Fic: Marriage Advice From The Black Widow
Title: Marriage Advice From The Black Widow
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,271
Genre: Gen, family
Characters: Mrs. Zabini, Blaise Zabini
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters, objects, settings, and plots are the property of J.K. Rowling. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise associated with Harry potter. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made from the writing of this fanfiction.
Summary: Mrs. Zabini gives her son a little advice about marriage.
Notes: Written for hp_diversity's Mini-Prompt Fest. Prompt was "Mrs. Zabini, On marriage."
Sophie Zabini never claimed to be an expert on marriage. What she was was an expert on getting married; the distinction was a subtle but important one.
Sophie’s first marriage was best described as a whirlwind romance. She’d been young, so young, and so very full of herself. She was beautiful and clever, and a talented witch (especially with potions) and she knew it. What she was not was wealthy. The vacation to the Mediterranean coast was pure chance-her best friend won an all expenses paid trip for two from a contest on the Wireless and, fresh out of Beaubatons, the two girls headed south for warmer climes.
Sophie met Husband #1 on the beach, a handsome, tanned wizard, whose laughing blue eyes and bright flashing smile captured her heart immediately. He was every bit as entranced by her tiny Muggle bikini as she could have hoped, but in the end, he’d liked her as much for her wit as her beauty. They fell madly in love and were married by the end of the first week. It turned out he was the youngest son of a very old but very poor Italian Pureblood family- Sophie suddenly had a very prestigious name and not single knut to put to it. Despite being poor, which had never been part of her life plan, she was deliriously happy with her impoverished husband who treated her more like a princess than the richest man in the world ever could have done.
For all of five months, that is, when he suffered a tragic accident involving a levitation charm, a boat, and one or three too many shots of Firewhisky.
Sophie was devastated. She also, she realized two weeks later, was pregnant. Alone in a strange country, barely making a living as an assistant in an tourist apothecary, doing her best to care for her new infant son and grieving over a devastating loss, 18-year-old Sophie did the only thing she could think to do: she found a handsome, charming Englishman in an expensive set of dress robes visiting for the summer, seduced him, and convinced him to marry her.
Husband #2 was a good and faithful husband, and a kind substitute father, for all of two months. Then he took her home to England, where he expected her to behave like all the other demure, sophisticated, trophy wives in his social circle.
Sophie had little in common with the dainty, reserved Englishwomen she was expected to emulate, and she made many, many mistakes. To make matters worse, with every social faux pas, her husband made a cutting remark to save face in public, then escorted her gently home where he proceeded to beat her senseless. Sophie had always been a quick study; soon she wasn’t making mistakes. In fact, she was blending in better than some of the women who were raised to the lifestyle. Even so, she was a spirited woman, and cleverer than her husband, which he did not appreciate. Soon the beatings were a daily occurrence, and Sophie became an expert at healing and glamour charms.
More than once she thought of leaving. She didn’t love her husband; she knew what love was and she’d never felt it for this man. Furthermore, she knew now that he didn’t love her. He’d married her for the purpose of hanging her on his arm like an exotic ornament and nothing more. He hit her because he was controlling, and because he thought his arm ornaments, like the landscape paintings on his walls and the ornate furniture in his rooms, should be beautiful but silent.
Silent was not a virtue that came naturally to W. Neither were compliance, capitulation, or subservience. She did not appreciate the way he expressed his displeasure with her, and she considered herself far too clever and strong willed to stay with such a man. Except...
Except that her beloved son, Blaise, was leaving babyhood and turning into an amazing little boy. He had her own exotic dark skin, her quick wit and intelligence, and the flashing grin and bright laugh of the love of her life. He was growing up strong and handsome, and she wanted everything that was best in the world for him. Their current status, afforded them by her marriage and her husband’s money, allowed him that. Her marriage gave him access to the best tutors-educational, magical, musical, and athletic. It also allowed him access to the children of her husband’s friends-esteemed witches and wizards with money and power; people whose children it would be good, one day, for her son to know.
So she stayed. She stayed because she loved her son and her son was growing healthy and happy, with every affordable opportunity at laid down at his feet. If the only cost was her blood and her tears and her private dignity-well, she gladly paid that price.
