Disclaimer- This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership over any characters or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here is not part of J.K. Rowling's story canon (which is far better than anything I could write). I'm only borrowing some of her characters to practice fiction writing. The fanfiction story of Walburga's Plan is for entertainment only, I will make no money off of it, and is not part of the official story line.
Trigger Warning- off screen, but plot central, nonconsensual (love potioned induced) sex. Plus Walburga is very bigoted and she's the POV character.
AN: I cranked this story last night while trying to work on something else. It's not edited. There are some Harry/Tonks stories out there and while the post-Hogwarts ones make sense (Teddy is a common bond), the relationship stories in school never did (except one that combined both time travel and Tonks being an undercover student written by, I think, Temporal Knight). Seven years is a big gap at Harry's age. This is my effort to put them in an early relationship despite that age gap.
WP
Walburga Black had invested a small fortune into the creation of her portrait. As the last living Black of any consequence, she owed it to the family to preserve as much of her essence and magic as possible. So no expense was spared to ensure that she would be available to guide her family for generations to come once her heroic son freed himself from Azkaban.
Now it appeared her sacrifice was all for naught.
"You didn't serve the Dark Lord?" she asked, failing to keep the disappointment and pride- he had escaped from the most notorious prison in the world after all, and that was something to be proud of- from her voice.
She'd spent much of Sirius life thinking he was a failure, only for him to redeem himself with his betrayal of the Potters and then murdering a wizard and dozen muggles with a single spell. Finally, her eldest had proven himself a true Black. Reading the Prophet's violent screeds against her son following his arrest had been pure joy.
Orion had reinstated him as their heir and hired the best defense team possible for him. Then Crouch, Dumbledore and Bagnold had him tossed into Azkaban without trial, citing national security concerns.
She'd raged, but recognized it for the testament it was- her son was far too powerful to be allowed loose due to the machinations of mere lawyers. He was the Dark Lord's right hand and, consequently, heir apparent. The sheep of Britain could take no chances that he'd regain his liberty.
It had made her so proud.
"Yes, mother," her cursed son proclaimed, smirking at her. "I was framed. It was Pettigrew, the rat, that murdered those people and framed me. I would never betray James and Lily. I'm Harry's godfather, after all."
She had difficulty controlling her trembling. Not only was her son a blood traitor still, but he disrespected his own mother- the witch who had brought him into this world! It was a disgrace.
Still, losing her temper served no purpose. Sirius was the last of the Black males. The Blacks were patriarchal and he was needed to preserve the family name.
Her first duty was to her house. The ideals of blood purity were secondary. The Dark Lord was a distant third.
She could not help but mourn sweet Regulus' loss. Her youngest son was a proper young wizard who understood his duty and acted with all due propriety.
By contrast, Sirius stood before her in tattered and filthy robes. His hair was a matted and tangled mess, his body half starved. He'd obviously been drinking as his eyes were wild and bloodshot. He was a disgrace who couldn't even manage proper grooming.
If she were still able, she'd give him another good dose of the Cruciatus. Maybe this time it would drive the lesson home and instill some manners in him, or at least the basics of hygiene.
She took a calming breath. "Well, you'll need to take up the Lord's ring. The study should be open to you now."
Her thoughts cascaded, plans forming and being discarded at an incredible rate. She'd lost little of her cunning when her essence was transferred from her slowly dying body and into her prepared portrait- it was the darkest magic but more than worth it. It was a shame she had to murder the artist. He'd been talented but security risks needed to be disposed of.
She focused her thoughts as her plans crystallized. "You'll have to take control of the family accounts. If you are still wanted, the goblins will come to you, for a fee, so you don't have to risk arrest."
Regardless of her eldest's shortcomings, he was the tool she had to work with. She'd do her best for him. At least until he could be replaced with a more adequate Lord Black.
