Chapter Text
On an unusually stormy summer night, Walburga Black came into the world, kicking and screaming. From the start, things went wrong.
Pollux Black, the current lord of the Black family, eagerly took his firstborn into his arms but found nothing he had hoped for. Pushing the baby into her mother’s arms, he stomped out of the room with a sigh, not saying a single word to his wife.
Irma Black, the newly wed lady Black, stared at the baby with furrowed eyebrows and a disgusted look, for the girl in her arms could never be an heir. She was the firstborn daughter of the Black family after centuries. “You had to ruin my day, didn’t you,” she whispered to the baby in her arms.
They named her Walburga, after a muggle saint, because Pollux did not believe she deserved a traditional Black family name and Irma thought she did not belong to the magical world, thus giving her a muggle name.
No one remembered her first words or when she began to walk. As far as her parents were concerned, all that mattered was that she was fed and slept. She started talking one day and no one thought much about it.
When Walburga was two, her brother Alphard was born. That must be one of the first and only memories she recalls from her childhood: The feeling of jealousy so evidently engraved in her heart, the sight of her father smiling for the first time in her life, holding her crying baby brother.
Her mother was crying with joy, recounting the Black family ancestral names. Her shaking, scared body in the doorway, woken up by the screams of her mother. It was all like a fever dream among her other memories.
“Oh come in, Walburga. Meet your brother,” Her mom gestured, first time showing outward attention to her. Her brother was tiny, and his skin was wrinkled like her hands when she spent so much time in the bath. Her brother was lovely and adorable, just like a niffler —which she had once seen in their garden— and he was smiling at her when she leaned to look at him. The first ever person in the world to show affection towards her.
Pollux wanted to name his first son Cygnus, after his father, but Cygnus Black II was still alive and kicking at the time, so they settled on Alphard, the first of his name, the family’s treasure, another star in the endless galaxy.
Although growing up Alphard was the golden child and the centre of everyone’s attention, Walburga was his favourite person in the world. His only older sister, his saviour.
And although Walburga was severely jealous of her baby brother, that did not stop her from protecting him. She took the blame for the shattered vase in the kitchen or the soaking wet mattress in his room and the broken mirror in the study. Walburga always tried to not let her brother see the cruel side of the world. That being said, her father's merciless hands were a permanent element of the said side.
“I don’t feel real around them, Walburga, they act like I’m their favourite puppet to tame,” Alphard had said, one stormy night, scrambled under the safety of his sister's sheets, warm and sound.
“I will never betray you, Alphie, I will always be there for you.” She had said, brushing the curly strand of hair off his face, smiling at his beaming frame.
When Walburga was four, Cygnus was born, pushing Alphard – who was too ‘dependent’ on his sister, according to their parents – into the shadows, much to Alphard’s joy. But Cygnus was a sickly child. Always burning with fever and catching the most brand new colds. Walburga always stood by his bed to make sure her newborn brother was breathing, accompanied by Alphard most of the time.
Cygnus grew up weaker than their parents liked. He couldn’t run like his siblings did and needed more time to take breaths, had a weak appetite and would throw up more often than not. That did not stop him from loving his older sister and always seeking her out.
“Thank you for being born, Wally. I wouldn’t have come this long if it wasn’t for you,” Cygnus said on one of her birthdays, a stolen cookie in his small hands. Walburga celebrated her birthday with her siblings that year, her parents not caring to remember the occasion.
When Walburga was six, Cassiopeia was born. Their parents couldn’t care less so Walburga took it upon her to name her sister after a constellation known for the number of stars it had. Maybe Walburga could be one of her stars as well.
They must’ve thought the third time’s a charm - counting Walburga out - and expected another son. A perfect son. Honestly, their loss because Cassy was something else. She seemed untainted by the cruelty and madness that ran in the Black family genes. All three of her older siblings were quiet and reserved, yet Cassiopeia would run around and cause havoc. Not even her mother’s poisonous words and her father's slaps stopped her.
Her first and only younger sister, Cassy also took refuge in her older sister’s embrace due to the outward hatred she received from their parents.
