She could see it in his eyes, that need for mindless revenge that had been cultured within the house of Gryffindor — she knew that Sirius getting into that house was a bad idea. The official reason was that no Black had ever been Sorted into Gryffindor, which was true, but Walburga had hoped that Sirius knew better than to believe that was true for them too. They couldn't be looked down upon by the other Purebloods, not when that meant that they would become possible targets for Voldemort.

"And what about the child, Sirius? Will you simply abandon him just so you can get your revenge? Do you even care for the child?" Walburga sneered at him in an attempt to stop her foolish son. She wished in this moment, more than any other, that Sirius had not inherited the Black insanity that she could see shining in his eyes. She wished that she could reason with him like Regulus once could. But she was not Regulus, and Regulus was no longer there to talk some sense into his brother.

"Of course I do. I'm sure Dumbledore was alerted as well. Dumbledore will keep Harry safe," Sirius snarled in return, angry at the thought of being accused of not caring for his godson.

Walburga snorted. "So, you are going to abandon the child. Dumbledore cannot be trusted. I'm warning you, Sirius."

"I can trust him more than I can trust you," were Sirius' last words before he slammed the door to Grimmauld Place shut behind him.

She flinched at his harsh tone. Walburga knew that she had been harsh on Sirius, hoping that he gave up those ridiculous Gryffindor friends of his — they weren't going to help him; if anything, they were going to ruin his life.

When she heard, hours later, that Sirius had been taken to Azkaban, she resisted the urge to get him out somehow. Sirius would not appreciate being confined to Grimmauld Place and would try to escape as soon as he could.

Besides, even she knew that Sirius was innocent. Precious Dumbledore would get him out, right? That had been the only reason she hadn't attempted to drag her son away from Dumbledore as well. She would never be able to protect her son as Dumbledore would be able to; she simply was not magically powerful enough to stand up to the Dark Lord, even to protect her son.

With that, she returned to her still portrait. Walburga still had many memories she wanted the portrait to store, including this one. One day, she hoped that Sirius would listen to her, and that she could finally be able to help him.

…oOo…

She knew her death grew closer with every breath she took. The darkness encroached on her vision with every passing second, and she vaguely wondered if anyone would notice. The Black family had all but disappeared under two wars, with them losing members at a frightening speed, and she was one of the only two who continued to carry the family name.

Only a month had passed since she had finally awakened her portrait. It was a bit strange to have to talk to a portrait of herself, seeing that there was no one else within the house but Kreacher and her. Sure, Narcissa sometimes visited with little Draco, but Draco didn't like leaving Malfoy Manor. Or perhaps, he simply didn't like visiting Grimmauld Place: she had never been outside with him. Sirius was still in Azkaban, every attempt of hers to contact him, every request to visit, had been rejected by Sirius himself, and Walburga hated that her last memory of Sirius was him spitting hatred at her.

Kreacher stood beside her. His large eyes were growing noticeably wet as he wrung his hands over and over again, not wanting to be useless but not knowing what to do with himself either.

"Kreacher, would you do something for me?" Walburga could only just hear her own voice, as whispery as it had become with the illness she had managed to catch, but Kreacher nodded eagerly.

"Anything you want, Mistress."

"When Sirius breaks out, you must help him." She silenced Kreacher's outburst before it even began. "He's my son. I know that he will break out. It has been years, and Dumbledore hasn't made a move to get him out, or even give him a trial, but he won't be able to do it alone. Can you do this for me, Kreacher?"

She knew Kreacher would be conflicted, having hated Sirius for upsetting her so, but Walburga blurrily saw his head bob in acceptance.

"You can't let him know. Sirius is too proud to accept help from…"

"…his mother."

Somehow, Walburga knew those last words had never been uttered. It had been too late.

…oOo…

Her portrait had stood for more than a decade with only Kreacher for company. The other portraits, not that there were many within Grimmauld Place, had only given her pity for her death and not living to see her son out of Azakaban — as if they had never heard the arguments between them.

Kreacher had informed her immediately before he popped out to Azkaban Island, and Walburga was finally able to release her first breath of relief in years. Sirius was escaping, and Kreacher would make sure he did so safely.

Walburga didn't know where Sirius intended to hide, but she knew that she would be waiting for him to come back. Grimmauld Place was covered in all the protective charms and enchantments Orion had been able to reproduce and was the most logical option, but Sirius had never been too logical.

Sirius would have to come back eventually, though, and Walburga could wait a little longer. She would wait however long she had to. Kreacher would protect him, and Kreacher had never disappointed her before.

Written for Quidditch League: Round 10: Wigtown Wanderers

Chaser 3: Walburga Black (portrait)

Prompts: (word) sinking; (song) Hello by Evanescence; (quote) 'Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.' - Emily Bronte