Walden ran shaky fingers through his hair for what felt like the millionth time. He couldn’t figure out where everything had gone so bloody wrong. He’d known how stupid it was but things just– Warren had done everything in his power to break Walden through out the summer, and Merlin he’d need to feel something. Anything. Control, power, anything that didn’t make him feel weak. Anything that didn’t make him feel worthless, and that opportunity had come across in the form of that mudblood. It was everything he’d craved – until it wasn’t. Until he’d heard people yelling at him to stop, and found himself in one of the Ministry’s holding cells. His wand confiscated (soon to be snapped), a notice of expulsion in his father’s hand.Â
Though he far would have preferred to spend the next month in one of the cells. Even Azkaban would have been more welcoming than what had hit him as soon as Warren dragged him though the door. The feeling of his father’s fist blurred in with the effects of the cruciatus for what had felt like days – though logically he knew it could have only been a matter of hours. Echoes of ‘disappointment’ and ‘disgrace’ bounced around in his head on a loop. Though nothing had stung quite as bad as what was said before the first blow. ‘Your mother was right to abandon someone so reckless.’Â
 When his father finally left him, claiming he needed more than a few drinks to cope, Walden did his best to make it to the fireplace, his ribs sent a shooting pain though him as he grabbed just enough floo powder and mumbling Lestrange Manor. Praying he’d land in the right place, doing his best not to curse when his body collided with the cold stone on the other side.
@littlelestrange
