Walburga: Part II
For her tenth birthday father taught her a new curse; from the families own private grimoire, it had been invented by her great aunt. Belvina, her father had taught her, had been one of the most accomplished daughters of the family Black in many generations. She had received a duel mastery in Charms and Arithmancy, subjects that had allowed her to invent many useful curses. The spell she would be learning today was meant to cause infertility in women, though it only worked in about 30% of cases. Undeterred, Belvina had created yet another spell, used to detect whether a woman was capable of bearing children. This one had later been contracted to Saint Mungo's and having a high price for each use, brought the family nearly a hundred galleons each month.
Walburga would be learning them both, and her test subjects, would be a few hapless muggle women Aunt Cassiopeia had captured. They went down to the cellar and found the three women screaming and crying. "Now Walburga dear, cast it as I taught you."
Walburga steadied her wand.
"Oh please! Have mercy," One animal cried out, "My baby needs his mother. Please!"
Walburga wobbled the slightest amount, before sneering at the filth and casting the spell.
Orion nodded slightly, "Your wrist is too stiff, this spell must be cast loosely, with a flourish. Cast the indicator and see how you did now."
Walburga cast the second spell. A green light glowed from the woman's stomach.
"See, she is still fertile. Try it again."
Walburga loosened her wrist and cast the curse once more.
"Excellent, now check."
She cast the indicator spell once more; the muggles' stomach glowed red.
"Oh father it worked!" She turned to him excitedly.
She proceeded to cast the spell on the other two muggles. One of them was unfortunately immune from the curse, but the other two would never have children again.
She was betrothed to the Goyle's son, they told her before bringing her to the platform. He was thirteen, and she was to seek him out upon arriving in Slytherin. The Black family flooed to the platform together, her mother scowled at the train, "How horrid they are forcing you to ride such a contraption; muggle death trap."
Father had taught her six different spells to ensure she would never have to touch the monstrosity.
She boarded the train with her cousin Lucretia, they found a compartment together and seated themselves. Before the train had departed, two mudbloods had had the audacity to try and sit with them. She decided this would be a perfect time to use the curse father had taught her. She had smiled brightly to them and asked if they'd ever seen magic before.
"Well, a professor came to my house and levitated a table for me." One had replied.
"Oh how silly," She had giggled, "Wouldn't you rather witness a spell that tickles you?"
"That's not very useful." The other had informed her.
Lucretia brandished her wand and cast "Rictusempra." The first girl flew into a fit of giggles, "It's perfectly useful for distractions." She informed them.
Meanwhile Walburga had used the curse her father had shown her, hoping both girls would become infertile. "What about glowing? I bet I can make your belly glow." She smiled at them.
The muggleborns stared at her, "Are we really going to learn such useless things at Hogwarts?"
She cast the indicator spell, one girl glowed green, the other red.
"It's not useless at all." Lucretia told them, and then pointing at the one with the red stomach, "Did you know you will never have children?"
"What do you mean never? Of course I will, my mother had six. I hope to have just as many."
Walburga looked down upon them with a ferocious grin, "Well if fertility testing charms aren't to your fancy, why not learn how to punish unruly children?" Lucretia used the brief conversation to silence and lock the compartment door. Walburga continued, "Like those who loudly enter the compartments of their betters. Crucio!" She cast at the first girl, who screamed wildly, collapsing to the floor.
"Crucio." Walburga turned her wand on the other, as Lucretia obliviated the first.
Not moments later, two obliviated first year girls wandered from the compartment, aching and not knowing why.
"Excellent work cousin," Walburga had commented, "That shall teach those mudbloods not to disrespect their betters."
She was fifteen when Goyle first kissed her. His breath had stunk as he breathed heavily into her face; she had tried to pull away. He had yelled at her, "You're to be my wife, you must obey me."
She apologised and moved in to kiss him like he wished. He had laughed and told her she would make a fine wife when they were married. Two more years, she thought to herself.
The next day she found Goyle in a dingy corridor, pressing Rose Parkinson against a wall. Rose had one of her legs hooked around his waist, her skirt hiked up around her thighs. His robes were open, an obvious bulge straining against his trousers.
