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The sound of church bells ringing echoed eerily throughout the empty street, accompanied by another frigid breeze. Lucretia Prewett pulled her mink coat tighter to her chest in an effort to ward off the cold, though it didn’t do much. It was fitting for the occasion, she supposed. Cold, unforgiving weather on the day she was to visit her cold, unforgiving family.
The elder of her nephews, Sirius, had finally had enough, and disappeared three nights prior without so much as a note. While it had come as quite the shock to everyone else, the same couldn’t be said for Lucretia. Her elder nephew was far too willful and disobedient to last long among a family such as theirs. A lone lion, surrounded in a pit of snakes. It took a certain subtlety to live as a Black and not get blasted off the tapestry, and unfortunately Sirius was about as subtle as a mandrake. Truly, she was surprised the boy had lasted this long. She and Alphard had both managed to toe the line rather well, but then again, for all the more understanding they were, they were Slytherins through and through. They knew when to pick their battles.
As she walked up the street, her eyes caught sight of that familiar marble archway, and underneath it the black door with a perfectly painted number twelve. Instinctively, she straightened her back into a more ladylike posture, lest Papa find something else about her to complain about. She’d grown up in Number Twelve but never much liked it, preferring Neptune House: Uncle Pollux and Aunt Irma’s seaside estate in Devon. It was everything Grimmauld Place wasn’t: bright, spacious, and open. Gardens to run in, beaches to swim in, it fit her far better than the stuffy hallways of Number Twelve and the sneering portraits of her ancestors.
Steeling herself, she grabbed the gilded serpent knocker and rapped on the door three times. Soft footsteps from behind the door accompanied this, and when it opened, it revealed her family’s decrepit old elf.
“Mistress Lucretia,” the elf bowed so low his droopy nose brushed the floor.
Lucretia resisted the urge to scowl. She’d never taken a liking to house elves, Kreacher least of all. His mother, Pernie, had been Grimmauld Place’s elf when she was a girl, while he’d served Walburga and her brothers at Neptune House. When it came time for Burgie to marry ‘Rion, she’d insisted on bringing the damned thing with her when she moved. Pernie served Papa at Noire House now, which was just as well, since she worshipped him like Kreacher did Walburga.
“Kreacher,” she greeted, absently. Shrugging off her overcoat, she dropped it at his feet. The entrance to the house was intimidating as always, the walls draped with that blue-grey baroque patterned wallpaper, the grand staircase towering over the foyer. But the one thing that stood titanic was the portrait of Ophiuchus Black in the landing of the staircase. Dressed in black steel armor that perfectly matched the color of his lengthy curls, piercing grey eyes looking down at whichever visitor entered the house. Lucretia’d had quite the crush on him when she was a girl. With that face and that hair, who wouldn’t? Upon seeing her, he gave her a curt nod, and a ‘Bonaurté’. Owing to the fact that he’d come to this country from Normandy with William the Conqueror, he only spoke Old Norman, a dead language. As a girl this was a blessing, since that meant he couldn’t tell her Papa about whatever mischief she’d gotten up to. Although, she suspected he wouldn’t have told anyway since he always seemed to be more amused than affronted at her antics.
Taking a right, she walked towards the drawing room, and as she did the voices behind those walnut doors got louder. When she opened them, she was greeted by most of her extended family: Papa, looking as livid as she’d ever seen him; Uncle Pollux and Aunt Irma, bickering about some nonsense or other; Alphard, feet up on the coffee table and cocksure as ever, though slightly pale; Cygnus and Druella, sitting down on the couch trying their best to look solemn, though Lucretia could see the slight crinkle in their eyes; and finally, Orion. He looked worst of all. Perhaps someone who wasn’t as familiar with him couldn’t tell, but to her, the signs were obvious. The bags under his eyes that suggested he’d barely slept, if at all; The wrinkles in his black dress shirt and waistcoat which told her he was wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday; The slightly frayed sleeves which meant that he’d been picking at the hem, a nervous habit he’d had since he was a boy; He looked miserable.
“Lucretia,” Papa greeted, voice as cold as the winds outside, “Good of you to finally turn up.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Papa, Ignatius’s nephews were visiting and they stayed a bit longer than anticipated, I came as soon as I could,” Lucretia explained, bowing her head in apology.
Judging from the slight “hm” this received from her father, though still peeved, he was satisfied with the explanation.
