"Is Sirius dead?" The portrait of the former Lady Black demanded in a soft but stiff tone.
Harry gulped down his tears and looked down, but he did not utter a single word. Her eyes possessed a flame deadlier than that of Voldemort's fire snake.
Walburga was now in a raging fit. "IS MY SON DEAD?!" She screeched, but her answer was greeted with more silence.
After a few seconds, sniffling sounds were heard. Harry's watery eyes looked up to see his once emotionless, ruthless, and evil grand-aunt with tears streaming down her face. It's as if each tear was speaking to him—he saw and heard the regret, anger, and every possible emotion of a mother whose son died.
Harry's head was once again facing the floor, this time a little lower. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
But Lady Black wasn't having any of it. She yelled Sirius's name, her insults to him, in desperate hope for him to respond, even if it was a nasty reply. Dumbledore appeared to Harry's side, his arm draped over the boy. Lady Black stared at him in silence. In her eyes, the headmaster of Hogwarts read, "Please let this be not real."
Dumbledore's eyes lost its usual jovial twinkle, and was replaced with a void that no sorcerer or mage, not even Lady Magic herself, could fill. "He was a gryffindor to the bone," said Dumbledore in his mirthless tone, "He would do anything to make sure that his family would live a happy life, even if the price is his life."
The gloomy tattered walls have spoken of a sorrowful past, the dusty furniture told the tales of a long forgotten childhood, the grandfather's clock continues ticking in a melancholic beat, but the morbid wails of a mother who lost her son will never compare to the lugubrious aura of Grimmauld Place.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading this one-shot! It was just a thought of mine, and I truly believe that all mothers are the same, even when they seem like they hate their child/ren. Please leave reviews so that I may know if I need to correct things—suggestions are nice, too. Thank you once again!