Chapter 35: Of Servitors and Samosas

Blaise Zabini
Hogwarts, Great Britain

The last week of the semester passed in a blur. I attended the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw game on Sunday, if only to show everyone that I wasn’t a complete hermit. It was a little annoying and reminded me of the time I was volun-told to oversee a fraternity party at the university I used to work at.

The puffs won because Cedric Diggory was a competent seeker, but no one in our house cared. Much like that college frat, no one needed another reason to party at the end of the semester.

Well, as much partying as Slytherins did, anyway. It had more in common with a jazz lounge kickback than a party. My housemates usually gathered around the snake of the hour as said snake felt smug about their achievements.

Seeing how our house team didn’t play tonight, the woman of the hour was Cheryl Dupree, fourth year dueling prodigy. She’d recently received confirmation that she was to represent Britain as the last of the three duelists in the 17 and Under circuit of the International Dueling Conference.

The IDC was divided into two divisions, wanded and everything else. Each division was further divided into two circuits, 17 and Under, and everybody else.

As I understood it, the IDC’s ruling committee decided how many representatives each nation was allowed to send based on the total population of magicals in each nation. Britain, being relatively small compared to France or Germany, got to send three to each circuit.

The conference took place in the first week of August each year. Because of this, duelists were selected in a set of preliminary rounds in each nation by January. Cheryl’s schedule would be absolutely grueling next semester as she prepared for the upcoming conference.

It figured that my housemates conveniently forgot about Cheryl’s half-blood status when it became convenient to do so. Still, she seemed to be enjoying herself so I didn’t point out the hypocrisy. I gave her a congratulatory nod and helped myself to the butterbeer before heading back to my suite. Sleep, as always, was a cruel, yet enchanting mistress.

X

As was my habit, I woke up early so I could have an hour to myself before breakfast. I usually took this time to scry the day ahead for unexpected dangers.

I also finished up what schoolwork I had left before testing season. No matter how much I cheated with divination, I did still have to write out the answers, after all.

Work finished for the semester, I found myself roaming out of my suite and into the common room. I sat at the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out into the Black Lake.

The view was as beautiful and haunting as ever. Currently, I found myself in a staring contest with the giant squid. His bowling ball-sized eye peered into the common room, as curious about the surface as I was about the depths below.

I took a soothing sip of earl gray, courtesy of Tubby the house elf. Raising my cup, I offered him a polite nod, which he returned with a wave. I wondered how sentient he really was. He was known for occasionally saving students who fell into the water.

“Amazing, isn’t he?” I heard behind me. I turned to find Cheryl with a steaming cup of her own. She took a seat across from me and brought her cup to her nose, not to drink, simply to enjoy the fragrance. “His name is Bob.”

“Is it?”

“It is. I named him.”

“I suppose it is then, for the next several years at any rate,” I hummed. Everyone seemed to name the giant squid something different. “Congratulations, by the way. Being a national duelist is pretty impressive, even for the 17 and Under circuit.”

“Thanks. You weren’t there at the party last night.”

“No. You know I prefer to turn in early.”

“So I do. And thanks. Did you see Selwyn’s face? She looked like I fucked her boyfriend and murdered her cat,” she said gleefully, her raven bob bouncing.

“Don’t you think your rivalry is getting a little out of hand?” I asked, mostly for the sake of conversation. At this point, the entire house knew better than to get between them.

“I’m not the one who keeps pushing. She thinks she’s entitled to the suite just because she’s from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Fuck that. It’s mine next semester.”

“So it is. You’ll have to keep winning, you know. The suite’s nice and all, but it’s also a whole lot of unspoken pressure to be the best, and keep being the best.”

“Of course. The house only tolerates me because I’m good with a wand. The moment I lose, I’ll just be the token half-blood again,” she replied bitterly. Her freckles scrunched up into an angry clump as she stared into her tea. Hers was the face of a girl who knew that her “friends” were all fake.

I respected her. She didn’t have the Greengrass name to protect her like Tracey did, so she’d had to carve out a fierce reputation on her own merits. “You seem to be doing well enough. Just don’t lose too badly at the IDC next August.”