After briefly exchanging greetings with the rest of the family, she made a beeline for Orion. He had one hand on the mahogany fireplace mantle and another in his pocket, glaring at the burning embers as if they had long black hair, grey eyes, and were entirely too sure of themselves.
“How are you?” she asked, cautiously.
He turned to face her, and the look he gave her answered her question. Observing his face in the firelight, she was reminded with a sad twinge how much he looked like their late mama. Truthfully, the only things he’d gotten from Arcturus were those grey eyes and the bravado. But the chestnut hair; the round face; the full cheeks; the large, owlish eyes; were all the delicate features of Melania Macmillan.
Sighing, she opted for a different strategy. “How’s Regulus?”
Orion grabbed the glass of brandy above the mantle, taking a small sip before answering, “As well as you’d expect.”
As he finished the answer, his eyes wandered over to the tapestry, but then he winced as if he’d been burned and sharply turned his head back towards the fireplace.
Curious, Lucretia turned her head over to the spot on the tapestry Orion had been observing only to see the reason for her brother’s disquiet. Right there, to the left of Regulus’s name, no larger than a cigarette burn, was a scorch mark where Sirius’s name had once been.
Lucretia couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her.
“You burned him off already?” She asked, turning to her father.
“Not me, you can thank Walburga and her theatrics for that.”
Turning to face Walburga for an explanation, she realized at once that she wasn’t in the room.
“Where’s Burgie?” she asked.
“She’s been in her room for the past three days,” Cygnus piped up from the couch, voice full of annoyance, “Has been ever since she did that,” he nodded towards the tapestry.
Alphard spoke next, sounding a touch more concerned than his younger brother, “She won’t come out, she won’t eat, and anyone that gets close to the door gets a hex for their trouble.”
At this answer, she noticed her Uncle Pollux instinctively rub a spot on his arm, most likely he’d been the recipient of one of Walburga’s stinging hexes, famous for both their accuracy and strength.
“But, I don’t understand,” Lucretia said, more confused than before she asked the question, “Why would Walburga burn him off?"
"She burned him off because I told her to."
She turned her head to see Orion, eyes still locked on the fireplace.
“Why?” It came out slightly louder than a whisper.
He turned to face her, eyes blazing with quiet fury, “Because he’s gone,” he spat out, “and there’s no use pretending he’ll return.”
“He would,” Papa spoke up from the other end of the room, “If for once, you exerted some form of control over that whelp.”
“Believe me, father, I’ve tried.” Orion replied in a long-suffering voice.
“Clearly not hard enough,” Papa pulled himself up from the chair he’d been sitting in with the help of his cane, and stood at his full height now, “You and that wife of yours have coddled that boy for far too long, it’s past time that you brought him to heel. Find out where he is, and you drag him back if need be.”
"Quite right," Pollux agreed, "We barely made it through the Andromeda debacle with our heads on straight," Lucretia heard what could only be described as a whimper from Druella at the mention of her wayward daughter, but Pollux either didn't notice or didn't care as he pressed on, "If this business with Sirius progresses, he'll have been the second in his generation to betray the family and flaunt all expectations. One is a shame, two suggests a pattern."
Now, Andromeda. That had been a surprise. The girl had always struck Lucretia as rather unremarkable. Beautiful, to be sure, but not as striking as Bella, though the two did share quite the resemblance. Mild-mannered and polite, though she didn’t possess the effortless grace that Cissy did. No, her middle niece was, to put it simply, boring. So when it had come out that she’d run off with some muggleborn, and pregnant to boot, Lucretia had been stunned, to say the least.
Arcturus nodded at this, "Right you are, Pollux. Then it's settled. Orion, you are to find out where Sirius has run off to, and bring him home. Persuade him, stun him, petrify him, I don't care. Just see that it's done."
Orion took the glass of brandy he’d been nursing and placed it back on the mantle with such force the crystal shattered, shards of it falling over onto the hardwood floors of the drawing room.
“No!” He shouted.
The whole room looked at the scene in a mixture of shock, fear, and some vicious sort of curiosity. Orion had never stood up to Papa in this way, though Lucretia suspected from his breath that the multiple glasses of brandy were the ones standing up to Papa rather than Orion himself.
Papa, for his part, looked neither shocked nor afraid, but furious. He slowly walked over to the side of the drawing room that Orion was standing on, his steel-tipped cane thumping against the floor as he took each step was the only sound in an otherwise completely silent room. As he walked toward him even Orion seemed to shrink back a bit, which would seem comical to anyone who didn’t know them as Orion was fairly muscular, agile, and quite tall; while Papa was almost painfully thin, could barely walk without the cane, and about half a head shorter.