His smirk intensified. "I won't be taking up the lordship," he said dismissively, his wand hand flicking to the side as if miming he was discarding something of no value. "I've already visited Gringotts and taken control of the accounts. Didn't need the ring to do it." His eyes sharpened maliciously. "Harry's my heir. I will have no children. House Black dies with me."
If she hadn't already been dead, she was certain her heart would have frozen in terror and rage. "Sirius!" she exclaimed, shocked. "Be reasonable. You have a duty!"
"I am being reasonable, mother," he sneered, turning away. "For a thousand years, the oh so noble and pure House Black has done nothing but spread misery and pain. It ends with me."
This could not be happening. Even a blood traitor such as her imbecilic Gryffindor son should value family above all else. She could hold her disappointment and anger in no longer. She began screaming, her rage making her incoherent.
He laughed as he walked away.
WP
Time passed in a blur. Keeping track of time and events was always problematic for a portrait, no matter the craftsmanship and magic poured into it. Anger and distress further eroded her ability to stay oriented.
Eventually, the Black family's London townhouse began to fill. She took little note except to express her displeasure as vocally as possible to any who dared enter her home.
Until one day she heard a snippet of a conversation that captured her attention.
"Two dementors . . .. Drove them off with the Patronus. . . . The lad is only fourteen. . . ." said a heavily scarred and maimed wizard to a tall, well built, dark skinned man dressed in the red robes of an Auror.
"The Ministry has . . .. Dumbledore suspects that the Minister is behind it, trying to silence Harry . . . He's afraid the boy will grow into his power and rival Dumbledore . . .."
The two gossiping wizards were in the parlor and almost whispering. It was too far for her to hear everything clearly. But the gist was easily discerned. Harry Potter, though a mere child, was a powerful wizard and the Minister had grown fearful enough to try to assassinate him. And failed.
Interesting.
She spent the next several days pitching fits for forms' sake. No need to let anyone think she was taking an interest in her disappointment of a son's half-blood heir. In reality, she was collecting information with the aid of other portraits- she'd bound them to obey hers before her death- and Kreacher.
Now Kreacher stood before her, his head appropriately bowed and his eyes on the ground. It was well before sunrise and everyone else still slept. "And that is what Kreacher has discovered," he croaked subserviently.
She hummed as she considered the information her most loyal elf had provided. Harry Potter. Parselmouth. Slayer of the Dark Lord at age one. She had dim memories of those stories from her life when she was still breathing. She'd discounted them as fantasy. It had been obvious to her that James Potter, a proper pureblood even if a blood traitor, had somehow managed to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named.
But now Kreacher reported the boy had murdered a professor at age 11. Killed a basilisk at age 12- with a sword no less! Drove off hundreds of dementors at age 13 with the Patronus Charm, an unheard of accomplishment. Won the TriWizard Tournament at age 14. Most recently, not yet 15, he managed to survive a Ministry assassination attempt.
Perhaps he had done something to the Dark Lord as an infant. One could be forgiven for thinking the boy was the reincarnation of Merlin with such accomplishments. Impressive didn't begin to describe it.
Curiously, the boy was a mediocre student despite possessing an incredible amount of raw power. Personally, Walburga thought it likely that the muggles who were raising the half-blood were at fault for his poor grades.
How could they, ignorant muggles, discipline and mentor a wizard of his ability? They couldn't, obviously, and so had probably let him spend his childhood running amok.
It was truly a shame.
Still, the boy had potential. If someone were to take his education in hand, he could still acquire the necessary knowledge and skill to truly develop his power. Given a decade or two to mature, none would be able to stand against him.
His appearance did leave something to be desired, she concluded when he finally arrived at her home. While the darkness of his hair, his high cheekbones and thin face were evidence of his Black blood, no matter how diluted it had become, he was short and scrawny, with wild, untamed hair and thick glasses.
Blacks, and Potters she recalled, were usually tall and well built. Black eyesight was second to none, their hair curly locks. His physical deficiencies must be his mudblood mother's influence, she sniffed contemptuously.
Almost as bad, he seemed to have adopted his godfather's preference for dressing in rags. Maybe it was some muggle fashion?