She must have gasped, as he turned to her and scowled, "If you wish for me to please you on our wedding night, I must become more experienced." Then he had shooed her away, and she ran. Though not quite fast enough to avoid hearing the hearty moan Parkinson let out as Goyle sucked on the harlot's neck.
Abraxas Malfoy had found her sobbing in a dusty classroom; he had gently taken her hand and listened as she recounted the event. "Walburga," he had soothed her, "It may hurt greatly to discover such events, but he is indeed correct. There is nothing wrong with a man pleasuring himself before the night of his bonding. It will not make him love you less, he merely wishes you to enjoy yourself when the time comes."
She had hiccupped, "And should I wish to be able to please him? Is it just as acceptable to prepare in such a manner?"
"Why of course," he had said to her, before touching her cheek, lifting her chin, and claiming her lips in a passionate kiss.
It was nearly three months later when Abraxas told her that he had taught her everything short of intercourse, which she would need to please her future husband. She had barely noticed it at the time, how she had fallen for his charms. His beautiful straight blonde hair, aristocratic cheekbones; the curve of his lips when she knelt before him, learning to please. He touched her with such adoration, held her hands in quiet corridors, kissed her softly whenever she wished it. It was with certainty that she reached out to take his hand when he said this, so sure of her love for him when she requested, "Perhaps you can teach me to be pleasurable in that as well?"
He had shown her, just once.
The following morning she had found him laughing to his friends of his latest conquest, the noble daughter of the Black's; her. Upon seeing her he pointed rudely and mimicked her moans. His friends laughed uproariously, "What a loose girl." One boy teased.
The girls present smirked at her, "No one will want to marry you now."
"No one wants to marry a girl who throws it away." They tittered.
She felt tears spring to her eyes, "Parkinson…" She tried to explain.
"Parkinson may be a school broomstick," One girl giggled, "But she would never go that far."
Lucretia had not spoken to her since.
She returned home to the news that Goyle had called off their betrothal. Her parents were furious at her. What followed was a stream of hexes and curses, by the end she found herself locked in the cellar, having her wounds tended to by the house elf. When they released her a week later, she was finally allowed to explain. By the end, they were furious at Malfoy as well, how dare he lie to her, take advantage of their daughter?
Father brought it to the head of their family; multiple families were paid for their vows to never speak of the news. Grandfather Cygnus was incensed as well, cursing each member of the Malfoy family so that they may only ever bear one child, subtly ensuring their extinction upon the birth of a female.
She was seventeen, and just as the girls had teased, no one wanted to marry her. How badly she wished to wed Abraxas Malfoy, but he wouldn't want her now. She'd already given herself to him for free.
Her parents were in the kitchen discussing things in quiet voices, but she knew it was about the dilemma of how to get her married respectfully. Walburga sunk to the floor, listening at the kitchen door. Each time her mother sighed, she felt more hopeless.
Alphard sat down next to her, "Walburga," he started, "I'm sure there's someone around who won't mind."
"If there is," She replied, "They haven't found him yet."
"Cousin?" Orion approached them, "Don't worry; I don't have an arranged marriage either."
He was a sweet child, only thirteen, he didn't know yet that the only reason he had no arrangement was because he was the heir to the family. Every girl wanted him, he could pick any pureblood girl he wished and she would jump at the chance to be his wife. He didn't know that his father had been selecting young ladies from all the richest, most influential families, to offer the chance to.
"You're a different matter, but no one wants a girl like me." She told him.
"Why ever not?" Then he grinned, "You're plenty beautiful."
"It's not my beauty that's been compromised, it's my honour. No respectable man would wed a stupid whore."
Orion frowned at her, "You're not stupid, and you're not a whore. Everyone makes silly mistakes."
He didn't quite grasp the gravity of the situation, she wished there was some family out there who would be as understanding, but knew there wasn't. She told him this.
He looked at her, frowned, and promised, "If you're not married by the time I'm seventeen, I'll marry you myself."
Her lips tilted upwards, "I'm all for keeping things pure cousin, but no one in our family has married quite that close for a century."
