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Chapter 4
Somehow, Walburga had never even thought of the possibility of a sibling until she was told that she was going to get one. She really should have known, considering that she had spent entire summer at Black Manor with Grandfather Cygnus and Grandmother Violetta, who had four children.
And she really should have been looking forward to it, considering that it would give her a playmate and someone else in Black Residence that wasn't Father, Mother, or the House Elf.
But she hadn't known; no it was a complete shock to her, and no, she most definitely was not looking forward to the arrival of the baby.
What if it was a boy, and he ended up like Marius; a scrawny little thing that really did nothing other than shake and sob as Grandfather Cygnus blasted him off of the family tree?
Or what if it was a girl, and acted just like Grandmother Violetta or Aunt Cassiopeia or Aunt Dorea; all annoying high-pitched giggles and constant preening?
Still, it was only a mild dislike that Walburga felt towards the baby in the beginning, and even that was just about the IDEA of the baby, not the child itself. It was only when it began changing her mother that the hate kicked in, and it was directed right AT her unborn sibling.
As the months wore on, the pregnancy began to take its toll on Irma. She became more and more apt to locking herself away during the day. No one was really sure what she did all day. There was never a sound from her room, and she still came out for meals every day, dry-eyed, though always with a far-away look.
Whenever Pollux tried speaking to her, she always ignored him and sharply turned her back. Whenever Walburga wanted to speak to her, Irma always quietly asked her to leave and not be a bother.
Both Pollux and Walburga did their best to appease her (Pollux did so purely out of a sense of obligation, and Walburga did so after getting called into her father's study one afternoon to have a very stern and very one-sided conversation about the importance of not bothering her mother), and for a while, there was a odd sort of atmosphere around the house; it resembled peace, but it was also tense, as if waiting for who would snap first.
It was Irma.
It happened a month after she altogether stopped coming out for meals (leaving Pollux and Walburga to dine with each other in silence) and two weeks after she stopped accepting most of the food that Lossy delivered to her room.
It was then that Pollux decided to try and coax some food into his wife. It was just a small tray of food, and he really hadn't been planning on engaging in conversation. It was only when he knocked, received no answer, forced the door open and he saw Irma that he decided to try and talk some sense into her. While Irma's stomach and breasts got bigger, nearly every other part of her was shrinking. Her arms and legs became alarmingly skinny, and her face began to look gaunt and worn.
No one had seen her in the past few weeks; though Lossy dutifully brought food everyday and knocked on the door, she dared not do anymore when there was no answer. He would definitely have to have a word with that old and useless House Elf, Pollux decided.
Unbeknownst to him, Walburga had followed him upstairs and was standing just outside the door. Though she did not dare poke her head around the corner to look, there wasn't even a need. She heard everything just as well we she would have seen it.
It started rather quietly; only her father spoke, and it was in a hushed tone, as if he was begging. Walburga picked up a lot of mentions of the baby, and of eating, and of her. It was only several minutes later, when Irma's voice rang out, hoarse from misuse yet still loud, that the little girl could hear every word. Accusations, threats, pleas and tears, all hurled at Pollux.
It wasn't the first fight between her parents that Walburga had ever heard. It wasn't the first time that she heard her mother cry. But there was something different about this time, Walburga could feel it. Her father wasn't fighting back, as he usually did, meeting scream with scream, insult with insult, rage with rage. Instead, he was muttering her mother's name, over and over and over again, as if it were a prayer.
"Irma"
Walburga heard her mother's voice crack from the strain, unable to handle the the pressure after weeks of silence.
"Irma"
That was when she heard the laughter; that horrible, joyless, guttural sound that her mother emitted, only filled with spite and pain.
"Irma"
Most said that madness ran in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. They weren't wrong, Walburga would acknowledge in the end, but the insanity that marred the final few generations of Blacks; this was the stem of it.
"Irma"
It was only then that Walburga worked up the courage to look inside the room, just in time to see Pollux attempt to approach Irma.
"Irma"
There was a resounding slap.
"Irma"
It hardly did anything. Irma had no strength after a month of being shut up in her room, and Pollux was a strong man.
"Irma"
Still, he backed away, even as she approached the fire place with a handful of glittering powder.
"Irma"
With a choked cry of "Crabbe Manor!", Walburga watched her mother disappear in a haze of emerald flames.
"Irma"
The silence that followed was deafening. Pollux swept out of the room, black hair flying, black robes billowing, black eyes snapping. He paid no attention to his daughter, who was at that point openly standing in the doorway.
For the rest of that day, Pollux shut himself up in his study, and Walburga ate dinner alone.
...
"Where is Mother?"
Walburga already knew the answer. But she still asked. Silence.
"Why did she leave?"
She had her ideas, but she still wanted to hear it from Pollux. She did not get that satisfaction. Silence.
"When is she coming back?"
She did not know the answer to that. And if her father did, he didn't say. Silence, again.
"Can I go see her?"
"Maybe," Pollux finally said. "I'll write and ask."
It was three days later that he spoke to her again. "She said no."
That was all her father was willing to say to her at all. Her mother didn't want to see her.
It hurt.
...
Pollux forgot about her birthday that spring. The only reason that she even knew it was her birthday was because of the owl that came.
When she saw that it was the one from Crabbe Manor, Walburga felt her heart rise. There were sweets, some picture books, and a letter in the package. She couldn't read yet, so she made Lossy read the letter to her.
She didn't really pay attention to what the letter itself said. She was only listening for the end.
"Love, Grandmother Alarice."
Walburga took the letter from the House Elf and ripped it up. She later regretted it. Even later, she wondered what it had said.
...
It was four days after her fifth birthday that her brother was born. Pollux and Walburga took the Floo to St. Mungo's, where they were escorted through the white hallways to a small waiting room, with an even smaller room attached to it.
Alarice was sitting in the waiting room; Pollux gave her a respectful nod, to which the older witch only pursed her lips before hugging Walburga tightly.
The next few hours were a blur to the young girl. She remembered a young Mediwitch coming out of the small room, and kindly ushering Pollux inside.
She did not know that it had been nearly three months since Pollux and Irma last saw each other.
Still, Pollux went inside, and it was hours before he came back out again. Those hours were spent with Alarice (Walburga had dearly missed her grandmother; it was almost a year since she had left Crabbe Manor) talking, sitting in silence, and, at least on Walburga's part, dozing off a few times.
When Pollux came out again, there was the sound of crying in the background. Though she had never heard one cry before, Walburga automatically knew that it was a baby. She looked up at Alarice uncertainly, but her grandmother only gave her a gentle nudge towards the room, and the two walked in together.
Seeing her mother, seeing her smile, hearing Alarice laugh, seeing her brother, hearing him cry; it was all a blur to Walburga that finally cleared out when she was holding Alphard in her arms.
The only thought that she could really muster was that he looked just like Marius must have looked like when he was a baby. Small and scrawny with sickly looking white skin, made even more pale by the shock of black hair.
It was only when Alphard opened is eyes that a wave of relief washed through Walburga.
Eyes that were a stormy grey, same as Alarice's, same as hers. Yes, this was her brother, and he was going to be nothing like Marius, of that she would make sure.