Round #8

Characters: Walburga, Irma, Pollux, Alphard and Cygnus Black

Genre: Family/Angst

Words: 1, 549

threads in a tapestry

"Ninety-nine, a hundred," Irma lay the brush down on the bedside table. "That's it, my dear."

Walburga stirred, blinking up at Irma with sleepy eyes. "Whuh?"

"I have finished brushing, now I need you to sit up so that I can plait it," said Irma gently. She propped Walburga against her knee where the child immediately flopped forwards, her entire eleven-year-old form wishing for sleep.

"'M tired mama," she said.

"I know, sweetheart," said Irma.

She split her daughter's hair into even thirds and pulled the blonde strands tight before weaving them together.

Walburga winced away as Irma tugged at her hair, pulling taunt the roots and dragging her scalp back. She didn't complain because that made her daddy angry and Walburga didn't like it when he shouted at her and spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes blazed with deadly fire.

Once Irma had finished and off the braid with a satin-green ribbon that kept sliding down the neck of Walburga's nightdress in an uncomfortable fashion that made her flinch away from the cold fabric.

Walburga slumped against her bed, wishing that she could just go to bed but the family traditions weren't done with her yet.

"Come on, Walburga," Irma took Walburga's slim hand in her firm grip and pulled her from the bedroom in her nightclothes to the front room.

The living room, one might call it, although it was occupied more with the dead.

In the flickering light of the candles Walburga could clearly see her father, sat by the shuttered window and then, further into the gloom of the dark corners, a cradle where the soft sobbing of Cygnus made Walburga's throat swell.

She didn't want to look at him because she knew what she would see. She had seen it before and the nightmares still haunted her dreams.

With his arms twisted behind his back and swaddled in swathes of woolly cloth that irritated his skin raw red, Cygnus would be prevented from reaching his thumb. Prevented from moving at all, and if he cried too much, or struggled against his bonds he would choke to death on his own saliva or be smothered. To 'man him up' as Pollux said.

Alphard was already upstairs apparently, as Walburga couldn't see his squat figure huddled as near to the light as possible. Probably Pollux had got tired of looking at him as he often did of his children.

"Ahem," Irma cleared her throat, standing before her husband, Walburga stood before her.

Pollux sighed, holding the breath for a long moment before folding his paper in two and setting it aside. "Good night, Irma, Walburga." The he held his arms about an inch apart and Walburga stepped into his cold embrace, shuffling away as soon as courtesy allowed.

And the embrace was cold, like ice. Pollux's fingers were freezing and everything was so stiff.

Then Irma gently brushed her husband's shoulder and he rested his hand on hers before they separated again and Irma turned Walburga towards the walls to her left and spanning across most of the room, sprouting from the ceiling.

A huge oak tree, painted with swirling bark patterns and faces etched hauntingly into the green background. They stared from their still-life images at Walburga who stood before them, trembling under their unchanging, judgemental glares.

"The Black family tree," said Irma. "That's me," she pointed a long, thin finger at a face that closely resembled her own. "And that's your father," Pollux's cruel snarky face, starkly aristocratic compared to his wife, looked snootily down his nose.

"And that's Alphard, and Cygnus," said Irma turning her long finger on each of Walburga's brothers in turn. "And there is you, my darling."

Walburga studied her picture; it didn't look a bit like her apart from her grey eyes and blonde hair. Then again, Alphard was a lot less handsome than in his picture and baby Cygnus wasn't even wearing his dress his picture, but instead a stiff collared shirt with deep blue trimming.

Painting-Walburga's eyes were glaring and fierce looking, so much so in fact that Walburga herself was a little afraid of it. She wasn't sure if she wanted to look like that, but the painting-Walburga was very beautiful which was some consolation, she supposed.

With high cheek-bones, an array of long eyelashes and a proud nose with dark-red lips, Walburga thought she looked a little like a princess.

"That Black family tree," breathed Pollux who, as per usual, had stood and bowed his head to address the wall as though looking upon something priceless.