“What did you say to me, boy?” Papa said, dangerously calm.
Orion swallowed, clearly cowed, but that spark of defiance still shone in his eye.
“I said,” He clenched his jaw and gripped the mantle so hard his knuckles went white, “No.”
Orion continued, “He won’t come back, father. Even if he did, do you really think Sirius would be a suitable head of the family? He’s impulsive, vindictive, and immature. This place would fall apart with him at the head of it. Whatever you may think of Regulus, you must acknowledge that he is far more suited to lead the family than Sirius could ever be.”
Papa didn’t take his pale eyes off Orion for even a fraction of a second, but seemed to consider the answer all the same.
Clearing his throat, he responded, “I cannot speak to you when you are in such a state as this. I am returning to Noire House. I will be summoning you tomorrow in the morning, and we will discuss this further. I expect you to be fully sobered up by then so that you may spare the family and yourself any more embarrassment,” The words were said in a tone that was both commanding and extremely condescending, and they clearly had their intended effect as Orion flushed red all the way to the tips of his ears, “Good day.”
With one step towards the fireplace; a hand in the floo jar; and the words ‘Noire House’ spoken; in a flash of green fire, Arcturus disappeared.
The whole room seemed to let out a breath. Orion, for his part, looked thoroughly scolded, and dropped down into a plush armchair by the fireplace. Irma spoke up first, clearing her throat awkwardly, “Anyways, I believe before any of this, we were discussing what was to be done with Walburga.”
Alphard replied first, “She won’t come out, we’ve tried everything.”
Druella cleared her throat in that high-pitched, ‘hem-hem’ that always made both Walburga and Lucretia want to slap the freckles off her face. “I tried to get her to eat and she called me some…awful things,” she let out a series of painfully false sobs. Cygnus, ever the dutiful husband, reached into his coat pocket for a handkerchief so she could wipe the nonexistent tears off her face.
Lucretia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, even though it took every ounce of self-control she had.
Pollux, on the other hand, seemed to want to get this over with as soon as he could. He put a wrinkled hand on Irma’s shoulder, “She needs to come out at once. Arcturus will resolve the matter one way or another, there’s no reason for her to be in hysterics.”
Irma, visibly affronted, slapped the hand away, “Have some compassion, Pollux. She’s lost a child, you have no idea what she’s feeling.”
In the corner of her eye, she noticed Alphard visibly tense at this rebuke, but said nothing.
“She has not lost anything, Irma, dear,” Pollux sighed, running a hand over his face, “If Arcturus brings the boy back, we can put this matter to rest as nothing but a bit of youthful folly, and if he doesn’t, then he’s a traitor, and she has nothing to cry over.”
Irma stood up from the chaise she’d been sitting in, and in a falsely curious voice, pondered aloud, “You know, dear, it’s a wonder you can stand up straight without falling over, what with that fat head of yours.”
“Oh, don’t you start woman—“
“—You always act as if—“
“—It’s always the same with you—“
“—Now is not the time for your emotionally stunted, bullheaded,—“
“—She gets this from your family, you know—“
Lucretia loudly cleared her throat, lest this turn into one of Pollux and Irma’s famous marathon screaming matches. While any other day she would be more than happy to let the familiar insults about Irma’s insane family and Pollux’s emotional stupidity entertain her, she was genuinely worried for Walburga, and needed to figure out what to do.
“Uncle, Aunt, I think we can all agree we’re concerned about Walburga. However, we need to work together, calmly,” she stressed the word, looking pointedly at Pollux and Irma, “to find some way to get through to her.”
“What is it that you suggest then, Lucretia?” Orion piped up from the armchair, speech slightly slurred. His eyes darted nervously towards the fireplace as if he expected Papa to floo back any second.
The whole room turned to look at her now, and with all the eyes on her, she could only think of one thing.
“Perhaps, I should speak with her.”
Cygnus let out a loud ‘Ha!’, “And how do you propose to do that?” he asked mockingly, “She’s put spells on the door, and even if you manage to undo those, she’ll be ready with another one of those damned stinging hexes. She got father in the arm and me in the face.” Ah, that’s why his cheeks were redder than usual.
