother's wedding gift to them. Aiming for the far wall, she thrust her wrist forward, huffing as the glass shattered into a thousand tiny pieces on impact.
"Was that really necessary?" Alphard asked, his eyebrow raised.
Instead of calling for the house-elf, or withdrawing his wand—the boy unnecessarily keen to maintain Ministry rules on underage magic, Orion noted with annoyance—Regulus darted forward and began picking up the pieces. It was not long before he pulled his hand back with a grimace, a small bead of blood welling up on his fingertip.
Walburga turned to him, eyes narrowed as she saw his cut finger. "Great, just great. Now my only son is trying to ruin the day for me as well! Regulus, care to explain why are you bleeding all over my new rug?" Pinching her nose, she continued with a huff, "I swear, some people are just so inconsiderate."
"You know, Walburga, with your current attitude, you make me yearn for the virtues of our great-aunt," Alphard stepped in, flicking his wand and repairing the vase.
"Isn't Great-Aunt Cassiopeia dead?" Regulus asked, sucking on his fingers.
Alphard turned to him, a smirk on his face. "Precisely."
Walburga glowered at him. Alphard didn't flinch as most people would have, making her cheeks turn an even deeper shade of crimson. Turning to the mantle clock as it struck six o'clock, she once more yelled, "Orion! Where are you? Hurry up downstairs; we're late!"
Orion stepped away from the door, his wife's fury palpable. Not for the first time in his life, he felt sorry for those in the room with her; if they had not been blood, they surely would not have still been standing. He waited a few minutes before he dared to peek inside again, watching to see what had become of his wife's anger.
Walburga had walked to her throne of an armchair, hands shaking by her side. As soon as she eased herself into the chair, her brother walked over, a casual smile on his face and full wine glass in his hand. Proffering it to her, he asked, "Well, are you going to visit your father-in-law?"
Accepting the drink without so much as a thank you, Walburga blinked. "Absolutely not. I'm going to go out for our evening as planned and try to make the most of it."
Stepping away from the door once more, Orion shook his head. Walburga was nothing more than a spoilt princess. He didn't much care for Alphard, but the way his wife was treating him, —and their son, for that matter—disturbed him. It was one thing to assert authority over lesser Witches and Wizards, but to treat her own flesh and blood as she was? Well, she really needed to come back down to Earth.
Glancing down at the package he held in one hand, he wondered if she really deserved the present he had bought her. Perhaps she would learn some humility if he cancelled their dinner? Turning around, he retreated to the stairs and began ascending them.
His foot was on the third step when a pained cry resounded, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Swinging around, he flew back down the stairs and to the parlour door. Looking inside, he saw his wife standing, wand in hand and eyes wild.
"You idiot! It's ruined; it is absolutely ruined!" she cried, shooting a venomous glare at Alphard.
The lilac dress robes she wore was now patterned with a large, dark red stain running down the front. Her hand shook as she pointed her wand at the stain, muttering cleansing spell after cleansing spell. "Scourgify! Scourgify!"
Regulus and Alphard stood by; the former's eyes widened whilst the latter was trying to suppress—and not too successfully, Orion saw—a smirk. Their eyes were trained on Walburga's efforts to clean her dress, the stain only sinking deeper into the material with each attempt.
"It's ruined—my whole evening is ruined!"
"It's not too bad, Walburga," Alphard said, his grin showing and laughter in his voice.
Regulus nodded, though his skin had grown even more pale and he looked like he wanted to run. Orion readied himself to run as well, noticing Walburga's breathing had gotten heavier.
He was therefore surprised, however, when his wife sank back into the armchair and buried her head in her hands. Her arms and shoulders shook, continuing to do so when she lifted her head a few minutes later. Her eyes showed no signs of tears, yet Orion could see that they had lost their usual sharpness.
Regulus cleared his throat, wavering on the spot between comforting his mother and leaving. "Mother?"
Walburga ignored him, her eyes trained on a patch of creamy carpet.