"Which female on the family tree has the most Black blood, is close to him in age, and remains unmarried?" she demanded, making a decision. If her son would not do his duty, she would have to take steps to mitigate the damage.
Kreacher's shoulders hunched down even further, his left foot twisting on the ground. The charm covering up those Blacks whom malcontents claimed she had blasted off- utterly ridiculous, only the Lord of the House could deface the tapestry so, she'd just covered the names with a permanent illusion- would not defeat his eyes. He was a Black elf and privy to all of the family's secrets. So his reticence was not from some lack of ability but a fear of speaking. That would not do.
"I asked a question, Kreacher! Answer me!"
"Nymphadora Tonks, Mistress," he managed to mumble. "Daughter of disgraced and disowned Andromeda. Next is Ginerva Weasley, a quarter Black through her grandmother, Cedrella Black."
She winced, before she managed to push her distaste aside. Neither were a particularly attractive choice. But beggars can't be choosers, she thought with a heavy sigh.
She immediately discarded the Weasley girl as a prospect- her blood was pure, but she was a Weasley, a low and contemptible house. Nymphadora was a half-blood, which was disappointing, but a half Black, which made up for a lot when compared to a mere Weasley.
She was also a metamorphmagus, and a strong enough and clever enough witch to earn a position with the Aurors. Coupled with the boy's obvious power, then the next generation of Blacks, their children, would dominate wizarding Britain for generations.
If their metamorphic and parselmouth talents were passed onto their children, no house would be able to compete with House Black. Which is as it should be, she thought, enraptured with that bit of fantasy.
Besides, their children would be purebloods as all of their grandparents would be wizards and witches. Yes, they would barely qualify and would suffer socially, but it was enough for now. Any social stigma would be more than offset with the Black name, wealth and their individual power.
This could work. And it wasn't like Sirius was leaving her with many options.
"Kreacher, you will punish yourself harshly for delaying your response to my question. I expect instant obedience in the future." She paused. "But not so harshly that you are unable to carry out my orders for tomorrow," she amended.
The old, gnarled elf's eyes shined with devotion. "Of course, Mistress. Anything Mistress."
"Good," she nodded in satisfaction. "When the others sleep, you are to retrieve sufficient gold from the cache in the Lord's study to purchase multiple doses of the strongest love and fertility potions you can find. Try the hag in Knockturn first; her product was always the best. You are to key one to Harry Potter and the other to Nymphadora Tonks- dose each with the potions keyed to the other. Do not let yourself be discovered." She paused, thinking. "If you could switch the potions into their bodies while they sleep and then place them in proximity to one another, that might be best."
Kreacher looked confused, but croaked, "Kreacher hears and obeys, Mistress."
Walburga stopped herself from gnashing her teeth and ranting when she heard the doubt in the elf's voice. This was far too important to risk with a tantrum. Kreacher was loyal but she was well aware that he prioritized some orders over others.
She contented herself with a mental reminder to order him to punish himself more stringently once her plan proved to be a success. Preservation of the bloodline took precedence over every other concern.
"The Black name dies with Sirius. We must prevent that. The first step is preserving as much Black blood as possible," she explained patiently as she could, which wasn't very. "Harry Potter is a quarter Black through his grandmother. Nymphadora," she choked slightly, as she couldn't bring herself to say her niece's mudblood surname, "is half Black through her mother, despite her shameful behavior. Between the two of them, their children will be almost pure Blacks."
She didn't mention Draco Malfoy was another potential candidate to father future Blacks. While a pureblood, he lacked Harry's power and was a pale shadow in comparison. Even if she was inclined to consider him, Sirius' Will eliminated him from contention. There was no sense in fantasizing about what could have been.
Besides, he was a Malfoy and far too French for any proper Englishwoman. She'd only allowed Narcissa to marry into that foreign house as she was far down the line of succession and the requested dowry was reasonable. As the youngest of the then three unmarried Black daughters, she had been of little consequence.