“Cygnus, darling, do you know who spilt water on the kitchen floor?” their mother asked in a fake sweet voice. She collected information by deceiving them into thinking no harm would come by telling the truth.
Wlaburga knew better; by the looks of it, her youngest brother had also realised it. “I’m sorry mother. I don't know. I was in my room all day.”
“Are you lying to me, darling?” Of course, he was. Lying came naturally to all of them. Walburga had mastered the art of lying by the age of three.
“No mother. I would never lie to you.” Irma smiled. Walburga wasn’t sure if their mother caught their lies. If she did, she never mentioned it. Not once. Maybe she was proud of them for gaining such proficiency in something so obscene. “It must’ve been a house elf.”
The next day when they woke up, another head was added to the collection of beheaded elves. Walburga didn’t care much. As long as her siblings were safe she didn’t care who would be harmed on the way. It didn’t matter, just another unfamiliar head on the wall.
Cygnus cried all night, blaming himself for the elf’s death. Walburga soothed him to sleep, even though she was thankful for Cygnus’ lie.
Walburga hated her parents. She also loved them even though they did not seem to notice her much. She loved her siblings more, with all her heart, nudging the jealousy out of it.
When Walburga was ten her father’s cousin, Arcturus Black III, moved from France to Britain, bringing his family of four with him. She was also ten when her second cousin, Orion took a liking to her and proposed his undying love for her.
She didn’t think too much about it, focusing on the fact that her parents were planning to wed her darling Alphard, to Lucretia, Orion’s older sister. Lucy was a nice person but she was much older than Alphard.
Alphard was barely eight when the decision was made.
“Well, that way the Black blood and name will be indestructible.” Irma had reasoned to Walburga’s question of why. Her mother looking through her dresser to choose her a suitable robe for the Christmas ball.
“Isn’t inbreeding dangerous?” She asked, genuinely.
“Why would it be? The Black bloodline is flawless.” Walburga thought she was right. Why would she lie to her? She was a bad mother, not a liar.
She had lived with her family for ten straight years. Although they did not care less about her, she still held their beliefs. Black blood was supreme. Walburga was way more important than the ones who didn’t carry the name Black. She was arrogant and cold outside the circle of her siblings. She hated everyone who was not related to her.
She was eleven when she changed her beliefs. She was freshly out of Grimmauld Place and had stepped onto the Hogwarts Express five minutes prior, overwhelmed with pride that her mother had hugged her for the sixth time in her life, relieved that she was not a squib. Terrified to leave her siblings with her parents alone for the first time in their lives.
She had found an empty compartment, wishing Orion, who was a year above, did not find her. That's when the door opened and a girl with long silky brown hair stepped inside. She had a vibrant grin on her plump lips, and her sun-kissed skin screamed a joyful summer. Walburga felt like crawling out of the pale skin that was rotten by the cold shadows of Grimmauld Place.
“Hey there! I’m Effie. I assume you are a first year too. Can I sit with you?”
Walburga nodded halfway down, not sure how to keep her composure in the warmth Effie radiated.
“Nice to meet you! Can I have your name?” Effie said, stretching her arm to take Walburga’s ice-cold hand in her sun-warm ones.
“Walburga Black.” She said, barely touching the girl's hand, scared to get addicted to warmth.
“You are a Black! I heard so many things about your family. I'm Euphimia Braithewaite. But call me Effie.” Effie kept rambling. “Can I call you Wal? Or All. Or Ally.”
“Your family are blood traitors,” Walburga said in a pinched voice.
Effie stopped talking and stared at her for a few seconds. “And yours are blood supremacists.” She stated matter-of-factly. “So what would you like me to call you?”
Walburga did not answer her question for a long time. Effie seemed to be waiting for the answer to come so Walburga cleared her throat in an attempt to stop the girl’s staring at her.
“Call me whatever you want,” she stopped and took a breath. “Effie.” Effie beamed like the morning sun, so effortlessly beautiful that Walburga could not avoid her.
Effie was the first and only friend Walburga ever made. She must’ve known it was bound to end badly.