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Chapter 6
This time, there was no tension and muttering in the family. Dorea got her letter that summer just like everyone knew she would.
This time, there was no scrawny, shaking, crying child. Dorea stood proud and tall, even at the train station, just as a Black should.
This time, there was no humiliation. There was only pride when Dorea's letter arrived from Hogwarts, announcing that she had been sorted into Slytherin House.
Irma relayed that last bit of information over the breakfast table one morning, glancing up to see Pollux absently nodding. "She was always a bit softer, but she's pure at the core," he murmured.
"Aunt Dorea went away?" Walburga asked, the 'children are not to speak until spoken to' rule completely forgotten. Irma, however, didn't seem to register that, and answered immediately.
"Yes, she went to Hogwarts, where your Aunt Cassiopeia goes."
"Ah, Cassiopeia is still sore that that filthy Gryffindor became Head Girl and not her," Pollux muttered.
"What's a Gryffindor?" Walburga inquired brightly.
Pollux regarded her with a bemused expression. "I'm sure your Grandfather Cygnus has told you all about the House of Slytherin."
Walburga nodded eagerly. It was one of the only things she knew of the mysterious place called Hogwarts. Slytherin; the house of the silver serpent, the house of honor, the house of the Blacks.
"Well, there are other houses," her father continued, "filled with traitors and Mudbloods and half-breeds. Houses that seek to dishonor Slytherin, and stand against all the values that we have held dear for centuries."
"Pollux," Irma said sharply. She then lowered her voice so only her husband could hear. "It is one thing to teach her pride, and another to teach her malice." Then louder, "and don't forget that my mother was a Ravenclaw herself."
"Grandmother Alarice was not in Slytherin?" Walburga whispered, eyes wide.
"The Ravenclaws are wise," Irma said quickly. "Not foolhardy hotheads like the Gryffindors or naive idiots like the Hufflepuffs. Though the values in most of the houses have shifted to something, well, lesser, it would do good to remember that cunningness and ambition itself is not enough to get you through life. Courage, wisdom, and loyalty... they will all serve you well."
Pollux said nothing, either to agree with or dispute his wife, but his cynical stare gave a good idea of what he thought if the value of ambition were pitted against the value of loyalty. Sensing this, Irma added rather sharply, "loyalty has different forms."
She was turned towards Walburga; in the girl's mind, this was still a conversation revolving around her. A conversation in which her parents explained things to her, a conversation in which they both agreed and were now teaching their daughter together.
Irma, however, could feel Pollux's dark eyes boring into her head, and she felt the warning and the challenge that stretched far beyond a simple discussion intended to clear some things up for a six-year-old child.
"There is the loyalty that holds you back you back from greatness," Irma continued evenly. "And there is the loyalty that leads you to greatness. Loyalty to our beliefs, to our family, to the House of Black. Loyalty to Toujours Pur."
Pollux relaxed, Walburga nodded, and Alphard cooed.
She had played her part well.
Irma, Lady of the House of Black, had spoken.
...
Suddenly, to Walburga, Hogwarts did not feel like such a far-away prospect anymore.
Aunt Dorea, a mere five years older, was there after all. Mother, and sometimes Father, too, were talking about it more and more; first about the houses, then brief mentions of the castle, the classes, the teachers, and then later the magic as Walburga went on to demonstrate more and more accidental uses of it.
At the heart of it all stood Slytherin House; green with the silver serpent that had always mesmerized her, the beliefs that she had had repeated to her all her life, the people that were proper to associate with.
And it made so much sense.
All of the other houses that were filled with monsters whose blood ran with mud. Why should she want to associate with them, when their blood was not red like hers, not pure like hers? They weren't normal. There was something wrong.
How could people like that attend a school for the most sacred art of magic? They clearly did not belong.
It was only a few years later that Walburga learned exactly what it meant to be a Mudblood; that it has to do with birth, your family, and your parents. Still, the subconscious, mental image of blood intermingled with mud did not leave her mind until she was much, much older, and saw, for the first time, the blood of a Mudblood pooled on the ground.
