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oOo
Walburga never touches beer or wine or those shit that her younger brother, Alphard drowns himself in these days—she doesn't know what's up with him but her husband seems to be under the impression that his brother-in-law is heartbroken. She's mortally offended when her oldest son, during a particularly vicious spat, roars at her are you crazy drunk, woman and before she knows it, her hands in air, flying and then the skin of her palm's stinging.
Sirius' glare is hateful and he's the lion the thrice-damned Sorting Hat sees, snarling and spitting at her. No intelligence. Not a single mature or thoughtful bone in that ungrateful spine that she swears she's going to snap in half someday if he keeps up with that attitude.
Rude, spiteful, ungrateful, immature.
Where, Walburga asks herself as she sips the fiery wine, has she gone wrong with that boy? Regulus was never like this. Regulus, the good boy, the obedient and faithful son—her favored son, the one she's always fretting and fawning over. The boy that she worries over while Sirius is the boy she rages over.
Regulus, so subservient that she's disappointed. Sirius, so defiant that she's furious. Ugh. If only she can mash those two boys together and she'd have the perfect son. Too bad. It's just a dream. Sometimes, when things get too hard, she'd wish she has another son to replace the rebellious teen and the fleeting boy.
It's hard sometimes, to see Sirius now and recall the squalling infant she's spent twelve hours in labor for, the one she looked at with pure adoration.
What, she thinks, is the price to pay for happiness. Because Walburga would've emptied her vault for peace and happiness.
The House of Black are in a tough spot. Lord Voldemort expects them to declare their allegiance any day now, something that Orion is not willing to do even though husband and wife have attended several Death Eater meetings. Even their niece, now Bellatrix Lestrange, has taken the Dark Mark.
But there's Albus Dumbledore and the Order of Phoenix to consider. They are as formidable, if not, more, as the Death Eaters and Orion says that they just flaunt it less. Declaring support for one would be death from the other. There's still their sons to consider.
They remain neutral and their sons are treated equally by everyone (ignoring the Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry). If they support the Order, what would happen? What if Dumbledore ended up losing? At least, if they served Voldemort and the Dark Lord was defeated, Dumbledore would've shown mercy and they would've been able to manipulate lies and old fools to spare them.
Tough luck.
The stress is not doing Orion justice—she's faced with the terrifying prospect that her husband would die if he doesn't make a choice soon enough—and Walburga doesn't think she can hold herself together anymore. Not with Sirius like this—reckless idiot who'd lose his life sooner than later. Not with Regulus like that—so meek, so quiet, how will he ever survive without someone he could lean on?
In the end, Walburga's sons make the choice for her.
Regulus takes on the Dark Mark.
Sirius leaves.
Well, not necessarily in that order.
Sirius doesn't know this, and Regulus probably don't have the opportunity to tell him, not when he's busy with the Dark Lord's orders, but Walburga doesn't blast his or her brother's faces off the family tree the moment she finds that he's gone and didn't come down from breakfast one winter morning.
Oh, yes, she did scream and rage and break a lot of things—where only Kreacher waits patiently while her husband and remaining son take their breakfast and flee to their rooms. But no one, except Kreacher who's been told not to say anything and Regulus who knows not to say anything, knows that she left for the Potter Manor once she's done demolishing the dining room.
She'd leave the damage to be repaired by her husband, she remembers thinking this as she fits her gloves, coat and boots and take off, Disapparating to where she knows her son's best friend and his family live.
Something in Walburga freezes and seizes up when she sees Sirius, through the snow-covered window, and barely visible, laughing along with his best friend and his parents. She's never seen such a laugh on Sirius' face. No, she has seen it before, just not in recent years. She's seen him laughing and smiling that sort of laugh and smile when he's an innocent baby where she'd wake up to his bouncing on Orion's side of the king-sized bed—when mother and son still share that fragile, short-lived bond.
It hits her then, when she sees her son sling an arm around his Potter friend, laughing hard, that he's happy.
He's happy away from her, Regulus and Orion. Somehow, even with the Heating Charm, the rising sun and the fur-coat, she feels colder than ever. She's not happy that he's gone and good riddance, but she's not sad or angry either. She goes home before her son can catch a glimpse of her, feeling oddly empty.
Home; where Regulus is waiting by the doorsteps, catching snowflakes with an outstretched hand, sitting on the steps, and Orion standing beside him, looking up when they hear her footsteps. Snow covers their shoulders, thick and white, snowflakes braided into their messy hair, and she knows that they've been waiting with fleeting hopes that somehow, she'd be able to drag Sirius, kicking and screaming, back to them by the ear.
Regulus' eyes are oddly bright. It's not happiness. It's not the same sort of light that makes Sirius' eyes so bright in the Potter home. "He's really gone, isn't he?"
Walburga doesn't know that she's running then, toward her remaining son and husband, her arms thrown around them when she's within reach. In this world where it's so damned cold, so hopeless and so void of happiness, she has the safe haven where her husband and (remaining) son are waiting, arms outstretched, where she'd have a chest to cry on even though her tears are frozen and she's forgotten many winters ago how to cry.
—Someday, he'd find a way back home.
oOo
Walburga has a heart somewhere, right?