“Thank you, oh wise one.”

“You are most welcome. Was there something you wanted from me?”

“You. I want you.”

I blinked in surprise. “I’m not sure how I should respond to that. You’re not hideous or anything, but… Shouldn’t you have asked me out before the end of the semester?”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” she huffed. “Besides, everyone knows you’ve got your Romeo and Juliet thing with Potter going on.”

“Do they? Because that’s news to me.”

“What? Is the Girl Who Lived not good enough for you?”

“I like my women with more ass,” I snarked back.

She snorted, almost spilling her tea on herself. “Ouch, poor girl. Still, not my problem. I meant your dueling. You know, that thing we were talking about.”

“Ah, that makes more sense. I don’t think anyone can copy my style of dueling, not unless you’ve been hiding the Sight from everyone.”

“No, but I think I can get better by sparring against you. You can dodge anything, right? I can’t think of a better person to help me improve my aim.”

“You think too highly of me. I won against Higgs because he wasn’t smart enough to learn glacius. I’d lose against anyone who knew good AOE spells.”

“Ay-oh-ee?”

“Sorry, I meant area-of-effect.”

“Like incendio. You used the flame freezing charm against Higgs,” she pointed out.

“And that worked because he’s a moron. He’s predictable, easy to rile up, and has a shallow spell repertoire. Someone like you? I think you’re a bit hotheaded too, but you’re way too versatile to be beaten by a handful of first year spells.”

“Damn straight,” she said smugly. “But you think you can dodge my wandwork? When I use normal, line spells, I mean.”

“Sure I can.”

“That’s good enough. I want to get faster at spellchains anyway. So? Practice with me next semester.”

I considered it. Cheryl was an incredible duelist. Even better, she had something to prove, a clear motive for wanting my cooperation. She wasn’t likely to betray me.

Hell, half the reason she came to me, the unsaid half, was that I was politically safe. There were other great duelists in the house, but she wouldn’t trust any of them to aim a wand at her. I just happened to be both good enough to help, and not so good that I twigged her paranoia.

My only concern was that helping to train her would mean potentially annoying Samantha Selwyn. I hadn’t had many dealings with her, but she was a daughter of a major noble family. She could become a thorn in my side simply out of spite.

Then again, I couldn’t deny that Cheryl had much to teach me. Not only did she have a large spell repertoire, she was known for her fast, often unorthodox style.

She could provide me with the combat experience I needed to prepare for Voldemort’s lackeys, and in a relatively safe manner. She was attractive to me for the same reason I was to her. Compared to that, annoying Samantha was a cheap price to pay.

I held out a hand. “Alright, I accept. I’m willing to train with you next semester.”

“Good. We’ll see how good that Sight of yours really is,” she said with a challenging smirk, standing. “Have a good break, Zabini.”

“You too, Dupree.”

X

I leaned back in my chair with a satisfied smile. Today was Tuesday. Like many other Tuesdays, I found myself at the art club. Seeing how this would be the final meeting of the year, I decided to leave them with something to think about.

My trusty crystal ball was on a stand next to me. I needed it to check on a few things from Wikipedia. The page didn’t exist yet, but it would. That, and my memory, was enough to give me the inspiration I needed for my latest artistic masterpiece.

“W-What the bloody hell is that, Zabini?” Clara, the club president, asked. Morbid curiosity drove her to take a closer look.

I glanced at her in askance. I shrugged and said in my best ‘college librarian voice,’ “What? This? I believe muggles call it an assembly line. The idea is to assemble a large number of products cheaply through the division of labor. Each section of the line accomplishes a single task before passing the incomplete product downstream. Eventually, by the time the product enters the final point in the line, it will have been fully assembled.”

“That’s not what I’m asking about!”

“It’s not? It’s a fascinating principle. I mean, wizards have no need for such a thing because most high quality enchantments need to be done by a single master enchanter, but it’s interesting how muggles have managed to develop methods to bypass their limitations and support an obscenely large population.”