As she spoke, Kreacher's eyes were taking on an almost manic gleam as he bobbed his head excitedly. Encouraged, she continued, "If we succeed in preserving the bloodline through their children, we can hope that among their descendants- among whom will doubtless be many powerful witches and wizards- at least one will have enough sense to take the Black name that Potter will inherit from my pathetic failure of a son."
The old elf bowed low. "Kreacher will not fail you, Mistress."
She smiled in triumph. Her family would not die out on her watch, despite her fool son's malicious stupidity.
WP
For far too many days, Walburga paced impatiently in her portrait, anxiously waiting for news on whether her plan was a success. Luckily, the living inhabitants of Grimmauld Place interpreted her agitation as normal behavior, which she carefully reinforced with the occasional screaming fit.
She studiously ignored Kreacher, not wanting to attract attention to him or distract him from his mission. He was a powerful, cunning and loyal elf. He would succeed, she reassured herself. He'd never failed her yet and he wouldn't fail her now.
Her hopes were realized the afternoon a week after the morning she'd given her orders to Kreacher. A stout red headed and red-faced woman- either a Prewett or Weasley unless she missed her guess- was screaming incoherently, as she dragged the Potter boy into the kitchen.
He was naked; the front of his body was covered in love bites and his back in scratches. He struggled futilely to break free, but he was too short and skinny compared to the middle aged matron. "Let me go!" he was shouting. "You can't keep us apart! We love each other!"
Following behind him was Nymphadora. She was only wearing an oversized t-shirt which depicted a massive red tongue- disgraceful!-, and her hair was cycling through colors. "Molly," she tried reasonably, as she followed them into the kitchen, "you are overreacting. He's over the age of consent. I'm an adult. You have no right to interfere in our life."
Walburga smiled as she heard the cursing, swearing, and weeping coming from the kitchen. It was just like old times, she thought nostalgically.
Dumbledore eventually arrived to try to calm the situation but despite his presence, it still took hours to sort the matter out.
Eventually two things became clear: 1) it was obvious that the two had ingested loved potions, a matter easily corrected with purging draughts; and, 2) the prudish Weasley witch's intervention was far too late. Harry and Nymphadora had already been together for days.
Walburga rather thought that was a good sign. It demonstrated that one or both of them had some modicum of cunning and could keep secrets despite their potion impaired states.
When Dumbledore gravely confirmed her niece was pregnant, she almost danced in delight. When she found out it was twins, though she shouldn't be surprised, multiple births were a common consequence of using fertility potions, she was so joyful she could have thrown a party.
She didn't, of course. Such unseemly displays were beneath a witch of her standing.
She had to remember to send the Knockturn hag a bonus. Her potions, as always, had proven remarkably effective.
It made her nostalgic for her youth. The same hag had supplied the potions she'd used to seduce Orion. Those had been some wonderful, glorious days.
Her good mood only improved the next day when she was woken by screaming that rocked the house. "I have never been so humiliated in my life!" Molly Weasley was screeching. "How could you do this to your sister . . .".
It took her a while to piece together the most recent controversy as she was still keeping her distance from Kreacher so as to not draw attention to their relationship. That made information collection slow and difficult. When she did get answers, she could have howled with laughter.
Dumbledore apparently led a collection of fools called the 'Order'. The incompetents that traipsed through her home on an almost daily basis were almost entirely Order members. These bumblers had conducted an investigation and found love potions hidden in a secret expanded compartment of the Weasley twins' school trunk.
That was all the evidence needed for them to blame the twins for Harry getting Nymphadora in a family way. The working theory was that the twins had been careless with their product and Nymphadora and Harry had accidentally ingested one of their love potions.
The rest, as they say, is history.
The twins had been indignant. "Mum, it wasn't us! At best a Weasley Wizard Wheezes potion causes a mild infatuation. What Harrikins and Tonksie had in their system was far beyond that. . .".
