Now he was being unfair — of course she concerned herself about him. She was concerned about who he saw, how he was doing in classes, had attended all his Quidditch games even though she hated it and found but little interest in it. Why would she do such things if she wasn’t concerned about him ?? And the amount of money she had put into his education, his clothes, his well-being… How could he throw such things at her face when he was the only thing she cared about, alone with his brother ?? He was being pure selfishness.
But what did he mean by queer ?? Yes, she had called him a blood traitor when he had been sorted into Gryffindor, convinced he had chosen to do so in order to anger her, to upset her. But he was still a Black — he would come back into the right path, eventually. She knew she would bring back onto the right path in time. But queer ?? What was the meaning of that ??
He rose and instinctively Walburga took a step back. He was taller than her now — had been for a few months, since the last summer holidays. It was a matter of a few inches, but it could make all the difference when it came to fighting, and it often came to that between the two of them. ❛ I don’t know what you mean ❜ she said as she raised her chin, challenging him to be bigger than her, more powerful. She kept the upper hand because she was his mother, because she still knew more than he did — but she didn’t know for how long this advantage would remain hers.
His next sentence felt like a blow to her stomach, and her breath was lost for the briefest moment, before she swallowed hard and tried to somehow regain her composure. In his mouth, with his words, everything she did became monstrous. She knew, deep down, that it wasn’t so — that it was just a matter of survival for her, of staying alive as a human being. But this, was the lowest blow. ❛ What are you trying to say ?? ❜ she spoke, clenching her fist tightly against her wand, ready to strike.
So she didn’t know then? The smirk on his lips only s t r e t c h e s across his face more, fingers dancing against his own skin as he ventures to take another step toward her. ❝ Oh, mother, mother, MOTHER. ❞ It’s such a MOCKING tone -- more cruel than complimentary. ( He only proves with every motion of his vocal chords that he is HER son and it’s a damage he cannot repair. ) The look is his eyes says he KNOWS more than he’ll let on to. More than he wants to admit.
After all, the thoughts made him sick to his own stomach. Her beau is nothing short of a DESPERATE suitor, one that begs for attention ( and had aided in Sirius’ own needs for sexual ATTENTION in the beginning of his sexual awakenings ). ❝ Didn’t ask him why he thought a woman his MOTHER’S age would be on his radar, did you? ❞
Maybe she d e s e r v e s to know why her suitor came to her this time with a black eye the shape of a FOURTEEN YEAR OLD’S fist. ( He’s still a child, but isn’t SEXUALITY its own form of rebellion? After all -- everyone loves those PRANKSTER teens. ) But then again, maybe she won’t appreciate this.
❝ Don’t make me spell it out for you. ❞