Sometimes Walburga wondered if she was somehow blind to whatever it was in the tapestry that kept her mother and father so captivated.

She turned away from the wall, and Irma placed her hand on the small of Walburga's back, propelling her from the room and from her father's sight.

They ascended the stairs, carpeted a dark green that all but exactly matched the walls, securely affirming the family's Slytherin status. Irma's long dress hitched up as she rested one hand gracefully on the banister. Walburga often how her mother could look so graceful on the stairs and yet on the floor was often susceptible to tripping over her own two feet.

Irma held the bedclothes aside for Walburga to snuggle into, they were very soft but satin covers were slippery and Walburga had to cling to her eiderdown to keep from falling straight out of bed in a most un-ladylike fashion that would be disapproved of greatly.

"Good night, Walburga," said Irma, half tucking in the duvet but leaving enough free so that Walburga could still feel the freezing air, wafting from the downstairs windows tickling her toes.

"Good night, mama," answered Walburga tiredly. She stayed incredibly still as her mother bent down to kiss her forehead and swept out of the room with a purple rustle as her long skirts trailed behind her.

Walburga didn't move until she heard her mother's heavy steps crossing the hall to her own chambers, beside her husband's.

Then she slowly pushed back her covers and slipped out of bed. Cracking open her door, Walburga peered down the corridor. Her shadow crept forwards as the faint light from downstairs dimmed again.

Closing the door quietly behind her, Walburga tiptoed towards the door on the left hand side of the hall. She knocked quietly on the door.

"Allie?" she whispered. "Allie, it's me. Can I come in?"

Alphard opened his door and Walburga ghosted inside. Walburga noticed first that the curtains were drawn back and the window flung wide open. "Stargazing again," she didn't leave it to be answered and Alphard just shrugged.

"I like stargazing."

"Father doesn't like it," said Walburga, absently wondering whether this time she should tell Pollux.

Alphard set his face into a hard mask, contours outlined with wispy shadows, slim shoulders squared as best he could. "I don't care what father thinks of it. It only matters if someone tells him."

Walburga ignored his challenging tone and instead sat on the window seat. "What can you see?" she asked.

"Jupiter," said Alphard proudly and Walburga could hear the smile in his voice as he stepped out of the shadows.

And then Walburga go her first good look at his face. She gasped.

"Allie," she said, reaching towards his cheek which was an ugly red colour, almost the stained red of wine and already purpling into a promising bruise beside his lips. "What…"

"Father," said Alphard bitterly. "He doesn't like the way I treat girls – or women, as I am apparently to call them now."

"Allie…"

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," said Alphard hotly. "It's not as if I'm outright rude to them."

"You know father is eyeing potential suitors," said Walburga patiently. "For you and me. It'll be no use to his cause if you go out of your way to avoid speaking to all the eligible girls."

"But I don't even care!" snapped Alphard. "I'm ten years old, and already my future's been snatched away. Tell me, Walburga, don't you ever want a choice?"

"That's beside the point," said Walburga calmly. "And why are we even discussing this?"

Alphard flopped beside Walburga, resting his head against the edge of the window sill and staring almost longingly into the crisply clear night sky. "Sometimes I just feel that we're as trapped as our relatives in that confounded tree. Just threads waiting to be weaved into place, never to be undone."

"Don't talk like that," Walburga twisted the hem of her nightdress nervously. "Just tell me about the stars again."

"Don't you think it's a little ironic though," said Alphard with a wry laugh that made the soft curves of his face turn cruel. "They named me after the brightest star in the Hydra, 'the solitary one', they called me. And now… now they want to marry me off."

"It's not as though it's sudden news," hissed Walburga. "I mean, I've been engaged to Orion since I turned seven. You knew what would happen and quite frankly, it's about as much as you deserve."

"Oh, shut up," snapped Alphard. "Don't say I didn't warn you. And don't forget to tiptoe and keep that pretty head of yours down because something tells me this house isn't going to burn down slowly."

.

Fin