“You… You’re not very funny, Zabini.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not teasing. I genuinely do think the muggle half of humanity is careening towards societal collapse thanks chiefly to overpopulation, but it’s impressive what your finest minds have come up with to slow down the inevitable. Like sweatshops, for instance.”

“You’re the worst. Anyone ever tell you that you have an awful sense of humor?”

“Hear that, Greengrass?” I called to my fellow club member and housemate. She was putting the finishing touches on the painting of her younger sister. “I’m the worst, and because I elected to educate myself on the workings of muggle society. Really, Warren. If I don’t, I’m a bigot. If I do, I’m the worst. You’re impossible.”

The heiress looked up from her painting long enough to peek at mine. Her eyes widened at the shocking scenery. Her face turned a little green. “That… I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m with the muggleborn on this one, Zabini. What are we looking at?”

“I told you, an assembly line. Would you like the full lecture? I could tell you about how Henry Ford revolutionized the muggle manufacturing process through sheer, capitalistic greed. As Slytherins, we have to admire that level of selfishness and ambition.”

“No thank you. I’m quite alright without a lecture on important muggle figures. I’ll grant you that I’m not an expert on anything muggle, but I somehow doubt that an ‘assembly line’ normally involves so many cadavers.”

She was right.

My brush technique had improved dramatically over the semester. My latest piece was in full color. The departure from charcoal only made the image that much more striking.

It was a vision of hell. Corpses suspended in the air on gruesome meathooks moved along a conveyor belt. Articulate blades removed vital organs. Spider-like arms stretched open their ribs and filled their chest cavities with metallic implants.

These men and women weren’t even allowed the barest nod to humanity. No modesty. No individuality. Even the flesh of their faces was peeled back so their skulls could be shaved down to fit metallic faceguards. Their open eyes and gaping mouths made it clear that they were alive, and very much aware of the horrors befalling them.

My detailing wasn’t perfect. I couldn’t call my work a masterpiece, but I was more than good enough to show off the disturbing scene that was the sevitorization process. I’d even made little comic panels with zoom-in pictures for added detail.

“Oh, that’s because this is an assembly line for servitors,” I explained. I took a calm, fortifying breath, as if finally taking in the horrors I’d put to canvas. “They’re the ‘metal inferi’ that I talked about. I finally got some more information about them.”

“Like the Terminator!” Clara gasped. She looked like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Her little practical joke wasn’t hers anymore. “You found out more?”

“Yup.” People were staring now. My paintings had made their rounds as odd curiosities. “You remember Kelbor-Hal?”

“The freaky machine-priest?”

“He would insist he is called a techpriest, but yes. He worships the Omnissiah, the Machine God. This is his ideal vision, to remake the Red Planet in the image of his twisted god.”

“How? How could anyone think this is a good idea?”

“Simple. He is a man who craves efficiency. Or, will be?” I shrugged. “I don’t know if he’s around right now, I don’t even know his real name, but he’d tell you that the flesh is weak and only a body of steel can provide true surety. Oh, and something about the masses not needing to think, only obey their masters.”

“That’s horrible. And you dreamt this?”

“Yeah… Magic can do some truly awful things, Warren.”

“Your dreams are really starting to worry me.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes at me. “How sure are we that this is true? I’m not saying your Sight isn’t the real deal, Zabini, but…”

I nodded. “It’s not real. At least, not at the moment. I told you, this is a vision of the future. And as with any future, it is one possible glimpse.”

“So… A muggleborn wizard is going to… what? Be the next dark lord?”

“No, I don’t think that’s likely. If anything, it’d be a pureblood or half-blood wizard who thinks exploiting the muggles is a good way to create disposable troops for his army. Whatever the case, he is someone who disregards the Statute of Secrecy, and to catastrophic results.”

“Then people are in danger,” Clara said with a solemn nod. “W-When will this happen? You said the Terminator was the first. Has something like this already begun?”

“I don’t know, Warren. I can’t know. All I know is that this is a possible future. It certainly wouldn’t be a bad thing to brush up on your DADA.”

“I-I will. Can I take this? I don’t know where to start, but maybe… maybe I can find something out over the winter,” she said nervously. “I have to return to the muggle world, after all.”