Until the day she came home from tea with Narcissa Malfoy’s garden club to find her son crying in his nursery with a bruise on his cheek and blood on his lip and her husband in a towering rage over how her filthy, no good son had a mouth as bad as she did.
On that day, Sophie learned a new emotion: cold rage. She was French, her beloved first husband was Italian; Sophie knew all about hot anger. But this, this was different. This was cool, clear, patient. Vengeful.
From that day forward, Sophie played along to perfection. She went to social functions and played perfect trophy wife. She went home with him and played perfect submissive, quiet wife. She begged for forgiveness at the tiniest infraction in the way he liked best. And she hid her son away from his sight. And all the while, she planned and she plotted, and when she was done, she snuck out in the dark of the night and went to Knockturn Alley, a creepy place she never would have had the strength to go into otherwise, to obtain certain things unavailable anywhere else in wizarding England. Over the next several weeks, she spent the wee hours of the morning in her husband’s empty dungeons, brewing the deadliest, most untraceable poison ever created. And when it was finished, she got rid of all the evidence, scoured the dungeons, and hid the single vial results. And then she waited.
And waited
And waited.
And then one evening, during one of Blaise’s play dates with little Draco Malfoy, she feigned illness. At Narcissa’s insistence, mother and son stayed the night at Malfoy Manor. When she awoke in the morning, it was to the news that her husband had mysteriously died in his sleep, leaving all his wealth and assets to his wife and adoptive son.
Sophie knew what loss felt like. She found that experience allowed her to fake it very well over the following months. She wore black for a full year, including the traditional veil of mourning that no one wore anymore.
No matter what anyone said later, that was the first and only time Sophie ever committed murder. She wed husband #3 shortly after she discovered that the extensive debts Husband #2 left her severely depleted the wealth he left her. For her son’s sake, she sought out another source of income. This time, she took greater care. She knew how to handle a less than ideal situation now, but she never wanted to have to do it again. This time she found a wealthy, middle-aged gentleman. She didn’t love him, but she was fond of him, and he adored her and doted on her son. Unfortunately, he suffered an early onset heart failure a few short years later, and all but a modest amount of his wealth went to his first wife and their three children. Being a mother herself, she didn’t in the least begrudge them, and was more than grateful for what he’d left for her son, but it wasn’t enough. Blaise was her little boy, her baby, the most important thing in her life, and he deserved the best. And now that she could see how much the loss of Husband #3 was affecting her seven-year-old son , she realized he needed a man in his life.
Husband #4 was elderly, wealthy enough for now, and madly in love with her. She made him comfortable, tended to his needs, and let him teach her son how to play chess. He died of old age when Blaise was eight and a half. Husband #5 was equally elderly, equally devoted, far far wealthier, and taught Blaise a love of Quidditch. He lived a total of eight months. After his death (again, of natural causes, no matter how insistent MLE was that the cause was otherwise), she was more than wealthy enough, with careful handling, to live comfortably for life. But Blaise was barely nine. He still needed a father. And she was beginning to feel like she was failing him there.
Hence husband #6, who lived less than a year before he was hit by a Muggle car leaving the Leaky Cauldron. By this time, she’d given up on ever finding love again in one of her marriages. To be honest, she hadn’t tried very hard, partly out of love and loyalty to her first husband, and partly out of fear after her second. But she’d finally managed to figure out what qualities made a man both a decent husband and an excellent father, and she seemed to get it just right with husband #7.
This one was by far the wealthiest of her husbands (taking into consideration her second husband’s debts), and at 45, he was less than twenty years her senior. Like the last few husbands, he seemed to love her dearly, and she found that she was rather fond of him too, although it was more the dear beloved friend variety than any sort of romantic affection. He was also very very good with money. Over the five years of their marriage, he taught both Sophie and Blaise the value of proper financing and investment, and how to run an estate. He also taught them both how to paint, and while she was only moderately interested in the hobby, he and Blaise bonded over a shared love of live landscapes.
When husband #7 died just shy of Blaise’s 16th birthday, she found herself actually missing him in the years that followed. And honoring his memory by remaining neutral in the second war against Voldemort because she refused to support the murderer of a man who had been so good to them.
She didn’t remarry again after that. The war was something of an interruption to their lives for several years, and when it was over, Blaise was a man.
