Summary: Walburga looked in those determined eyes once more, the sparkle and the confidence that characterized him still there. She would preserve those. By playing the devil's advocate. She would save her son. [Set in the fifth book.]

Is 'somewhat motherly!Walburga' a warning? :P Also, since this is Walburga's pov, it's not really Order friendly.

Trapped in her portrait, blinded by that dusty curtain, Walburga could still hear. And she didn't like it one bit.

"Sirius, my boy, there's nothing you can do apart from hiding."

"Listen to Dumbledore, Padfoot. For once, do as you're told."

"As if the mutt needed to be encouraged to stay safely at home. It's what he can do better."

Poisonous whispers, cruel words reverberated in those sacred halls, haunting them, echoing in Walburga's ears and becoming louder and louder the more she struggled to hear something that never came: Sirius' retorts.

This same House had been filled with those twenty years ago, quick and sharp and never missing their target.

Now only the silence met the insults that seem to cling to Sirius, defeat wrapping him as a cloak around his downcast shoulders, his elegant posture gone. And Walburga—who had been trying her best not to be a supportive, observant mother to her firstborn, not after his defection—felt like she was the only one to notice it, see through him.

"Sirius, you're not a child," Mrs. Weasley would say. "Don't act like one."

Walburga couldn't understand what was wrong with that blood-traitor. Of course, he wasn't a child and he most definitely didn't act like one—didn't act like himself.

.o.

.o.

A good mother always knows what her children need, even before they know it themselves.

Walburga had discovered herself—with utter surprise and shock—acting like one, anticipating her sons' needs, despite having sworn she would not take part in their education; that's what House-elves are for, she had always been told and had always believed it. Firmly. Until that first little bundle of life had been delivered to her by the Medi-witch.

Sirius, the star that would enlight her and her husband's lives.

For him, they had both broken the ancient, honorable traditions. Orion himself had held his firstborn, which was unheard of.

.

The soft words and comforting gestures had come rather easily to Walburga in Sirius' childhood, when he barely spoke and was glad to accept something, anything, from his parents, when he was too young to understand, when the darkness could be defeated by a simple lumos.

Walburga would softly press her lips against his forehead, Orion would lightly clasp and squeeze his shoulder, and Sirius would smile, his grey eyes sparkling.

.

"—because we must preserve the essence of magic. You would protect your most precious gift, wouldn't you?"

Sirius had nodded.

"Protect our magic, son. Don't let any filthy creature steal it."

Sirius had cast his eyes down as he nodded again. "Yes, Mother."

Walburga had been pleased.

.

"I don't understand, Mother."

"They are filthy, they have muggle blood in their veins, and that's unacceptable."

Sirius' fists had been closed tightly, his eyes had met Walburga's with something similar to rejection and distaste.

She had been the first one to look away.

.

Sirius had started refusing anything from them; Walburga's comforting caresses, Orion's encouraging pats, Regulus' concerned words. She knew they had all been labelled as heartless, conceited people who needed to be saved so that they could see the light.

"It's not that hard to accept," Sirius would advocate everyday, his cheeks red in the heat of the moment, his eyes wise. "I did. Our pure blood don't make us the best. I've known Muggleborns and Halfbloods being as good as—or even better than—Purebloods. You are just blinded by your pride—"

Walburga couldn't help herself, and one day, exasperated, she had slapped him.

He had turned his burning eyes on her, and she had felt like there was something between them again, like her son had been still there, inside that muggle-friendly shell, like they—or rather, she—could still save their relationship and in the process, she hoped to save her son too.

He had been young—too young—and somewhat naive, due to his protect childhood, and walking into the world with such open-minded opinions, wearing his heart on his sleeve, would damage him greatly.

She had looked in those determined eyes once more, the sparkle and the confidence that characterized him still there.

She would preserve those.

By playing the devil's advocate.

It would be her secret and the only way to reach her son; as much as she regretted it, he had grown to accept their hate, but not their love.

She would save him.

.o.

.o.

Soft, insistent voices called Walburga back.

"He's not James."

That woman's nerve! She should have deemed herself lucky Harry was not his father. No one had ever dared underestimate her Sirius and the young James Potter before. And with good reason.

The Potter she knew would not have tolerated this. Potter would have defended Sirius, would have returned the fire in his eyes and the confidence in his scarred soul, like he always had done when her firstborn failed to realize his worth in everyone else's eyes.

It had taken time, but she had learned to be grateful to James Potter—to the same boy that had stolen their own son and Heir from them—for being able to reach Sirius when they could not any longer. For giving Sirius the love and care he didn't accept any longer from the people he had once called 'parents.'

Another string of cruel echoes bounced persistently against her curtain, managing to force it open when a loud thud followed by her great-niece's awkward apologies hit it.

It was what she had been expecting. Hearing that bunch of Blood-traitors, Half-bloods, Mudbloods and Halfbreeds insulting her firstborn, dismissing him, disregarding his blood and status, had gotten unbearable.

How dare they?

How dare Sirius let them?

Eagerly finding her son's blank eyes—she suppressed a sigh at the sight—and expecting to finally see something alive and fierce flickering in them, she took a deep breath and screamed, forcing as much malevolence and spite in her insults towards him as she could, hoping to shake him off his numbness. It had always worked in the past.

Sure enough, her screeches—mixed with Sirius' angry words—purified the House—and his spirit—in a way that red-haired housewife and her fellows could have never done.

When the curtain closed again, silence filled the hall.

It was pure, clear, safe, and Walburga savored it.

The end

A/N Since I wrote this for the Mother's Day 2017 event on the amazing Golden Snitch forum, I tried to picture a more human and motherly Walburga. I'm usually all for evil!Walburga but in this case, I felt she deserved better.

Prompts: (word) portrait, (word) secret, (setting) Grimmauld Place

School, House: Beauxbatons, Melusine

Points: 10

WC: 1081

Written for the Jurassic Fever challenge on the Golden Snitch forum. Prompt: Ankylosaurus - Write about a character defending their family