“There’s a fireplace in your room, is there not, ‘Rion?” Lucretia turned to face her younger brother.
Orion looked confused, then recognition dawned on him, and he let out a disbelieving laugh.
“You can’t possibly—you don’t mean to—you’re going to floo into the bedroom?”
“Why not?”
Orion let out a series of disbelieving sputters, but couldn’t seem to come up with a good reason why.
“Even if you do,” Alphard spoke up, “What exactly makes you think she won’t toss you out the second you step foot in there?”
Lucretia scoffed at that, “I know Burgie better than she knows herself. She may put up some resistance, but she won’t toss me out," she said, not entirely sure of her own words, "If it was the two of you,” she nodded to Alphard and Cygnus, “Then yes, she certainly would. But me, no.”
“And what, pray tell, makes you so special, Lucy?” Cygnus asked.
“I’m her sister-in-law,” Lucretia replied.
Druella goggled at Lucretia, obviously confused as to why she didn’t fall into the same category.
“Her sister-in-law that she doesn’t despise, dear,” Lucretia clarified.
Druella let out a theatrical gasp, and looked to be on the verge of a few more fake sobs. Lucretia merely raised an eyebrow, and knowing that her theatrics wouldn’t be believed for a second, she deflated, leaning back onto the couch looking quite miffed.
Cygnus, ever the cynic, simply rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms. “Fine then,” he said, “Be it on your head.”
With that vote of confidence, she grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the jar, stepped towards the fireplace and spoke out clearly, “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Master Bedroom,” and disappeared in a flurry of green flames.
As soon as Lucretia stepped out of the fireplace, she brandished her wand in case Burgie was waiting there with a stinging hex ready. Walburga was a formidable duelist, true, but Lucretia was no slouch either.
When no such hex came, she lowered it, though still keeping a tight grip. Looking around, the room seemed to be bathed in darkness. Walburga had shut the curtains, and only the smallest ray of light peaked out from behind them. Approaching the bed, she noticed a distinct Burgie-sized lump breathing in and out, and since the pattern was rather steady, Lucretia guessed she was still asleep.
Steeling herself, she took a few deep breaths. If there were two things Lucretia knew that Burgie hated, it was being caught in a vulnerable state, and being woken up, and she was about to do both. With one more breath in and out, she reached for Walburga, and lightly shook her.
It didn’t take long for the shaking to wake her up, as immediately the Burgie sized lump on the bed sprang to life and brandished her wand at Lucretia. Oh my Lord, Lucretia thought. If ‘Rion looked bad, Burgie looked terrible.
Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, obviously from crying; tear tracks were still visible on her face; her nose was a deep shade of red; her black curls, normally tucked neatly up into that elegant chignon, were loose and seemed to have taken on a life of their own. She was wearing a white lace nightdress, and over it her brown silk robe with trimmings of gold on the neck and sleeves. However elegant her nightclothes, they were distinctly wrinkled and worn, which meant she hadn't changed out of them for the past three days.
“Lucretia?” She asked, bewildered. “What are you—How did you—“
“I got in through the fireplace,” Lucretia supplied, “I flooed in from the drawing room.”
Understanding dawned on Walburga’s face, and she cursed herself under her breath for not anticipating it. Recovering, she refocused her wand on Lucretia, “No matter,” She said, “Get out. Now, before I—“
“Before you what, dear?” Lucretia asked in that tone of voice that Walburga had hated since they were children, the one that suggested she was taking pity on her.
Raising her wand arm, no doubt to cast a stinging hex, Lucretia immediately took action and disarmed her cousin, she smiled involuntarily at the childish look of shock on Walburga’s face as her ebony wand flew into Lucretia’s hand.
“You disarmed me!” she yelled.
“You were going to hex me, Walburga, what did you expect me to do?"
Livid as she was, without her wand in her hand, she deflated and flopped back onto the bed, burrowing herself in the covers. “Just leave, Lucretia,” she said, although this command sounded much weaker and more defeated than the last.
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me, Walburga. Everyone has been worried sick about you.”
“I don’t care,” the adolescent retort came from under the covers.
“I can see that. But I do, so until you see fit to speak to me, I’m staying right here.”
Walburga stayed in the same spot for a minute, silently willing Lucretia to just sigh, declare the matter tedious, and step back into the fireplace. Unfortunately, Lucy was nothing if not tenacious, as when she peeked her head out from under the covers she saw her cousin still standing in the same spot with her arms crossed and a look on her face that one could easily call maternal.
