For the Quidditch Competition, where I had to write about Walburga Black.

Word Count: 1,038

Something Off

(There was something off with that boy. She had known it all along.)

one.

He was an infant, and she was an uncertain first-time mother. And a first-time aunt, or something like that. Because even though it was arranged, and even though it was the one time in her whole life she acquiesced to her mother's outrageous requests, Sirius was living, breathing proof that she had slept with her second cousin. And she was searching his pinkish baby face for defects, knowing something had to be wrong with him.

There was something wrong with her, too. That's why she was married off at twenty-nine to a second cousin when no one else would take her. "Your clock is ticking," her mother had said. "If you're going to provide us with an heir, you'll need to be married soon."

And there was Orion Black. Only twenty-four and all too eager.

Their marriage bed lay unused for more than two years, but now here he was, the little brute, the proof she had done the unthinkable. Her heir. Black through and through, just like she had always been.

two.

It only took until young Regulus was old enough to talk before Walburga Black realized the defects in her oldest were present, just not where she had been looking. He had his ten fingers and his ten toes. He had his wits about him, as much as a five-year-old could. But no matter what she did and no matter how loudly she yelled, Sirius Black wouldn't heed her.

"Don't pull the house elf's ear hair, Sirius!"

"Do not teach your brother to smear his dirty nappy on the wallpaper!"

The things mothers had to say. The kinds of refinery she had to abandon to raise her children.

By the time Sirius was six, Walburga was certain her oldest defied her on purpose. It was like he wanted to drive her mad.

And by Slytherin's locket, was it working.

three.

"I'm gonna be in Gryffindor, Mum. And there's nothing you can do about it."

"Sirius, don't say that!" At least Regulus had the right idea. Only nine and already refusing to wear anything but green and silver. Walburga pulled her youngest son against her side and turned to look her oldest in the eye. (Because she could now. Eleven years old and there he was, standing as tall as she was and acting like he deserved it.)

"I'll say it if I want to. By tomorrow I'll be in Gryffindor tower and you won't yell at me again for months and months." He crossed his arms and stomped onto the train. He didn't even look out of the window to say goodbye.

Maybe that was the curse of her inbreeding. Maybe she had somehow managed to raise a son who didn't love her. (Maybe she had become the first woman in the world who didn't love her son.)

four.

Going into his room the summer before his sixth year was probably a mistake. But she went anyway, when he refused to come down for dinner. He stood on a chair next to the wall, wearing awful Muggle clothes and humming a tune she didn't recognize.

He was sticking a poster to the wall, and the pictures were eerily still. His hands covered woman's breasts that probably weren't covered by much else. It was tasteless, gaudy, and undeniably Muggle. "It's bad enough that you parade your school colors all over your bedroom, Sirius. Take down those filthy Muggle posters at once."

"I can't," he said with a wink. "Permanent sticking charm."

"You son of a bitch."

"I'd choose your insult a little better next time, Mother," he said, and slammed the door in her face.

five.

"Mum, I'm telling you! He's going to join the Death Eaters. I'm sure of it. He's only a fourth year and he's cozying up to those in my year and older, the ones I know You-Know-Who is looking forward to capturing right after they leave Hogwarts."

"Sirius, shut up already."

"I'm just worried about my brother, Mum. Those people are dangerous."

"And who are your friends recently? You have no right to judge him. You have no right to care about the choices he is making. They're damn well better than yours."

Sirius threw his chair aside and began to pace back and forth in their large dining room. It was good none of the family was over for Christmas this year. He was making a complete fool of himself and it reflected badly on Walburga. "And I thought you at least loved Regulus," he said, his voice quieter.

Walburga couldn't take it anymore. "Go to your room, Sirius. And don't come out."

He didn't. Never again.

six.

The owl's note had only two words on it. "I'm safe." It was the last she heard from him directly. In a fit of anger, she made her way to the drawing room and blasted his name from the family tree. Its branches were few now, and diminishing. Regulus was the last remaining hope for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to continue its proud name.

She wished she could be upset that Sirius had left so suddenly. She wished she could blame him for his harsh words and disturbing behavior. But he was seventeen years old and in that whole time she couldn't be certain if she had ever loved him.

But does love really make the difference?

She loved Regulus. And Regulus was going to get himself killed. A young pawn in a bloody game.

seven.

Walburga only found out through the papers. Circulating like mad through the various levels of society. The whispers reached her everywhere she went. "Walburga's son! Who would have guessed?"

She could have. She absolutely could have. Her son. Her own son. A mass murderer of worthless Muggles. Walburga could have been so proud.

But the context was all wrong, and to have murdered one of his friends, too? He was mad, absolutely mad. And now he was going to rot in Azkaban.

(Ten fingers, ten toes, and he had his wits about him well enough. But there was something off about that boy. She had known it all along.)