Thank you for all the reviews, especially FairyRave for pointing out my mistake. Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter; I promise that the next one shall be up very soon (this is the first time where this chapter will directly lead into the next). As always, enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review. All belongs to JK Rowling.
Chapter 8
In an unspoken act of peace, Walburga became more agreeable with Kreacher when it came to her lessons, which her mother was now insisting happen daily. It had been going on for a while now -even when Lossy had been alive- but more recently, the simple texts meant for children had changed into old records of the Black family, the basic penmanship had changed into practicing and perfecting an elaborate signature that would one day become her own.
She didn't know that other children in other families were still reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard. In her mind, though most of the things she read made no sense, they were much better than stories of a hopping pot or a cackling stump.
She was too old for those stories, or so she had been told. Besides, it made Father proud when she surprised him with a tidbit of Black family history she had just learned.
The only real children's story she had ever had any real interest in was the Fountain of Fair Fortune. Lossy had started reading it to her once, but, by some chance, Pollux had overheard and had snapped at her to stop immediately and never read from that book again.
Walburga had wondered for quite some while what had been in that story, but she hadn't been able to find the children's book and it wasn't like she could ask Lossy it find it for her. She had come to believe that the book had been thrown out, and she had quite forgotten the incident until she came across a mention of fountains in her reading.
This urged her to ask Kreacher to find the Tales of Beedle the Bard. It took the House Elf a while, seeing that the book had been buried under some other junk, but he eventually returned, the beat-up book in hand. Personally, Walburga was just happy that he had even managed to find it.
She grabbed it, muttering an absentminded "thanks," before realizing what she had just said.
She had just thanked Kreacher.
She, Walburga Black, had just thanked a House Elf.
She knew her family would have a fit if they found out, but what they didn't know couldn't possibly hurt them, just like her father wouldn't ever find out that she had gotten her hands on the book years after he banned her from ever hearing from it again.
Walburga decided not to dwell on it and instead delved into the book, quickly finding the story and skimming it through.
It seemed to be just another children's story to her; three witches, a magical fountain, trials to get to the fountain... she couldn't see what was in it that would anger her father such. She decided to ask Kreacher; surely he wouldn't even know that she wasn't supposed to be reading the book.
"Kreacher," she called, and the House Elf appeared with a crack.
"Young Mistress Walburga summoned?" He asked, bowing. She nodded, then handed him the book, open at the Fountain of Fair Fortune.
"Father once told me that this story contained something... something dark. I never read it but now I am and... what is it?"
If Kreacher didn't believe her story, he didn't say, and only began to quietly read. The House Elf stared at the story for the longest time, to the point that Walburga began to grow impatient.
"Well?" She asked. Finally, he looked up. "A marriage," he whispered. "A marriage that should never happen."
"What marriage?" She grabbed the book back, attempting to find what Kreacher spoke of. "Between Amata and Sir Luckless?"
The House Elf nodded. "Terrible thing it is. A marriage between a witch and..." he glanced around nervously. Walburga felt her temper rise, but quickly tamped it down and smiled. "And what? Come on Kreacher... no one will hear but me."
"A muggle," Kreacher finally said.
Walburga gasped, skimming over the story again. "Sir Luckless? But how? Why would Amata marry something like...that?"
"People do strange things. But Kreacher doesn't know, he is only a House Elf!"
"Because she's a blood traitor!" Walburga declared, casting the book down.
Kreacher quickly picked it up, ready to hand it back to her, but Walburga shook her head.
"Throw it away. Wait, no, burn it. I don't want Alphard to find that."
Kreacher bowed, before looking up curiously. "Is this the book that Young Mistress Walburga once told Kreacher that Master Pollux told her to never read?"
Walburga glanced up sharply, mind reeling. Had she mentioned it to him before? She didn't remember, but then again, she had been speaking quite a lot to the House Elf in the past several months.
Kreacher quickly shook his head, dropping the book and bashing his head against the nearest wall.
"Bad Kreacher!" She heard him muttering, before he turned and bowed low again. "Kreacher apologizes," he stuttered. "It's not Kreacher's business to go snooping in Young Mistress Walburga's life. Master Pollux never spoke to Kreacher of this, and so Kreacher shall not tell."
Walburga was half inclined to smile, but instead she just shrugged and dismissed the House Elf, who scurried away, book in hand.
...
It was the winter before Walburga's ninth birthday that she attended the 1933 Winter Ball at Grimmauld Place. Pollux had briefly explained to her that it was in honor of some ancestor that lived hundreds of years ago, but she only saw it as a big grand party looming ahead in the near future, with lots of strangers and lots of proper etiquette.
It was only to be the Black family, but from what she had heard, it was rather large and reached well beyond her parents, brother, grandparents and aunts. She had heard of Black Manor hosting even larger parties, now that Aunt Cassiopeia was at an age suitable to marry.
At any rate, Walburga still had no idea how important the event was, until earlier that afternoon Irma forced her into dark blue dress robes and shiny black shoes, pinned her hair up, and hung a small silver necklace around her neck.
It all felt rather uncomfortable, but when no one was looking, Walburga couldn't help but preen. That was, until she thought of how she must look like Grandmother Violetta, upon which she stopped immediately.
