Immediately after being born, Walburga was snatched from the arms of her fifteen year old mother by her grandmother, Violetta Bulstrode. She was then taken to live with her grandfather, the great Cygnus Black. She spent the entirety of her childhood living in his palatial residence, Carlton House. In Muggle eyes, the mansion had been demolished in 1825, and replaced with an expensive series of houses. The fact of the matter was that Cygnus' great-great-grandfather, another Sirius Black, had purchased the house from the Ministry, and cast a simple Fidelius Charm on it. He then published a notice of this in the Daily Prophet, thus rendering the house accessible to more or less every wizard in the country, while removing it altogether from Muggle London. The house had passed down through the generations, generally being given to some younger son or nephew. Cygnus took possession when his brother Phineas was disowned in 1910.
Cygnus was a quintessential Black. He possessed the characteristic grey eyes, an aristocratic nose, thin, tightly compressed lips, and a high, intelligent forehead surmounting his long, drawn face. He was one of those people who seem to have been born into middle age. Perpetually in an unpleasant temper, arrogant, condescending and prudishly uptight, he was every young buck's worst nightmare. He whiled away his days reading dusty tomes and writing incomprehensible genealogies and family histories. With depressing punctuality, he turned up at the Ministry every day at three, and stayed there haranguing officials and punctiliously fulfilling his judicial duties, until five o'clock, when he returned home, and retired to his study to drink, smoke, and work on one of his esoteric literary projects. His horror of female company was so great that most men wondered how he had managed to sire four children by his unfortunate wife. Once a week, on Friday evenings, he attended the Orpington Club, a prestigious, exclusive political club for pure-blood wizards. They met, drank heavily, and vented their spleen in cursing mudbloods and conspiring against the Ministry. Cygnus followed this routine scrupulously, day after day, from 1910 to his death in 1943.
Although he maintained a very correct, formal façade in public, at home he was prone to strange, long episodes of melancholy, sudden fits of erratic rage, and, queerest of all, contemplative periods of pensive meditation, during which he withdrew completely into himself, and went through the motions of personal and professional life in a completely mechanical, absent fashion. These ended in abrupt mood swings. It was only during these curious episodes that Walburga actually got to know her grandfather. She imbibed his personality and manner, for in her eyes, Cygnus was the apex of all that was Black.
Violetta, his wife, was his diametric opposite. Her favourite occupation was make-up and dressing, and her card-parties were the talk of Wizarding London. Cygnus left her to her own devices, and indulged her every whim in the hope that she's leave him alone. She liked to boast to her sisters that the only times she ever had to lay eyes him was when conceiving the children. Walburga couldn't stand her grandmother's company.
Once, when she was eleven, at home from Hogwarts for the winter, Cygnus called her into his study. For a long while, he just sat at his massive desk, staring reflectively into a glass of whiskey. Without looking up, he stated "Drusus Rosier has a daughter."
Walburga knew better than to ask for clarification. "I see, grandfather."
"I'm thinking about her for one of your brothers," he sighed.
"Of course, grandfather."
"You know, of course, what they're like, the Rosiers," he said. "Very pretty faces, very airy heads, and very empty pockets. They're every one as poor as church mice."
"Yes, grandfather," said Walburga.
"You understand, child, this is what distinguishes us. Pure-blood families have character. We have distinctiveness, individuality to all of us. As the blood stays pure, so do our characters. Generation after generation, parent to child. The fruit borne by the untainted tree tastes as sweet, no matter the branch." Cygnus exhaled heavily through his mouth. "That is why mudbloods disgust me. Think of the filth! All that scum and corruption, tainting our lines, lines pure and well-bred, unbroken since the days of the Conquest, and before; how revolting it all is. These faceless, dirty swine penetrate our families, and once the taint enters, they're done for. Finished! Turned into vapid, warped, half-blood monstrosities!"
Walburga sat transfixed, drinking in the vituperative as she stared at her grandfather.
"Earlier this year, when the Wizengamot met to elect a new Minister, I was quite confident that Yaxley would get the job. Parvenus they may be, but they're all reliable, stolid and uncompromising. I myself was one of the senior members who endorsed his candidacy. Well, now, imagine my surprise when I was told that my endorsement had been opposed." He paused for emphasis. "The last time someone proposed a candidate against one who had the support of the Blacks was 1848. The last time someone did so, and the candidate in opposition actually won, was 1832. Think on the legacy I have received, child."
"What happened, grandfather?" breathed Walburga
"Well, the candidate put up against Yaxley won. It was a woman, no less. Her name? Ottaline Gambol. Did you recognise the name then, child?" By now, Cygnus was trembling and shaking.
"No, grandfather."
"You didn't, child, because it was some unknown, dirty half-blood. A half-blood, who successfully defied the mandate of the House of Black. Can you imagine how humiliated I was?" Making an effort, Cygnus stilled the trembling of his hands, and took a long draught from his glass. "I didn't show it, of course. We never should. Leave it to those dipsomaniac Gaunts, making scenes and screaming the house down. What I did felt much better. While my spineless colleagues went and congratulated the bitch, I went to Dumbledore, who'd put her name up, and congratulated him on his third Ministership in absentia." He tittered gleefully. "That cooked the old fart's goose, and in front of the whole Wizengamot."
At home, Cygnus swore regularly. This did not mean, of course, that he wouldn't fly of the handle if any other member of the household so much as said "damn." Walburga was more than used to it. Pureblood girls didn't swear, but Walburga enjoyed practicing her cussing on Violetta's little lapdog.
"How dreadful. But at least you taught him a lesson, grandfather." supposed Walburga.
This put Cygnus back in a bad mood. "Hm? What's that got to do with what I was talking about? Don't interrupt where you're not wanted, girl." he snapped. "Here comes the cream of the jest. That old hag's decided on a novelty. She was babbling today about transportation problems to Hogwarts. Frankly, I never saw anything wrong with the way things are. It's good to be able to send our children to school in style, and if scum like your ex-cousin Cedrella's weaselly Weasleys can only afford portkeys, too bad for them. And I also always held it an advantage, if the Mudblood whelps couldn't find their way to school. Now, what was I saying? Don't distract me so."
Unfazed, Walburga replied "You were telling me about the Minister's talk, grandfather."
"Yes, that's right. So, what has Miss high-and-mighty half-blood decided to do? Why, she's going to bring a train to school! Think of it, dear. No more horse-drawn carriages for you! You'll be riding back to school in a dirty, smoky, rotten Muggle contraption in January! Pah! I wish you all joy of it!" he barked.
"I think it's quite disgusting, grandfather." said the indignant Walburga.
"I voted against. And lost! Again! Again and again and again, the filth and mudbloods overwhelm us. Do you know how? Numbers. They breed like the vile flied that they are." Cygnus was shaking again. He poured and polished off another glass. "What the hell are you standing around for now? Go on, get out. I don't want you anymore." he snarled.
As Walburga walked out, she saw her grandfather hiccough and collapse in his chair, chest heaving angrily. Closing the door, she heard a muffled sob.
An ordinary child would have been glad to escape the oppressive study. Walburga shook with indignant, impotent rage. How dared those mudbloods! To see what her poor grandfather had been reduced to! Then and there, she vowed silently to herself that she would never see that evil taint enter her family. Toujours pur, she thought. It always has been so. And God damn me if it don't stay that way!