The heavy set red headed woman- Molly Weasley, she'd eventually learned- did what all good mothers did when confronted with the denials of their mischievous sons. She didn't believe them and punished them even more harshly for lying.
That dealt with, she spent her time comforting her crying and wailing daughter- Ginerva, the girl who had been Kreacher's second choice to continue on the Black name.
Molly and Ginny quickly became unbearable. Only Walburga was allowed to disrupt the home to the degree they achieved. These two, however, disrupted her home, constantly blaming Nymphadora and Harry for being irresponsible. They acted as if they were personally aggrieved.
It did eventually appear that they were very willing to forgive Harry, but not her niece. Walburga heard more than one reference to "Scarlet woman," passing their lips as they watched Nymphadora pass by.
That was a direct insult to House Black. She was tempted to have her favorite elf poison them both. The only reason she didn't was because it was too risky. It would potentially expose Kreacher's ability and willingness to tamper with their food and drink. And that might clue them into how Harry and Nymphadora had found themselves in their present circumstances.
No, it was much better that they be kept in the dark. Walburga might need Kreacher's services in the future if Nymphadora was slow in giving Harry more children. Walburga was convinced that a half dozen future Blacks would be sufficient to ensure the survival of her family.
Walburga did grow to somewhat appreciate a bushy haired witch- who was, to Walburga's shock and dismay, a mudblood. She was a friend of Harry's and had somehow acquired a collection of pregnancy and parenting books. She had fallen into the habit of conducting random pop quizzes to ensure that Harry knew what to expect when Nymphadora was expecting.
The boy took it with good grace. To both the mudblood and Walburga's surprise, he devoured the information and was more than capable of citing complete passages verbatim.
Walburga thought it was sweet, despite being disappointed that yet another future Lord Black associated with mudbloods, even one as kind and as caring as the Granger girl. With luck and proper guidance, the next generation would be more discerning in the company they kept.
Still, she was a loyal friend to her grandson, as she had taken to thinking of Harry. Perhaps she was the exception that proves the rule? Walburga didn't see the harm in her presence, unlike just about every other occupant of her home. If nothing else, she could be trained to be an acceptable servant.
Sirius was disappointing, as always. He alternated between laughing and crying, and spent most of his time drunk. Which was status quo, really. She mourned her shattered illusions- it had been a dream to think of him as the Dark Lord' right hand, instead of the broken wreck of a wizard he'd become.
Walburga made a note to make sure Kreacher kept him well stocked with firewhiskey. The sooner he drank himself to the death the better.
His friend, the werewolf, - oh, the shame, even a mudblood, doubly so for those like the Granger girl, was preferable company to such a beast- looked confused. He just kept blinking and looking around as if he couldn't believe what he was experiencing.
Walburga rather thought the diseased man's mind had been impaired by the wolf. It was obvious that he was incapable of higher mental functions.
The other boys in the house alternated between being in awe of Harry and jealousy. One moment they would congratulate him and give him a high five, and the next they'd be demanding to know how he did it and getting angry when he professed ignorance. The lanky redhead was the worst offender. For some reason, Harry seemed unsurprised.
Harry did his best to ignore them all. Best of all, he tried to be a considerate gentleman towards Nymphadora, though he did a horrible job of it. He was awkward and nervous, but he made up for most of it with sincerity.
He also took the blame, assuming they'd been potioned because of something he'd done. Walburga thought this boded well for the future success of their relationship. It was encouraging that despite his assumption of responsibility, and the loss of her job, Nymphadora had not yet hexed him.
Still, he was handling matters far better than Nymphadora. She walked around in a state of perpetual shock, her life upended from two unexpected events- her pregnancy and the loss of her position.
Her relationship with Harry was entirely inappropriate, despite her potion induced rationalizations, and had resulted in her discharge from the Aurors. Director Bones had taken the hardline position that she'd proven her unsuitability to serve as an Auror by allowing herself to be potioned. Even if there were mitigating circumstances, an Auror's duties were entirely incompatible with pregnancy.