It took a bit more cajoling on Irma's part to get Alphard ready for the ball; he wasn't even seven, and so he didn't understand why he should want to dress up in uncomfortable dress robes, be paraded around as the perfect little son, silent until spoke to, invisible until wanted to be seen.
"Would it matter if I didn't go?" He asked Irma, to which she said nothing. Alphard huffed loudly. As soon as Irma was done making the finishing touches on him -brushing his hair, straightening his collar- he was off, probably to hide somewhere and leave the family scrambling to find him at the last minute.
"When are we going?" Walburga asked her mother, who shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. "I still need to get ready... now go and find your brother and Walburga don't ruin your hair," Irma yanked her daughter to her and roughly adjusted a pin. It pulled on Walburga's hair, but she chose not to say anything and dutifully went to find her brother once her mother was done with her.
She found him where he always hid at such times; inside the old and dusty wardrobe in one of the extra bedrooms. Their parents didn't know of this spot. It was Alphard's private little fort, and she kept the secret for him.
"Is it bad that I don't want to go?" He asked her in a small voice. "All they do is talk about stuff."
"I suppose that's what adults do," Walburga shrugged. She didn't climb in after him; though he never minded her talking to him from the outside, he never let her inside. She sometimes wondered what things Alphard kept stashed in there, but she knew better than to ask. It would most likely be some strange little harmless gadget anyways.
"Yeah, but the stuff they talk about is just...weird, you know?"
Walburga furrowed her eyebrows, even though she knew that her brother couldn't see her. "What do other families talk about?"
"A few weeks ago in Diagon Alley I heard a family talking about their favorite ice cream flavors."
"Why on earth would you want to talk about that?"
"I don't," Alphard quickly replied. "But I wan to talk about... different stuff."
"Then talk. I'm here."
Alphard popped his head out and shook his mop of black hair. "You don't get it."
"Get what!" Walburga was getting frustrated.
"That we're different. Everyone looks away when we come, and we don't laugh like others."
"Well, that just means that they're scared of us because we're better."
"I thought that we're normal, and they're different."
Walburga shrugged. "It goes both ways, I guess."
"But which one's right?"
"Alphard, you know Mother and Father and Grandfather Cygnus would never lie to us!"
"I didn't say that," he said in a small voice, retreating back into the wardrobe.
"Alphard!"
No answer.
"Talk to Grandfather Cygnus tonight, if it's really bothering you."
"I wanted to talk to you," came the muffled voice.
"Well, I'm right here!" She exclaimed as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
Silence.
"I'm sorry."
She didn't know what for.
"It's ok. You didn't do anything. I'm not mad."
"Alphard, please come out."
"I will. I'll come out before we have to leave so they don't get mad. I promise."
That was perfectly fine by Walburga. Alphard always kept his word.
...
Walburga had never quite given her parents looks much thought before, but that evening she saw what a striking couple they made. Irma's blond hair and light complexion complimented Pollux's dark looks well, and they both held themselves in a fashion that commanded respect; Pollux did so naturally, and Irma forced herself into the role so well that it didn't even look forced anymore.
Behind them, Alphard and her, miniature versions of their parents. That's how they entered Grimmauld Place, a family, because despite the fact that they were supposedly all family, there was still an underlying tone of judgment, of competition, of pride.
And Grimmauld Place was the perfect setting.
When she first landed gracefully on the rug in front of the fireplace (it had taken Irma ages to teach her children that maneuver, all for this occasion) she was struck by how dark the place was. Fine enough yes, (as she traveled further into the house, she would find it to be exquisite) but there was an odd ringing silence that wouldn't leave her ears all night, no matter how loud the noise level was.
It was also cold, everywhere, no matter where she stood. Whether it was by the window or by the hearth, it was the same, bone-chilling cold that seemed to seep into her very soul.
No amount of light could quite shine through the darkness that seemed to envelop the place, folding all into its cold embrace, giving everyone an eery and haunted look.
It was terrible and beautiful, all at the same time, and Walburga's mind was left reeling. A part of her was silently screaming to leave, to run, to run and never look back. Another part of her was drawn to it, to the sense of danger and foreboding to it all, to the magic that seemed to almost shimmer in the faint light.
A dark and enchanting magic, one that she could not grasp, but she felt it, yes, she felt it
Pulsing...
Toujours Pur
Moving...
Toujours Pur
Poisonous...
Toujours Pur
Enchanting...
Toujours Pur
Dark...
Toujours Pur
"Walburga," Irma's voice cut through it all. It broke the spell, and with it came clarity; she could think again, she could feel.
Pollux seemed to have not noticed; he was peering further in, where voices could be heard drifting from the ballroom.
Somehow, she had not noticed them prior.
Her mother was looking at her, and she looked sad,
So, so sad,
But still, Irma was not spared from the darkness.
It enveloped her form, casting shadows on her face, distorting her to the point that she no longer looked like Walburga's mother, but like a dark enchantress; terrible, ancient, and powerful, yet beautiful.
Walburga held Alphard's hand as they made their way deeper into the house. He was obviously confused, creeped and chilled, but he still shone like he always did.
He still radiated that same energy, his face just a little clearer than everyone else's, his hair just a little lighter, not blending in and becoming one with the darkness as her and Pollux's hair did.
His eyes just a little less crazed.
And it brought Walburga peace and comfort, almost enough to keep her grounded, almost enough to block out the call of the darkness around her.
Almost.