“What is there to speak about?” Walburga sat up, propping herself up against the headboard. "My husband's a coward, my son is a-" her voice faltered, and the anger that was there towards Sirius seemed to turn into a deep sorrow.
“My son is gone,” The words were spoken in such a broken and defeated manner that Lucretia almost couldn’t believe it was Walburga saying them.
Lucretia unfolded her arms. Cautiously, she sat down on the mattress next to Walburga, and though it earned her a glare, it was half-hearted at best.
“Dear, while I sympathize, why did you burn him off if you knew you’d be this devastated?”
The glare this remark got her was most definitely not half-hearted.
“Because,” Walburga spat, voice full of venom, “Your coward of a brother told me to. Said that Sirius was as good as gone and that he wouldn’t come back, and to leave the matter at that.” She curled her lip, eyes full of loathing, “I would bet everything I own it was Arcturus, you know how he’s always hated Sirius. And of course, my husband, ever the lapdog, obliged.”
Lucretia took in these words, a frown on her face. Walburga clearly didn’t hear what was said downstairs, otherwise she’d know it was the opposite, that Orion had defied Arcturus and refused to get Sirius back, though she suspected that if she told her that it would only make matters worse.
Taking a breath, she continued, "We fought, the worst we've ever fought. He told me that Sirius wouldn't come back and that he refused to 'humiliate himself or the family any further for that ungrateful wretch'," she took another deep breath, "Suddenly everything just...hit me all at once. Sirius's selfishness, Orion's cowardice. Sirius wanted to be rid of us? Orion wanted to be rid of Sirius? Fine, then. I would give them both what they so desperately wanted. I pointed my wand at the wall, and-" her voice broke on that last word, and she closed her eyes, obviously willing herself not to cry.
Her next words came out barely louder than a whisper, "I didn't even know what I'd done until I saw the mark on the tapestry. The look on Orion's face, it was as if he couldn't believe it himself. I ran upstairs, and locked myself in here."
Lucretia took these words in silently. Walburga had always had a hot temper, and combined with her tendency to be impulsive it often made her say and do things she regretted. Frankly, she was more surprised with Orion. He'd always been rather even-tempered, and for him to goad Walburga into doing something as rash as burning off Sirius, as well as defying Papa's explicit orders was decidedly unlike him. Whatever the case, they were clearly both devastated. She chose her next words very carefully.
“I know how hard this must be for you, Walburga—“
The attempt at comforting unfortunately backfired, and Walburga saw red, “You know nothing of what I’m feeling!” She spat venomously, “You never had a child!”
At these words that Lucretia guessed were meant to wound her, she merely raised an eyebrow. It was true, Lucretia had never had children. Then again, she never wanted them in the first place. She never even intended to marry, but Ignatius had caught her by surprise and against every expectation she had, she fell in love. They both agreed upon the engagement that it was too late for them, and that it wasn’t necessary in the first place, as Ignatius had two nephews who were more than capable of keeping the Prewett name alive. Without children, they were able to frequently travel, didn't lie awake at night worrying over whatever nonsense their offspring were getting up to, and had all the time in the world to enjoy each other's company. No, Lucretia felt that she was much happier in the role of the busybody aunt than she would have been as the fussing mother.
“You’re right, I didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what it is to lose someone, dear. Especially someone you love.”
She thought back to her mother, Melania, who had always been the guiding light in the darkness, the beacon of wisdom that she could consult whenever she felt lost. Thought back to what it was like watching her waste away from Dragon Fever, watching Papa desperately summon every healer he could find to cure her. She’d never seen him slip off that haughty mask for a second, but the morning mama died she heard soft sobs coming from the room that she slept in, and assuming it was Orion, she opened the door only to find Papa holding her lifeless hand to his lips and doubled over as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. He never found out she’d seen him, but it was a memory that would stay with her forever.
Walburga slumped over, and her face twisted into what Lucretia thought was going to be another tirade against Papa and Orion, but instead turned into loud, strangled sobs. Lucretia instinctively wrapped her arms around Walburga, and though she stiffened at the touch, she soon leaned into it and wrapped her arms around Lucretia’s middle.