"Mother?" Regulus tried again, taking a tentative step forward, "What's wrong?"
He jumped back a little as she looked at him, eyes slightly glazed over. In a voice far from her normal screech, she said, "I deserve a night out—a perfect, flawless evening."
Orion watched Regulus look to his uncle, who shrugged and picked up another glass of wine from the nearby cabinet. Regulus then turned back to his mother, mouth parted, but no words coming out as he tried to think of what to say.
Walburga spared him the need, continuing in a low voice, "This evening had to be perfect. My hair is awful."
Orion let his eyes trail to her hair for a moment, noticing that a few blond wisps had detached themselves from her smooth bun in her rage. It wasn't much, however; she appeared perfect to him.
"My robes are— they're deplorable!" she continued, unaware of his presence and raising her eyes to glare at Alphard, though her voice did not rise as she finished, "and I haven't had a single, pleasurable evening for seven years."
Regulus remained rooted to the spot, his mouth opening and closing as he still tried to think of something to say. Orion could see that his son had absolutely no clue and—judging by the way Alphard rolled his eyes to the ceiling and took another sip of wine—his brother-in-law didn't care. Dunderheads.
His heart sank, knowing perfectly well what had Walburga in such a state. It had been exactly seven years since Siri—since the boy had left their house. The traitor had left in a fit of rage during dinner, spoiling the remainder of what had been a pleasurable family gathering. Though Walburga would scream bloody murder at even the tiniest of mentions of the boy, Orion knew, deep down, it wasn't all hatred.
Glancing once more at the package in his hands, he pushed open the parlour door, an indifferent expression carefully plastered on his face.
His wife's eyes snapped to him and she straightened her back. With a sniff, she demanded, "Where have you been? I see you've managed to present yourself well, whilst I have had to suffer through mess after mess. You'll have to wait now for me to get ready again; I will not be seen in public looking like—"
With a small smile, he crossed the room and placed a quick kiss on her cheek, effectively cutting off the lecture he was in for. She scowled as he said, "You look lovely, dear."
Then, before she could protest, he held out the package and set it on her lap. His smile grew as he saw her eyes take in the silver paper hungrily, her hands quickly tearing off the large bow. The anger on her face dissipated as she ripped off the paper and pulled out a silky dress robe. The emerald material shimmered under the candle light, setting off the blue of her eyes as she held it up to for closer inspection.
"Is this a—"
"Of course." He smiled as her eyes sparkled in wonder, thankful that he had managed to procure the garment on time. Even with his high status in society, it was difficult to come across the one-of-a-kind robe. The Goblins of New Zealand were the only known cultivators of the fine silk it was made from, creating and releasing one item every five years. Another Wizard in Australia had certainly been interested in it, yet Orion had managed to use his resources to get it himself.
Walburga nodded, standing up. "It's beautiful."
"Happy anniversary, dear."
His wife nodded again, eyes on her new robes as she walked past him without a word. Before she left, however, she paused and grasped his hand, squeezing it for a single second.
Orion's heart lifted and he let her go, ignoring the confused looks Alphard and Regulus shared.
After all, his wife might have been a vain, spoilt princess, but she was his spoilt princess.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns and holds all rights to the characters and themes below.
A/N: This fic was written for two challenges on the Diagon Alley II forum. The first being the Challenge Your Versatility event. The second challenge is the Fairytales Challenge for the classic fairytale: The Emperor's New Clothes - Write about vanity. Alternatively, write about a Black.
Optional prompts:
Dialogue: 1) "Why are you bleeding all over my new rug? I swear, some people are just so inconsiderate."
2) "This is so inconvenient!"/"Yes, Mother, I'm sure she died on your wedding anniversary just to spite you."
3) "You make me yearn for the virtues of my great-aunt."/"Isn't she dead?"/"Precisely."
Words: Fury, throne
Picture: #4- shattering glass/falling crystals
Song: 'Excuse Me'- Le Maitre
Word count: 1985