He was every bit as lovely, clever, charming, and witty as his father, she thought to herself. Some days, the reminder of her loss broke her heart all over again. But mostly, she looked at her son and she was proud. She liked to think his father would have been proud too-proud of their son, and proud of how hard she’d tried to provide for him.
And now her son, the light of her life these past 20 years, was standing before her on the eve of his wedding, and he was asking her advice about marriage.
She stared at him, at a loss as to what to say, because the only real marriage she’d ever had had lasted less than a year, and she hardly knew a thing about how to make a real marriage work, to make it last, and for the first time, she felt like she’d failed her son.
But he was her son, and he didn’t take no for an answer.
So Sophie sucked in a deep breath, looked her son in the eye, and let herself be truthful. “I have been married seven times, Blaise, as you know. But I have not had more than a few months’ experience with a marriage based on love and commitment. I cannot give you advice on how to trust one another, or work through conflict, or care for each other properly. All I can tell you...All I can tell you is to love her.”
“But I...do love her, Mum. That’s the whole point of the wedding,” Blaise replied with an eye roll and a smirk.
Sophie sighed. “Your father and I...we loved each other, Blaise. Really, truly loved each other. And everything else just...sorted itself out. It’s not that we didn’t fight, or worry about money, or disagree about the future. It’s just that the fights and other problems that we had were unimportant in the grand scheme of things.”
“But what about all your other marriages, Mother? Your marriage to father was so short, I just...isn’t there anything more than ‘love her’?”
“The scheme wasn’t long, my darling, but it was grand; of my many marriages, it was the one that mattered most. The only one I committed to the way you’re committing to Pansy.”
“So...So you’re saying, all I have to do is love her?” Blaise looked doubtful.
“Ask her, Dearest. I guarantee she’ll agree with me.”
“Love then.”
“I don’t know much about marriage, Blaise, but I know a lot about love.” She brushed his cheek with her fingers and smiled gently. “If you love her, everything will be fine.”
“Alright.” Blaise smiled, then reached out to hug her. “Thanks, Mum,” he said.
“You’re welcome, Baby,” she replied, returning the hug. “I love you.”
“I know, Mum. I love you too.”
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,271
Genre: Gen, family
Characters: Mrs. Zabini, Blaise Zabini
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters, objects, settings, and plots are the property of J.K. Rowling. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise associated with Harry potter. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made from the writing of this fanfiction.
Summary: Mrs. Zabini gives her son a little advice about marriage.
Notes: Written for hp_diversity's Mini-Prompt Fest. Prompt was "Mrs. Zabini, On marriage."
Sophie Zabini never claimed to be an expert on marriage. What she was was an expert on getting married; the distinction was a subtle but important one.
Sophie’s first marriage was best described as a whirlwind romance. She’d been young, so young, and so very full of herself. She was beautiful and clever, and a talented witch (especially with potions) and she knew it. What she was not was wealthy. The vacation to the Mediterranean coast was pure chance-her best friend won an all expenses paid trip for two from a contest on the Wireless and, fresh out of Beaubatons, the two girls headed south for warmer climes.
Sophie met Husband #1 on the beach, a handsome, tanned wizard, whose laughing blue eyes and bright flashing smile captured her heart immediately. He was every bit as entranced by her tiny Muggle bikini as she could have hoped, but in the end, he’d liked her as much for her wit as her beauty. They fell madly in love and were married by the end of the first week. It turned out he was the youngest son of a very old but very poor Italian Pureblood family- Sophie suddenly had a very prestigious name and not single knut to put to it. Despite being poor, which had never been part of her life plan, she was deliriously happy with her impoverished husband who treated her more like a princess than the richest man in the world ever could have done.
For all of five months, that is, when he suffered a tragic accident involving a levitation charm, a boat, and one or three too many shots of Firewhisky.
Sophie was devastated. She also, she realized two weeks later, was pregnant. Alone in a strange country, barely making a living as an assistant in an tourist apothecary, doing her best to care for her new infant son and grieving over a devastating loss, 18-year-old Sophie did the only thing she could think to do: she found a handsome, charming Englishman in an expensive set of dress robes visiting for the summer, seduced him, and convinced him to marry her.
