A Simple Request
She'd never asked much of him, really.
He had never been shushed when his voice was too loud, nor punished when he failed his exams, nor disowned when he shamed the family by being sorted into Gryffindor, not even when he … carried on … with that … boy.
She had always given him what he wanted – toys, broomsticks, friends…and never asked for anything in return. She had let him grow, let him love, let him learn – and all she had was one simple request.
All she wanted was for him to believe as she believed, to scorn those below him. To be as she was, surrounded by her things, gathering her money around her as a security blanket. She had only wanted him to grow up cold, like her husband – to be an adulterer, rotting away beneath piles and piles of galleons. To marry a lonely, resigned woman and produce grandchildren of which he would only ask one thing.
It was a simple request. Payment for all she had done for him.
But he spurned her, left her alone amongst the glittering, golden galleons that she had beneath her pillow and hidden in her dress. He had turned his back, taken all she had bequeathed unto him and run – run from the life she had preordained, run from the beliefs she had done her best to instill…run from her.
It was this thought that lingered in her mind as she burned his name from the family tapestry. She locked onto it, seeing it for her only escape, and shut all other parts of her brain down. She did not mourn the loss of her son, for how could she feel the loss of such an ungrateful child? Her heart was broken, yes, but no tears crossed the threshold of her eyes.
One day, she told herself, she would cry for cry for him, and she would tell him to his face – "I love you."
But it would not be that day for a very, very long time.
It is said that the day Elladora Black died, her portrait wept for six straight days, continuously murmuring, "I love you, I love you, I love you…"