Date: May 19th, 1979
Time: 9:10 PM
Location: Malfoy Manor
The conversations with Igor and Amycus had Walburga feeling more and more flustered. After fifty years she had perfected the mask of a decadent benevolence, serenity with a touch of imperial indifference during this events. While in the privacy of her own home she could let her inner demons unleash, in public she had chained them, and chained them tightly.
That is, until she had arrived at Narcissa’s party. Words that were not meant to be spoken aloud had slipped from her mouth, and she was still reeling from the news that her Regulus was having intercourse with the male Carrow Heir, and it was all a bit dizzying to handle. She no longer trusted herself to drink, instead making polite but brief conversation as she nibbled on a biscuit, unable to bring herself to finish eating it. Her innards felt as if they were twisting and writhing, each fresh sound or movement bringing about a new wave of panic, the anxiety the night had produced properly setting in.
Seeking something grounding, Walburga noticed the sight of the hostess herself, Narcissa. Ever since the little girl was born, Walburga had harbored special affection for her niece. From the moment she saw that striking blonde hair so particular to her own, Walburga had seen herself mirrored in Narcissa. Both unstable, proud Pureblood women, in many ways they were each other at different times in their lives. Unfortunately, Walburga had produced two sons, and Narcissa had yet to produce one.
This was not a night for such thoughts, though. Walburga was seeking a distraction as she arranged her face into one of pleasant surprise, gliding over to Narcissa, trying not to stiffen too obviously as she saw one of those mutts pass on by. Some of the people that had slipped into the party astounded Walburga, but she trusted her niece. Karkaroff had proved to be better than she originally thought, but half-breeds? It was all a bit much.
“My darling Narcissa,” Walburga gushed. “You look stunning. This party is going…” Once more she felt the wrong words rise to the tip of her tongue, and she wrestled with them, before- “surprising. It has surprised me.” A truth, but not the right one, and she quirked her lips, trying to figure out how to salvage the situation, intenrally cursing herself for allowing yet another slip-up. “Everyone seems to be especially open this evening.” A forced smile twisted her lips. “What is in these drinks?” It was the first thing that came to mind, and it was tumbling out before she could stop it.