Hogwarts: Who made her a professor?

Chapter 58 Home and Prison

That day and night, Belvina stood on a messy, desolate patch of grass in the center of the small square.

The facades of the houses in Place Grimoire are gloomy and seem to keep people at arm's length.

Some houses had broken windows that gleamed dimly under the streetlights, many doors had peeling paint, and the front steps of several houses were piled with garbage.

Belvina stepped forward and stood between numbers 11 and 13. The people of Grimoire Place seemed to have long been accustomed to this ridiculous mistake.

Suddenly, a dark door appeared out of thin air between number 11 and number 13, followed by walls and windows, making it look as if an extra house had suddenly expanded, squeezing out everything on both sides.

Belvina walked up the steps, raised her hand and grasped the silver door knocker shaped like a coiled snake. After a loud metallic clang and the rattling of chains, the door creaked open.

As I stepped across the threshold, a row of old-fashioned gas lamps on the wall lit up, casting a shimmering, unreal light.

At the other end of the long hallway, a house-elf shuffled over, bowed, and said, "Welcome home, Miss Belvina, forever pure."

"You don't look well. Are you sick?" Kreacher asked with concern. "Is there anything I can prepare for you?"

"A cup of hot tea, Kreacher."

After speaking, Belvina walked straight to the foyer, pulled back the curtain that was covering Mrs. Black, and the sudden light made the old lady in the portrait emit a sharp, piercing sound.

"Oh, damn it! Belvina, what are you doing, you unfilial daughter!"

Good evening, dear Mom.

As she spoke, Belvina drew her wand and waved it, and an ornate armchair appeared out of thin air. She sat down leisurely, facing Mrs. Black's portrait.

"Belvina! What's wrong with your face! As a daughter of the Black family, you must always maintain your dignity and uphold the pride of the Black family!"

The old woman in the portrait was rambling on and on, spewing unpleasant accusations.

"Listen, Mom, I didn't come all this way to hear your accusations. I have something very important to ask you: what exactly happened in 1979?"

Due to memory loss, Belvina had to turn to Mrs. Black for help, hoping the difficult old lady could help her remember something.

In the portrait, Mrs. Black looks as if someone has stepped on her tail, shrinking back and her face, hidden under the veil, contorted in pain.

"You know everything that happened in 1979, don't you?"

Mrs. Black in the portrait continues, "That year, your brother Regulus disappeared, your father passed away, and that was it."

Just then, Kreacher came over carrying hot tea.

"Was there anything unusual about Regulus before and after his disappearance?"

In this house, only Regulus would not clash with Mrs. Black, and he was also Mrs. Black's most beloved son.

The tray holding the hot teacups floated in mid-air. Kreacher should have stepped back and left the foyer to the two ladies of the house, but he stayed and stood respectfully to the side.

Mrs. Black in the portrait turned her head away, not glancing at her daughter outside the portrait, and said calmly, "No, nothing is amiss. He is the pride of the family, nothing is amiss."

Mrs. Black repeated in a low voice, her eyes downcast, her scars being cruelly reopened once again.

"Okay, what about Dad? Was there anything strange about him before his condition worsened?"

"No, he just—just because of Regulus, he couldn't accept Regulus's departure, that's all."

Wolbuga Black's life was a complete tragedy; she married her cousin and had two sons and a daughter.

The eldest son disagreed with the family's values ​​and resolutely left home, eventually ending up in prison; the most beloved second son disappeared just as he came of age, never to be heard from again; the husband passed away in the same year that the second son disappeared, adding another tragic chapter to Wolbuga's life.

And of course, there's his youngest daughter, Belvina, Walbuga's closest stranger.

For Walbuga Black, number twelve Grimmauld Place was a prison cell that confined her for life.

"And what about me?" Belvina asked again, "Was there anything strange about me during that time?"

"No, or rather, I don't know," said Mrs. Black in the portrait. "I've never really liked you; you lack your own opinions and just follow everyone else around."

Belvina sighed; Mrs. Blake, who knew nothing when asked, was truly a headache.

"Even if you don't like me, shouldn't we have relied on each other after 1979? Why have you been avoiding me all this time, even locking yourself in your room?"

Mrs. Black in the portrait remained silent; she dared not look Belvina in the eye, nor answer her youngest daughter's question.

She was once fearless and unwavering in her beliefs, upholding the supremacy of pure blood and even ordering her eldest son, who violated the family's principles, to leave the house.

But in that fateful year, she frantically searched for her missing second son. She stood coldly before her husband's sickbed, trying not to let the pain invade her again, and she began to feel fear.

"I'm scared," Mrs. Black whispered. "I'm scared, Belvina."

"What?" Belvina couldn't believe it. She had never seen anything like it before. She actually heard the word "fear" from the tough Mrs. Black's mouth.

"If, if I had been more lenient with that unfilial son back then, if I hadn't been so harsh, would he still be here? Would he still be hanging out with that Potter kid?"

The sudden confession caught Belvina off guard.

"If I hadn't insisted on purebloods and hadn't influenced Regulus, would he not have joined the Death Eaters? Would he not have disappeared so soon after coming of age?"

"If I had been nicer to Orion and given him more respect, would he have stayed with us?"

In the portrait, Mrs. Blake speaks slowly, seeing herself as the source of misfortune, to whom all suffering should be blamed.

"And you, Belvina," Mrs. Black continued, "you are still my flesh and blood, but I dare not come near you. I am afraid I will make you unhappy too, I am afraid you will become like your brothers."

"So you lock yourself in your room because you feel you are not worthy of being loved, nor should you love others."

"How dare I speak of 'love'!" Mrs. Black exclaimed. "I thought everything I did was right, but I was wrong. What I once firmly believed in was a joke, and what I was so proud of has been utterly crushed!"

Self-blame and remorse consumed Mrs. Black; the light in her life was extinguished. Like Wizengamot, she condemned herself to guilt, and the prison cell was the house of her fathers.

"I have already lost too much—husband, son, pride, honor—I cannot lose you too," Mrs. Blake's voice was somber in the portrait. "You are my last, I cannot lose you."

That year, Mrs. Black, who had declared herself guilty, became even more paranoid, stubbornly believing that her youngest daughter would thrive as long as she distanced herself from Belvina.

What Mrs. Black didn't know was that it was precisely because of her estrangement and self-isolation that her youngest daughter experienced those painful things, and that the current Belvina usurped her place.

The conversation ended, the curtains closed again, and Mrs. Blake's portrait was plunged into darkness.

Belvina remained motionless. She did not get the answer she wanted, but she unexpectedly learned Mrs. Black's true thoughts.

"Kreacher".

"Miss Belvina."

"Is there anything you want to say to me?"

A brief conversation broke out again in the foyer. Those who knew about the house's past included not only Mrs. Black in the portrait, but also the house-elves who had always followed the Black family.

At this moment, Kreacher became Belvina's last straw.