She'd wept at that. Harry's efforts to comfort her, while noble, were completely ineffective.
Walburga was pleased when Andromeda entered Grimmauld Place for the first time in over twenty years. She may have shamed the House, but she still looked every inch a Black as she entered her childhood home.
"Good morning, Andromeda," she half sang to her wayward niece.
Andromeda's cool gaze swept over her portrait. "Aunt Walburga," she replied, unperturbed. "Have you seen my daughter and," she hesitated, "her fiancé?"
Normally, Walburga would be inclined to curse her blood traitor of a niece, but not now. While she'd betrayed the family's ideals, she remained a competent, fearsome witch who understood how one should conduct oneself publicly. Harry would need her wand and her lessons in the days to come.
Though she rather hoped Andromeda started first with the basics of etiquette. His bumbling ignorance was disheartening.
"Hiding upstairs. Fourth floor, Regulus' old room." She'd been pleased when Kreacher offered it to them unprompted. "They avoid the others hoping to avoid quarrels, which is pathetic considering this is their house." Andromeda took a long slow blink as she took in her words. Unless she missed her guess, her niece would make it a priority to set matters right. "The others are still sleeping. A bunch of layabouts, if you ask me."
Andromeda nodded her head respectfully as she moved toward the stairwell. "Thank you, Aunt Walburga."
"Wait!" she called out, causing her mudblood loving niece to come to a stop. "Kreacher!" she called out. When the elf popped into existence, she added, "He can help you." Looking at him, she commanded, "Obey her as if she were me."
Andromeda looked amused and Kreacher shocked. They shouldn't be. Things would be different if she wasn't trapped in a painting, but the fact remained that she was. Harry needed a true Black to guide him. While Andromeda was far from ideal, like her daughter, she was the tool she had at hand. And just looking at her reassured her that she was far superior to Sirius.
Her instincts proved correct, again. Within hours her home had never been so lively. The shouting, cursing, crying, and spell fire- Andromeda was every bit as quick with her wand as Bellatrix when she became displeased- reminded her so much of her childhood that she regretted the passing of the day.
By evening, the Weasleys had been bundled off and the Order members ejected. Dumbledore had tried his tricks, twinkling eyed disappointment, appeals to his authority and the common good, and while Sirius looked as if he'd fold like a cheap suit, Andromeda was made of much firmer stuff.
For a moment she had thought her niece and Dumbledore would actually cross wands, but then Harry had moved to stand at her shoulder. His gaze had been resolute, as he said, "My mother in law asked you to leave, Professor. This is our home, not a hotel."
To Walburga's surprise, he had a wand in his hand. Dumbledore saw it too, shocked. Then Sirius was standing next to his godson and, so slowly it hurt, Nymphadora moved to stand by her soon to be husband and father of her children. The Blacks were united.
The elderly wizard's face had fallen. "I'm sorry it's come to this, Harry. Perhaps it's best that I take my leave to give time for tempers to cool."
With that, he vanished into the floo. Andromeda wasted no time shutting it down, a sensible security precaution.
Walburga had rarely been so proud. She'd feel that pride again, she told herself hopefully. Harry and Nymphadora would fill Grimmauld Place with children. Andromeda would guide them and Sirius, as long as he stayed drunk and out of the way, wouldn't interfere too much.
She would have to talk to Andromeda again. Her niece, despite her deviant taste in men, had courage and brains. Perhaps she could badger Sirius into taking up the ring but appoint her regent. It would strengthen Harry's position if the Blacks had a voice on the Wizengamot, if nothing else.
Even if they didn't take the name, they'd still be Blacks by blood. That's what truly counted- a rose would smell just as sweet no matter what it was called. The family would rise again and crush all that opposed them.
She liked the sound of that. Yes, there was a newly arisen Dark Lord to defeat, but she was sure Harry would put him into the ground eventually. After all, he'd beaten him as an infant. He should have no trouble doing so as a teen.
The future never looked so bright.