Husband #2 was a good and faithful husband, and a kind substitute father, for all of two months. Then he took her home to England, where he expected her to behave like all the other demure, sophisticated, trophy wives in his social circle.
Sophie had little in common with the dainty, reserved Englishwomen she was expected to emulate, and she made many, many mistakes. To make matters worse, with every social faux pas, her husband made a cutting remark to save face in public, then escorted her gently home where he proceeded to beat her senseless. Sophie had always been a quick study; soon she wasn’t making mistakes. In fact, she was blending in better than some of the women who were raised to the lifestyle. Even so, she was a spirited woman, and cleverer than her husband, which he did not appreciate. Soon the beatings were a daily occurrence, and Sophie became an expert at healing and glamour charms.
More than once she thought of leaving. She didn’t love her husband; she knew what love was and she’d never felt it for this man. Furthermore, she knew now that he didn’t love her. He’d married her for the purpose of hanging her on his arm like an exotic ornament and nothing more. He hit her because he was controlling, and because he thought his arm ornaments, like the landscape paintings on his walls and the ornate furniture in his rooms, should be beautiful but silent.
Silent was not a virtue that came naturally to W. Neither were compliance, capitulation, or subservience. She did not appreciate the way he expressed his displeasure with her, and she considered herself far too clever and strong willed to stay with such a man. Except...
Except that her beloved son, Blaise, was leaving babyhood and turning into an amazing little boy. He had her own exotic dark skin, her quick wit and intelligence, and the flashing grin and bright laugh of the love of her life. He was growing up strong and handsome, and she wanted everything that was best in the world for him. Their current status, afforded them by her marriage and her husband’s money, allowed him that. Her marriage gave him access to the best tutors-educational, magical, musical, and athletic. It also allowed him access to the children of her husband’s friends-esteemed witches and wizards with money and power; people whose children it would be good, one day, for her son to know.
So she stayed. She stayed because she loved her son and her son was growing healthy and happy, with every affordable opportunity at laid down at his feet. If the only cost was her blood and her tears and her private dignity-well, she gladly paid that price.
Until the day she came home from tea with Narcissa Malfoy’s garden club to find her son crying in his nursery with a bruise on his cheek and blood on his lip and her husband in a towering rage over how her filthy, no good son had a mouth as bad as she did.
On that day, Sophie learned a new emotion: cold rage. She was French, her beloved first husband was Italian; Sophie knew all about hot anger. But this, this was different. This was cool, clear, patient. Vengeful.
From that day forward, Sophie played along to perfection. She went to social functions and played perfect trophy wife. She went home with him and played perfect submissive, quiet wife. She begged for forgiveness at the tiniest infraction in the way he liked best. And she hid her son away from his sight. And all the while, she planned and she plotted, and when she was done, she snuck out in the dark of the night and went to Knockturn Alley, a creepy place she never would have had the strength to go into otherwise, to obtain certain things unavailable anywhere else in wizarding England. Over the next several weeks, she spent the wee hours of the morning in her husband’s empty dungeons, brewing the deadliest, most untraceable poison ever created. And when it was finished, she got rid of all the evidence, scoured the dungeons, and hid the single vial results. And then she waited.
And waited
And waited.
And then one evening, during one of Blaise’s play dates with little Draco Malfoy, she feigned illness. At Narcissa’s insistence, mother and son stayed the night at Malfoy Manor. When she awoke in the morning, it was to the news that her husband had mysteriously died in his sleep, leaving all his wealth and assets to his wife and adoptive son.
Sophie knew what loss felt like. She found that experience allowed her to fake it very well over the following months. She wore black for a full year, including the traditional veil of mourning that no one wore anymore.
No matter what anyone said later, that was the first and only time Sophie ever committed murder. She wed husband #3 shortly after she discovered that the extensive debts Husband #2 left her severely depleted the wealth he left her. For her son’s sake, she sought out another source of income. This time, she took greater care. She knew how to handle a less than ideal situation now, but she never wanted to have to do it again. This time she found a wealthy, middle-aged gentleman. She didn’t love him, but she was fond of him, and he adored her and doted on her son. Unfortunately, he suffered an early onset heart failure a few short years later, and all but a modest amount of his wealth went to his first wife and their three children. Being a mother herself, she didn’t in the least begrudge them, and was more than grateful for what he’d left for her son, but it wasn’t enough. Blaise was her little boy, her baby, the most important thing in her life, and he deserved the best. And now that she could see how much the loss of Husband #3 was affecting her seven-year-old son , she realized he needed a man in his life.
