A/N: This was a last-second writing, albeit planned thoroughly. Oh, and have I mentioned that I love writing journal-form stories? It can go a lot of ways and it's an easy way to mesh a character.
Beta love: Huge bunches of virtual cookies to LittleMissXanda, who gave an idea for this fic (And for being awesome in general. Also for betaing and for helping with the title. Like, really, Xanda, you're an angel.), and to Kefalion and agentmoppet for betaing.
Word count: 1818
QLFC Round 10: Chaser 3 – Walburga Black (portrait)
Extra prompts:
3. (quote) "Real or not real?" – Peeta Mellark, Mockingjay
13. (word) eager
14. (dialogue) "Can't say I'm too fond of house-elves."
January 28th, 1979
It seems my research about soul magic is progressing well. I have yet to finish my plans for my upcoming experiments, but I think that soon, I will be able to test some of the spells I have invented. However, it is probable that these tests will be delayed, as I have encountered a more intriguing topic, and it is likely to change my plans.
Recently, I found an article in a book I took from the library. It was written in the seventeenth century, and the article I found is about the magic within portraits. I found it quite intriguing. It claims that portraits coming alive post-mortem have a direct connection to a certain kind of soul magic, but unfortunately, it does not explain the background of this magic in detail. It seems I will have to delve into the topic and search more thoroughly before I can experiment.
There are a number of theories buzzing in my head. Real or not real? My aim is to find the answer to all of them.
The focus of my research from now on is to examine the possibilities of fusing soul magic with the magic of portraits in order to create a more powerful bond, and then to determine whether or not such a fusion can be used for other magical artefacts as well.
I am not sure if I should tell Walburga about my findings. She has always disapproved of such daring behaviour, but on the other hand, she strives for knowledge and power as much as I do. If I am successful with these experiments, new horizons will open up to me.
But until then, I have research to do.
~oOo~
March 13th, 1979
The planning stage for my new experiment is almost done. Since my last entry, I have found out more about the magic that resides within portraits, and I came to a conclusion that is most intriguing, if I do say so myself.
I recently found another book on portrait magic in the family library, and, combining my previous knowledge with what I read in this book, I concluded that a soul is likely to reside within each magical portrait.
With the permission of my deceased great-grandfather, Phineas Nigellus, I performed a number of diagnostic spells. To my absolute delight, it seemed that my hypothesis was correct, and portraits do have souls of their own. However, I am yet to determine where the souls come from. As per one of the main laws of Magical Theory, it is impossible for a soul to appear from nowhere, which leaves this question hanging. It's quite a pressing issue, but I believe that in time, the answer will present itself.
Now, as for my upcoming test, I decided that it is only wise to start with a lower being. Since I am not too keen on wasting my time with Mudbloods or Muggles, I ordered Kreacher to assist me, and he obeyed like the well-mannered house-elf he is. Can't say I'm too fond of house-elves, but having one at hand is convenient, and I am looking forward to this test.
What will I do? I will try to see if I can create a replica of the house-elf's soul with a spell of my making—Ecfingem Autem Anima—and then paste it into a blank painting. Both parts of the procedure are dark and dangerous, based on my previous notes; however, I am willing to make sacrifices. That aside, I have never been opposed to dark magic.
I have to admit: I am eager to see how this experiment plays out. It's exciting.
It is also a shame that I cannot share it with Walburga. She has told me that she wants no part in my 'shady business with portraits,' and that she would rather I went back to my political career. Or, if I am that stubborn about not working in the Ministry, I should follow in the footsteps of our son, and become a follower of the Dark Lord.
I feel as if I should have been offended by her words. Instead, however, what I feel is closer to disappointment.
Fortunately, I am not that easy to influence.
~oOo~
April 2nd, 1979
I have to put my efforts on hold for an indefinite amount of time for multiple reasons.
First of all, to my utter displeasure, my first experiment was a failure. However, I already found the root of the problem. The spell I used for duplication. The latin translation of the spell was not precise, and it seems that because of the power the spell needs to work, it has to be chanted multiple times instead of one. Four times, if my calculations are correct. With the correct spell—Effingem Autem Anima—the next trial should be more successful.
