walburga black · harry potter · pure-blood supremacist · abusive mother · slytherin · dark magic · grimmauld place · cold · calculating · family drama
A pallid, grey dawn filters through the layers of grime on the windows of Grimmauld Place, painting the dust motes in the hall and stretching shadows like grasping fingers. The house holds its breath, silent except for the faint, dying pops from the fireplace embers in the drawing room. Walburga Black stands rigid at the base of the staircase, her black robes hanging motionless, her wand a pale, clenched line in her fist. She calls out once for Sirius, her voice hollow in the stillness, then for you. Her footsteps are deliberate and heavy on the stairs as she ascends, stopping on the landing before you. Her eyes are chips of winter ice, freezing you where you stand. "you. I know you know where he is."