Husband #4 was elderly, wealthy enough for now, and madly in love with her. She made him comfortable, tended to his needs, and let him teach her son how to play chess. He died of old age when Blaise was eight and a half. Husband #5 was equally elderly, equally devoted, far far wealthier, and taught Blaise a love of Quidditch. He lived a total of eight months. After his death (again, of natural causes, no matter how insistent MLE was that the cause was otherwise), she was more than wealthy enough, with careful handling, to live comfortably for life. But Blaise was barely nine. He still needed a father. And she was beginning to feel like she was failing him there.
Hence husband #6, who lived less than a year before he was hit by a Muggle car leaving the Leaky Cauldron. By this time, she’d given up on ever finding love again in one of her marriages. To be honest, she hadn’t tried very hard, partly out of love and loyalty to her first husband, and partly out of fear after her second. But she’d finally managed to figure out what qualities made a man both a decent husband and an excellent father, and she seemed to get it just right with husband #7.
This one was by far the wealthiest of her husbands (taking into consideration her second husband’s debts), and at 45, he was less than twenty years her senior. Like the last few husbands, he seemed to love her dearly, and she found that she was rather fond of him too, although it was more the dear beloved friend variety than any sort of romantic affection. He was also very very good with money. Over the five years of their marriage, he taught both Sophie and Blaise the value of proper financing and investment, and how to run an estate. He also taught them both how to paint, and while she was only moderately interested in the hobby, he and Blaise bonded over a shared love of live landscapes.
When husband #7 died just shy of Blaise’s 16th birthday, she found herself actually missing him in the years that followed. And honoring his memory by remaining neutral in the second war against Voldemort because she refused to support the murderer of a man who had been so good to them.
She didn’t remarry again after that. The war was something of an interruption to their lives for several years, and when it was over, Blaise was a man.
He was every bit as lovely, clever, charming, and witty as his father, she thought to herself. Some days, the reminder of her loss broke her heart all over again. But mostly, she looked at her son and she was proud. She liked to think his father would have been proud too-proud of their son, and proud of how hard she’d tried to provide for him.
And now her son, the light of her life these past 20 years, was standing before her on the eve of his wedding, and he was asking her advice about marriage.
She stared at him, at a loss as to what to say, because the only real marriage she’d ever had had lasted less than a year, and she hardly knew a thing about how to make a real marriage work, to make it last, and for the first time, she felt like she’d failed her son.
But he was her son, and he didn’t take no for an answer.
So Sophie sucked in a deep breath, looked her son in the eye, and let herself be truthful. “I have been married seven times, Blaise, as you know. But I have not had more than a few months’ experience with a marriage based on love and commitment. I cannot give you advice on how to trust one another, or work through conflict, or care for each other properly. All I can tell you...All I can tell you is to love her.”
“But I...do love her, Mum. That’s the whole point of the wedding,” Blaise replied with an eye roll and a smirk.
Sophie sighed. “Your father and I...we loved each other, Blaise. Really, truly loved each other. And everything else just...sorted itself out. It’s not that we didn’t fight, or worry about money, or disagree about the future. It’s just that the fights and other problems that we had were unimportant in the grand scheme of things.”
“But what about all your other marriages, Mother? Your marriage to father was so short, I just...isn’t there anything more than ‘love her’?”
“The scheme wasn’t long, my darling, but it was grand; of my many marriages, it was the one that mattered most. The only one I committed to the way you’re committing to Pansy.”
“So...So you’re saying, all I have to do is love her?” Blaise looked doubtful.
“Ask her, Dearest. I guarantee she’ll agree with me.”
“Love then.”
“I don’t know much about marriage, Blaise, but I know a lot about love.” She brushed his cheek with her fingers and smiled gently. “If you love her, everything will be fine.”
“Alright.” Blaise smiled, then reached out to hug her. “Thanks, Mum,” he said.
“You’re welcome, Baby,” she replied, returning the hug. “I love you.”
“I know, Mum. I love you too.”