As such, I did not manage to fill the blank portrait I had purchased beforehand. Although, it seemed as though the house-elf bore consequences of the test. It is almost as if it has gone mad; at least, that is what my observations have told me.
Walburga must have noticed as well; she was looking at me with suspicion the other day. She even told me to reconsider the Ministry job once again, which I declined. After I did, she huffed and went back to her room, telling me that I was bringing shame to the family name, like my cousin Alphard. I had to resist the urge to teach her a lesson with my wand.
All that aside, I cannot continue my progress. For now, my time has to be spent on other matters. My precious son, Regulus, passed away recently. We have yet to set a date for and arrange the burial as his body has not been found, but it is rumoured that he was killed while trying to flee from the Dark Lord. What a shame.
I cannot say I am happy with these rumours—after all, it must be an attempt to undermine our family name—but the news is disheartening, to say at least. I believe Walburga was fazed by the rumours, too.
To top all these horrible events, I have been feeling unwell these past days. I am not yet certain, but I suspect it may be connected to my experiments.
Nevertheless, once the time of mourning passes, I will continue preparing for the tests. I am proud to say that I already have a plan to go by.
~oOo~
June 20th, 1979
My sickness is getting worse day by day. My nagging suspicion that it may be connected to the incident with the house-elf has grown stronger, but I am not yet a hundred percent sure if it really is the case.
However, my son's burial has passed, and I decided to continue my proceedings. I am happy to say that the preparations for the final trial are almost complete, and the experiment is guaranteed to be a success if everything goes according to plan.
I have to confess that I feel anxious, but also eager, just as I was with my first, failed attempt. However, I can already feel that this instance will go well.
After all, inventing something world-changing is exciting, is it not?
~oOo~
June 25th, 1979
There was an enormous miscalculation in my plans all along, and I believe it has to do with an observation I made earlier, but did not take at face value. Even if the spell and the procedure went as per the plan, the outcome would never have been what I wanted, because I ignored that one law of Magical Theory.
Souls can never appear out of the blue. As such, it is impossible for me to replicate a human's, or any lower creature's soul. Even if I use the correct spell to do it, I can only rip the soul apart from the body and then preserve it in a portrait, which is not what I have been aiming for.
But it's too late now, is it not? I was foolish, careless… And now, she is gone.
Because of my efforts, Walburga is now confined within a portrait. She is imprisoned for eternity. Her body remains in the living world, soulless and empty—a fate worse than death itself.
I killed her to cease her suffering.
The feeling of fear is one I have had the fortune not to encounter many times in my life, but I know it well enough to recognise it when it courses through my body. Fear makes me have irrational thoughts, but I cannot stop it.
I have to destroy the evidence, and I have to forge her documents. It would be too suspicious if her death coincided with mine. She will die a few years later—according to the Ministry papers, that is. It is times like these that I'm thankful for my connections.
I know I do not have much time left; it seems this disease that has infected me is spreading, and I will be dead by the end of the year, if not sooner. I suppose it must have been caused by the incident with Kreacher, but I have no way of uncovering the full truth.
This will be the last entry in this journal, as my experiments are over and done with. I was planning on destroying it as soon as possible, too.
But I had to write my last thoughts down. I cannot live out my last days burdened with guilt.
Walburga, if you ever read these lines, please, forgive me. We never had love within our marriage, but I never intended to put an end to your life so harshly. Through your eternal suffering, I wish for one thing only: Forgive me, if you can.
~oOo~
A man, fully clad in black, is standing in front of the door. His face is pale, his skin soggy, and he looks as if he is on the verge of death. Maybe, he really is. His hand reaches out to the doorknob, but he is delayed by a fit of coughs.
When his breathing calms a little, he grips the doorknob firmly, but before he clicks the door, he turns his head to face a painting. On the painting, a lady in her late forties is resting in a chair, her head lulled to the side as she sleeps. The man sighs, a painful expression plastered over his face.
Before long, however, he hardens his expressions, and mumbles three words before he steps out into the open and closes the door behind himself.
"I am sorry."
What he doesn't see is that as soon as the door clicks behind him, the figure in the portrait opens her eyes, and narrows them in an instant. The shrill screams she lets out—tinted with madness—however, are only heard by the empty walls and dusty drawers.