“But what’s different about this,” Lucretia said gently, “Is that you haven’t lost Sirius, not yet,”
Walburga’s crying continued, but it was evident that she was listening. Lucretia continued, “He’s still out there, and for all you know he may return.” She rubbed circles up and down her back, and gradually the crying became less loud and less continuous, “But if he doesn’t,” She felt Walburga stiffen in her arms, but she said nothing, “Then you may have lost one son, but you haven’t lost both,” Sighing, she pressed on, “Regulus is still a young boy, Walburga. He needs his mother, now more than ever to guide him. You know how he loved Sirius, he’s heartbroken right now. You need to be strong, for him.”
Burgie looked up at her, her eyes red from the crying, but Lucretia could tell the words had gotten through to her. She was instantly reminded of the headstrong girl she’d grown up with, always hungry for adventure, always craving something new. They were closer than sisters, but somehow, somewhere, life got in the way. Walburga married her baby brother, they had their children, and Lucretia was left alone. Burgie was far too busy raising her boys to bother with her, and each year the morning teas that they shared seemed to get more brief and less familiar. It wasn’t until she married Ignatius that she felt that close with someone again, but she would be lying if she told herself she didn't still miss Walburga terribly.
Two girls, no older than ten. Wearing matching white dresses, chasing each other down a beach, giggling. Two identical mops of long black curls whipping around in the wind.
“Lucy!!” one shouts, “Come on!”
“Burgie, slow down!” the other shouts, rolling her eyes.
The first girl laughs, something akin to a cackle, "You catch up!”
As the second girl catches up, The first takes her hand and leads her down the beach, the waves crashing beneath their feet.
“Let’s go in Lucy, and go terribly far out.”
The second girl laughs, “We mustn’t, we’ll get in trouble.”
“You’re afraid,” the first girl smiles, not unkindly.
“No, I’m not,” the second girl scoffs.
“Then come in with me!” the first girl implores.
Though still nervous, the second obliges.
“How far do you think we could swim?” she asks.
“Far as we want, Lucy,” the first girl replies, “Everywhere.”
“And what would we do when we got there, Burgie?”
The first smiles wider, taking both the hands of the other in hers, before replying.
“Everything.”
Oh, how far they were from that beach in Devon now. In their youth, people used to have difficulty telling them apart, nowadays it was easy. Walburga had grown into the two roles that every proper daughter of the House of Black was meant to, wife and mother. Lucretia had fulfilled only one, and much too late for her mama and papa’s liking.
“Come on, Burgie,” Lucretia said, “Draw yourself a bath, get dressed, go downstairs, and eat something.”
Walburga hesitated for a fraction of a second, but acquiesced and nodded.
Satisfied, Lucretia got up from the bed.
“I’ll be downstairs waiting.”
As she walked towards the door, she was stopped when she heard Walburga call out to her.
“Lucy.”
She froze. Walburga hadn’t called her by that childhood nickname in many years. After she married ‘Rion, it was all ‘Lucretia’, ‘Lucretia Black, and when she married Ignatius, she graduated to ‘Lucretia Prewett’.
Turning around, she saw Walburga sitting up, legs hanging off the bed.
“Thank you.”
Not knowing what to say, she opted for a silent nod and a wan smile.
She turned once more, opening the door and closing it behind her. She lingered for a moment, hand still gripping the doorknob, the nickname echoing in her head.
Shaking her head, she continued to the staircase, making sure to grip the railing, as she had an unfortunate habit of falling down these stairs when she was a young girl.
She continued walking down the stairs, each step becoming louder than the next, turned left, and opened the double doors of the drawing room. Everyone’s heads whipped up to look at her, expecting some news of Walburga.
“She’s freshening up, she’ll be down in a few minutes.”
The whole room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, even Cygnus, though he tried his best to hide it.
“Has she gotten over it?” Pollux asked, impatient.
“No, she hasn’t. She’s better, but only just. Give her time, she will,” Lucretia replied.
Opening his mouth to argue the point further, it only took one death glare from Aunt Irma for him to shut it, close his eyes, and nod.
As the rest of the room began to slip into quiet conversation about the weather, Cissy’s marriage, and other topics she couldn’t care less about, Lucretia thought back to the woman she’d seen in that bedroom today. Broken, wounded, vulnerable: Three words she never thought she’d use to describe Walburga Black. Though she had told her Uncle that with time, she’d get over it, Lucretia doubted that would ever happen. Druella had teared up at just the implication of her daughter today, and it’d been, what, five years? No, Walburga wouldn’t get over it. Not until Sirius was back where he belonged, or at least where she thought he did. Whatever the situation, all there was left now was to wait.