It was red, but still, she did not, and never would, believe that it was pure.
...
"Why weren't you in Slytherin?" Walburga asked the next time she saw Alarice.
"Because that's not where the Sorting Hat put me," her grandmother said simply (followed by a brief explanation of what exactly she meant "I don't believe that it actually sings! "You'll see for yourself then.")
"Were you sad that you weren't in Slytherin?" Walburga rephrased the question, to which Alarice raised an eyebrow. "Why should I be? Why should I be ashamed that the hat saw wisdom over blind ambition? Ambition alone won't get you anywhere. You can aspire all you want but if you don't know how to go about it, you will only achieve failure."
"But Mother and Father and Grandfather Cygnus and Grandmother Violetta and Aunt Cassiopeia and Aunt Dorea were all in Slytherin."
"I never said anything against Slytherin House or any of its members. And I do admit that yes, ambition is important. But I do wonder who gave you the idea that Slytherin House is the only one with admirable qualities."
Alarice knew. She knew full well the influence that Cygnus, and now Pollux, too, had on the girl. She already saw the way that the beliefs of the Black family were easing their way into Walburga's mind. Slow, yet steady and undeniable. Like poison.
Alarice herself was a pureblood, married into a respectable pureblood marriage, and raised her children to understand the importance of blood supremacy. She believed in it, but not with the maniacal obsessiveness that the Black family believed in Toujours Pur. She did not worship Salazar Slytherin, and she did not condone dark magic.
When Walburga told her what her mother had said regarding loyalty, Alarice didn't know if it was a sign that Irma could still see beyond the teachings of Slytherin, or if it was a sign that Irma had become consumed by it.
...
It was that spring, when Walburga turned seven and Alphard turned two, that Lossy the House Elf died.
She had been an old thing that just hobbled around doing house work, and really did no wrong. Pollux largely ignored her, Irma just ordered her around to do various tasks, Walburga spent much of her time running away from her when Lossy was supposed to be supervising her, and Alphard just laughed whenever the elf appeared or disappeared with a crack.
It had just been once that Lossy angered Pollux. It was a rather trivial matter, and the hit that sent the House Elf sprawled on the floor hadn't even been that hard.
No one thought much of it, just expecting Lossy to get up and apologize and beg and grovel as House Elves do.
Only she never did. Even that one hit had been too much for the poor, old creature.
Seconds passed, but there was no movement, no muttered apology, no breath. Only a broken body sprawled on the floor.
Walburga screamed.
Irma quickly led her out of the room, pursing her lips. Walburga first thought that her mother's displeasure was directed at her behavior, and so she calmed down, trying to force the image of Lossy out of her mind.
It was only when her mother muttered "Lossy was an old elf anyways; she served our family well, but it was time for her to go," and she noticed how Irma was rather cold to Pollux for a while that Walburga realized that it was not at her that her mother was vexed.
The family was quick with replacing Lossy; a new, much younger, House Elf by the name of Kreacher was there within days.
Still, it was a while before Walburga could look at the new one, or that spot on the floor, without thinking of Lossy.
Or rather, Lossy's body. For it wasn't the House Elf as she was in life that Walburga remembered.
It was the crack as her father's hand connected with Lossy, the thump with which she fell to the floor, and the image of the tiny body lying on the ground at an odd angle.
And the silence.
AN: Just a quick note regarding Grimmauld Place and Kreacher. I know that in the books Walburga calls Grimmuald Place the house of her fathers, but 'fathers' could also refer to more distant ancestors. I believe that Grimmauld Place runs in the elder line, and will therefor come to Orion Black and, by an extent, Walburga. In this story, Kreacher is originally from Grimmauld Place, but seeing that his mother is still alive, they have no need for him and therefore send him to Black Residence when there is need for him there. He will later go back to Grimmauld Place with Walburga.