Written for the International Wizarding Schools Championship, Round 5: Hogsmeade
Beauxbatons, year 7
Special rule: purple / POWER
Theme: The Three Broomsticks / drama and gossip
Main prompt: [word] drama
Additional prompts: [First line] "Looking back, [s]he could not tell you how [s]he got here", [event] party
Wordcount: 1859 (including A/N)
PRUNING THE FAMILY TREE
Looking back, she could not tell you how she got here. Here: in an ungainly pile on the rug in the drawing room, crying stains into the carpet. Here: clutching the end of the family tapestry in one hand and squeezing the other so tight there were half-moons in her palm where her nails cut in. Here: in a position Walburga Black had never been before; she was regretting.
An hour earlier, Walburga walked into the ballroom with as much elegance as she could muster, skirts arranged neatly around her legs and jewels encrusting her neck and bodice. The Blacks were fashionably late, trailing in so everyone could see her, with her husband at her arm and her sons walking dutifully behind.
It was a party to behold. The chandeliers were perfectly polished, and glittered merrily above; a table at the far end was laden with all sorts of luxurious food and drink, of which there was enough to feed hundreds; the ballroom was decorated with seasonal garlands every few feet. The room was awash with gleeful chatter and the usual spread of drama, most of which was encouraged by women whose sole purpose seemed to be to enact their powers of information (and misinformation) against other women, creating several back-and-forth battles between (and within) families.
Walburga nearly screamed when she saw the chatter stutter to a stop as they entered. From every corner of the room, clusters of people turned to look at the Black family, sneers marring their faces and shock ringing their eyes. Clearly, they were the source of the gossip on this occasion.
Trying not to look overly concerned or frustrated, she carefully smoothed her features into an impenetrable mask and drifted as casually as possible towards a group containing some of the more trustworthy gossips. Her family split off into their own directions, unaware of her ire.
Half of her didn't want to indulge the chattering women, shallow as they were, but the other half was loathe to let such a cold entrance remain unexplained. If there was a stain on her family name, she needed to know of it.
"Walburga!" Druella greeted her with a cruel smile. "I'm surprised you're letting Sirius attend!"
Of course it was Druella. This was probably revenge for something trivial said at the last party. That's all the woman cared about: avenging wrongs done to her. When would this cycle stop?
She didn't react, but turned around as the other ladies did to watch Sirius, who was standing alone at a table, not catching anyone's gaze (which was difficult, because he seemed to be the focus of the entire room).
She turned back to her sister-in-law. "And why would that be?"
Red lips pulled into a satisfied smile. "Because he was caught in a compromising situation at Hogwarts last week," she boasted. "With a boy."
The group fell silent. In her mind, Walburga ran over the statement three times before tucking it neatly into her mind. "Is that so?" she asked, her voice carrying a dangerous undertone. She shot another look behind her at her son, and he raised his eyes to meet hers, flinching back as he saw the rage within them. Good riddance, she thought, and even in her mind, her voice shook.
The gossips watched eagerly as she left the group, crossing the as-of-yet empty dance floor to meet her husband.
"We are leaving," she hissed. Confusion riddled his features, but she held his gaze until he nodded. "Get Regulus," she said.
And she turned around, no longer trying to look casual as she strode towards her eldest son. When she reached him, she leant in far too close and put her mouth by his ear. "You have ruined us," she whispered. "We are leaving because of you. And I doubt we'll be invited back."
His grey eyes—so like her own—were wide and fearful. She could only imagine what sort of rage showed in her eyes, her voice, her stature, that would make the usually proud boy cower like that. She wondered whether she resembled her own mother and nearly shuddered at the thought of it.
She wrapped a hand around his arm, digging her nails into his skin, and dragged him towards the door without a second look towards the other guests. She simply nodded at the butler at the door, who had the nerve to raise an amused eyebrow back at her as she left.
Behind them, the gossips smiled and tittered about their successes, and found someone else to hold their power over. Some other drama to ruin someone.
For the Blacks, the trip through the Floo was ungainly, especially as she was clutching tight to Sirius's arm the entire time, afraid he would run off to escape her wrath. She imagined that keen look on Druella's face again, so eager to cause her ruin; she remembered the entire room going silent as she entered.
How dare he?
