short and sweet: chapter one

escape, eleven, waldru, envelope


At age ten, Walburga Black is more than ready to go to Hogwarts, if only to get away from her younger brothers. Alphard isn't so bad, but Cygnus is a complete nuisance.

But there is the worry of being Sorted into a different House than Slytherin. Her mother, when consulted about this, had sent her away with a cold sneer and the words that ring in Walburga's head for years to come: "For both of our sakes, you won't tarnish the family's reputation."

Family. Is that what they are?

Or are they simply a mismatched puzzle that will never fit together as a whole?

Walburga pushes the horror of letting her parents down out of her head and takes to spending her time watching the skies for any owls that seemed to be heading their way. Her mother refuses to tell her when her letter will arrive, so Walburga must content herself with waiting.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

She can almost hear the time passing, can feel the breeze as it swoops by and takes the lead of her life.

And then she spots the owl.

It's not that big of a deal, to be honest. A new setting is nothing to a Pureblood; they are raised to adapt in social situations.

But still she worries.

Will she be liked? Will she fit in? Will she do well in her classes?

She voices these questions to her father, having learned by now to not ask her mother. He twirls his ever-present glass of Firewhiskey between his long fingers and says gravely, "Blacks are not meant to be liked. We are meant to stand out."

Which doesn't ease her nerves at all, but before she can say anything else, her father turns away and faces the crackling fire, leaving Walburga to slip out of his study with more questions than she'd entered with.

Her brothers are getting on her last nerve when the five of them arrive at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. They're Purebloods, so they are allowed to Apparate directly, which Walburga supposes is nice — they would not have fit in outside the barrier, in the Muggle world.

She boards the train, her mother's detached voice in her ear. Do not let us down. Her cheek is burning from the swift press of Irma's cold lips to her skin, and she fights the urge to find the nearest bathroom and wash her face.

She finds a compartment near the back of the train. It's empty but for one girl, dressed in such expensive robes she must be a Pureblood.

"May I sit here?" Walburga inquires, just to be polite. There is truly nothing the girl can say or do to stop her, after all.

"No one said you couldn't," the girl replies, looking up. Her eyes are a deep cerulean colour, and her hair is blonde and twisted into a bun with a few curls loose around her round face. She has dimples in both cheeks, visible even without smiling, and Walburga is struck by her beauty.

"I'm Walburga," she says, sticking her hand out. It's not dignified in the least, but she's free for nine months and doesn't give a damn.

The blonde girl eyes the proffered appendage suspiciously before extending her own. "Druella."

They shake hands.