“Of course. Take all the pieces I made throughout the semester,” I told her. 

I left with a contemplative frown on my face, and a delighted smirk in my mind. I liked Clara.

She was a girl who was aware of the class divide between purebloods and muggleborn, yet wasn’t blindly resentful of every pureblood because of it. She tried to develop her own niche as a painter of moving portraits so that she could build an independent business for herself when she graduated. 

The way I saw it, she would take my pieces and one of two things would happen:

One, Clara would go and explore the only lead she had: Terminator. She would examine different sci-fi movies for any hints of the truth, wondering if they hid a broader conspiracy.

She would return next semester, having come close to the truth, yet so far. This paranoia would urge her to train more, becoming a better duelist. She’d inspire many of her peers to do the same, especially muggleborns with family to protect on the other side. That was good. Anything that could improve her chances of survival later was fair game in my book. 

The second option was that someone she knew in the muggle world might recognize my drawings. They’d laugh at her and tell her about all the fucked up lore in Warhammer. She’d realize the Red Planet was Mars, not some bloody hellscape rendition of Earth.

She was smart. She’d remember all the times I expressed knowledge of the muggle world that no pureblood should have, like assembly lines and Henry Ford. She’d cotton on to the fact that I was fucking with her and she’d come back ready to shove her foot up my ass.

That would be fine, too. She’d be right pissed, but she was the one who tried to turn this prank on me. Showing her that a pureblood could know muggle culture might have worth in itself as well.

X

“So, were you ever planning to say goodbye?” Violet said as she took a seat next to me. It was Friday and the train would leave tomorrow morning. She was as moody as ever, with a scowl that was at once pouty and judging. 

Fortunately, I knew just how to placate her. I handed her a package wrapped in foil, our lunch for today. “Say goodbye? You make it sound like we’re never going to see each other again.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll be gone for a month.”

“As will everyone else. It’ll be just you and the teachers.”

“Joy… I’m sure it’ll be a hoot,” she groaned as she unwrapped her lunch. “No offense, Hedwig.”

“Hilarious.”

“Aren’t I? And actually, the twins are sticking around.”

“Which twins?”

“Patils, duh. You know, the ones that we actually like.”

“What do you have against Weasleys.”

“They keep trying to prank you, and not in a funny way.”

I pulled her into a one-armed hug. “Aww, are you feeling protective of me? That’s adorable, Vi.”

“S-Shut up,” she snapped, slapping my arm aside. I could see the tomato-red blush on her face. Desperately, she searched for a distraction and found it in her food. She picked up the crispy, triangular wrap and took a big bite. “What is this anyway? It’s pretty good.”

“A curry samosa. I felt like eating something different. Classic British food is a bit too one-note. The elves make it well, but it gets a bit boring, you know?” I mused, thinking back to how this had happened.

My plan to diversify my diet had begun in early November, when I got sick of British food, and had only panned out recently. I succeeded, but it took far more steps than I’d expected.

At first, I thought it’d be a simple matter of summoning Pooky, my family elf, directly to my suite. After all, Dobby seemed to move throughout Hogwarts without consequences in the second book. To my surprise, she did not come when called. I asked Tubby the kitchen elf about it and got an answer after a few misunderstandings.

House elves had a culture unto themselves. I shouldn’t have been surprised; they were sentient, highly social creatures, after all. As he told me, there were no wards against house elves surrounding Hogwarts. Or if there were, they weren’t active.

Rather, Pooky did not come to me because it was considered extremely rude for a house elf to intrude upon the territory of another. Though I was her master, the moment I entered Hogwarts, I fell under the jurisdiction of the local elves when it came to chores and services. Given the elves hoarded chores like goblins hoarded gold, serving me without their acknowledgement was a big faux pas.

That put Dobby’s actions throughout the series in context: It was akin to going to someone else’s house uninvited, taking a shit, and not flushing. Or, I supposed, doing the dishes, laundering their clothes, and cleaning their toddler’s room.