When the whole family had arrived at twelve Grimmauld Place, she hissed, "Regulus, Orion, why don't you leave Sirius and me to have a little chat?"
The looks on their faces were grim, and Orion gave her a last nod before the two of them traipsed out. Regulus shot a final worried look towards his brother as the door closed.
The room was left in silence as Walburga regarded her son.
His eyes wouldn't leave her own, and she nearly snapped at him to look away, because in those eyes she saw herself as a sixteen-year-old, young and naïve and hoping Father wouldn't hit her again. In his look, she nearly changed her mind (but didn't of course—she was a Black, after all).
Her decision was already made, and her pride prevented her from doubting it. Sirius had to go. Too many times had he disgraced her, soiled their noble line, and damaged their reputation irreparably. Since he had left for Hogwarts and found those incorrigible friends of his, he had not thought of their family honour even once. And by family tradition, this meant he had to go. There was no going back from here.
Walburga remembered her first time reading Pruning the Family Tree. It was a book left to her by her late mother, and the harshness of it had shocked her then, had left her in tears as she read. Now the words were a familiar comfort. 'There are certain branches that will produce only rotten fruit, and any gardener will know that the only option in this situation is to saw these branches off, to prevent the spread of their disease. The same rule applies to the family tree. Cut the branch off before it can influence those around it.'
It was only right. Even the book said so.
"Sirius," she snapped. "I cannot even begin to imagine what is going through your head. There must be all sorts of wicked thoughts in that mind of yours."
He stayed silent.
"Is this some form of … revenge? Are you trying to exert what power you have, to threaten me with your new ... habit? It is, isn't it? What is wrong with you?"
He gave a little smile. It was bitter and she knew her son was hiding his anger, for she often did the same herself. "I think it is you who cares about power, Mother."
"Do not speak to me like that." But it was true. The gossips had stolen a little of her power with this exposure, and she wanted it back. She had to fight for it. "You are disgusting. Gryffindor has poisoned you. I have half a mind to go find your little friends and beat some sense into them."
The look on his face … no son should bear such hatred for a parent. Shame gnawed at her stomach.
"But I worry that you will poison Regulus, as they have done to you. So you are to leave." The words burned her lips. "You are to leave and never come near my son ever again. Do you hear me?"
His eyes were suddenly hard, and his lips stayed resolutely closed.
"DO YOU HEAR ME?" The words become a scream, a squawk. Wild and untamed because at that moment, she realised that Regulus loved her. Regulus still loved her, and this boy would not take him from her. This boy would not taint the only son she had left.
Her emotions fluctuated. She felt like a kite buffeted by the wind, flying back and forth, diving and soaring.
"I hear you, Mother." His cold tone clashed against her fire, and the flames stuttered for a second.
"Leave, then."
She did not touch him. Her wand did not even enter her hand. She let Sirius walk away.
Let her son walk away.
As soon as it was done, she regretted it, for what well-chosen act is created in the heat of the moment, in revenge for soiling a name? She could not imagine how many hours she would have spent on this if Druella hadn't escalated everything with her useless gossip and petty vengeance. But it was over, and Walburga Black was not a woman who often changed her mind.
Once he was out of the room, she turned and screamed, clutching her hands to her face and pulling at her cheeks, digging her long nails in. She had pruned her family's tree, and the shears had been sharp enough to cut a perfect slash across her heart; as it bled, the pain bloomed in her chest. She screamed and screamed, feeling her anger, fear, and regret crawl through her body, rising up her throat until it escaped as a feral shriek through her lips. She didn't even lift her wand; with her mind, she imagined flames licking over the face of her heir on the tapestry, and it burned until it left a perfect hole where his name had been and a tidy pile of ash on the carpet below.
As her scream faded, she heard the even thumps of a trunk going down one step at a time, then a painful scrape from just outside, the click of a lock, and the front door shutting.
Twelve Grimmauld Place was soaked in the deepest silence she could imagine. Regulus was sitting dejectedly in bed, Orion was holding his breath upstairs, and Walburga stared in shock at the mess she had made of her family. Now that the drama of the night was concluded, the house was left hollow and empty.
Sirius. Her boy. As passionate, as wild, as angry as her, with the same glossy hair, thunderous eyes, and sharp tongue.
Gone.
She fell into a heap and cried. A mother, however, detached from her son, will always choose family over power.
So what sort of mother was she?