It was awkward, rude, and maybe a little creepy. I suspected that the little fellow got a pass because of the extenuating circumstances, namely the potential death of one or more Hogwarts students. The Boy Who Lived being involved may have helped as well.

So, to expand my culinary options, I had to write down instructions for Pooky and deliver them via Minerva. I had her exchange galleons for pounds before going out into muggle London to purchase a multinational cookbook.

Being the overachiever that she was, she returned with not one, but six. She sent the package back to me via Minerva, which I promptly gifted to Tubby. It was how I got to enjoy a steak burrito, and now, a samosa.

Yes, my plan to become the godfather of the elves and owls was on track.

“Wait, so this is what curry tastes like?” Violet asked with wonder. She picked at the inside of her samosa curiously, trying to guess all the spices used. “I can see why Parv keeps saying she misses it. I should tell her that the elves know how to make this.”

“You’ve never had curry before? I thought you were asking about the wrapper.”

“I was. I just… both? My uncle hates anything that isn’t British.”

“There’s nothing more British than appropriating other people’s cultures. Treating India as your private spice rack pretty much sums up a good chunk of British colonial history.”

“Pft, I dare you to tell the twins that.”

“Chirpy would kick me in the balls.”

“And Padma wouldn’t?”

“Geeky would get creative, which is even worse.”

“Heh, yeah, they’re great,” Violet sighed happily. She took another bite of the crispy, soft goodness. 

“Well, you’re free to experiment over winter break,” I told her. I took another bite of my own curry-packet. “I left several cookbooks with the elves.”

“You did? Sweet! Parv and Padma can enjoy actual Indian food.”

“I’m pretty sure samosas aren’t technically Indian. And curry is popular in pretty much every Asian country. Some African countries, too. They all have their unique spice blends. In fact, the word is an anglicization of various words that vaguely mean ‘sauce on rice.’ There isn’t a specific spice blend that makes something a ‘curry.’”

“So where are samosas from?”

“No clue, somewhere in Central Asia? ‘Edible package with filling’ isn’t exactly distinct. It might be like asking where dumplings are from. Every culture has something similar, and so I’m not sure that there is a right answer. Also, India’s a big place. I don’t know if I got the right cookbooks for their particular section of India, wherever that is.”

“Eh, I’m sure it’ll be close enough,” she shrugged. She bowed her head shyly. “They said they don’t care about the winter holidays because they celebrate Ugadi, which is the Hindu New Year? Something like that… But really, I know they’re sticking around for me so I… It’d be nice if I can do something nice for them.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate it, Vi,” I reassured her. We finished our meal and sat there, overlooking the Hogwarts grounds. I’d have to board the train tomorrow morning so this was a nice way to spend the last Friday of the semester. “Do you have your Christmas gifts all lined up?”

“I do. And I’ll kill you if you scry yours.”

“Fair enough, no spoiling the surprise. Don’t be too disappointed by mine though.”

She leaned her head into my shoulder. “Idiot… I already owe you.”

“As I understand it, gifts aren’t supposed to be transactional.”

“Yeah… Thanks… You know, in advance, since you’re going to be gone all winter.”

“You’re very welcome. Oh, Violet?”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Remember, the mirror lies.”

“Ugh, I hate it when you do that,” she whined. Then, because she had the curiosity of a puppy, “Fine, I’ll bite. What mirror?”

“Desire. It’s an ever-distant dream, an often impossible one.”

“More riddles… You’re a jerk, you know that?”

“I know, Vi. I know.”

Author’s Note

There, finally capped off the semester. I hope it doesn’t feel too rushed even though the chapter takes place across the entire final week.

In the Philosopher’s Stone, all of the Weasley siblings stick around for the winter holidays. Fred, George, and Percy got in trouble or something. Ron sticks around to keep Harry company. It’s something that he doesn’t do here because he and Violet aren’t close. Instead, the Patil siblings stick around with her.

Culture Fact: Ugadi is the Hindu New Year, which coincides with the start of the planting season. It is therefore in late March or early April. I've been told by a patron that it's more commonly celebrated in southern India rather than the nation at large.

Ey, much gratitude to everyone who pays for my groceries.

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