Chapter 36: Into the Spider’s Web

Blaise Zabini
Hogwarts, Great Britain

The train was nice. Someone had bothered to redecorate the upholstery, not that that was a difficult task with magic involved.

That really was the most exciting thing to happen on the ride home. And why would things be otherwise? It wasn’t as if I had any lasting rivalries against other houses. The ride was seven hours long and I could only spend so long reading a book or practicing occlumency before my attention wavered.

In the end, I spent most of it playing exploding snap and discussing the holidays with the boys. We’d meet up for the winter gala again, but that would be in their capacities as heirs and spares of Britain’s wizarding elite. For the moment, it was nice to put aside the posturing.

No, all the excitement was reserved for King’s Cross Station. Mere moments after I stepped off the train, I was enveloped in a warm hug.

“Hello, my little warrior,” Valencia Zabini whispered in my ear. That epithet still made me cringe inside. “You have been busy this year.”

I let out a mental sigh. I’d prepared for this, but conscious thought and emotions were often far from the same thing. Countless conflicted feelings flitted through my mind in a chaotic hurricane.

I loved her. Despite knowing exactly what kind of monster she was, I did. The weirdest part was that I knew that this love wasn’t something I would have felt as Corbin. She was vengeful, petty, manipulative, and a cold-blooded murderer, no matter how warm and endearing her hugs were.

At the same time, she was my mother. Old-Blasie had grown up a deeply lonely boy. Even whilst being terrified of the creature he called “mother,” he held on to each show of affection like a neglected puppy. It was why he was more politically astute than many of his peers; he’d thought that if he was useful to her, she’d care for him.

Love, fear, and hope warred in my chest in ways I couldn’t put to words. The strangest part of it all was that I was sure she cared for me. The acknowledgement old-Blaise so dearly craved, he’d only received when I took over, not because she suddenly found her motherly instincts, but because she saw a kindred spirit in me, a fellow predator.

My body acted on autopilot, wrapping my arms around her slender shoulders. She smelled interesting, a smoky, floral scent that probably cost more galleons than most wizards made in a week.

“Hello, mother,” I said, voice thick with emotions I didn’t understand. “Have you been well?”

“Of course, dear. Lowell and I have had a wonderful time together. I’ve not had the chance to introduce you to him,” she replied with an innocent smile. So saying, she gestured to a man who stood awkwardly behind her. “Come, darling, you must meet my son. He’s quite the precocious boy, you know.”

I studied him. He studied me.

I remembered him, of course. He was Lowell Spencer-Moon, cousin of Leonard Spencer-Moon, a former minister of magic. In fact, if I remembered my history right, it was his cousin’s administration that saw Britain through the Global Wizarding War. And, when it ended, it was Leonard who awarded Dumbledore with the Order of Merlin, First Class.

Lowell himself was retired. I knew very little about the man specifically, but the mere fact that I knew nothing was itself proof of said retirement. That, and he was old, maybe twice mother’s age. Given Valencia was in her late-thirties, that made her new beau a septuagenarian. 

He was otherwise unremarkable, though in a “distinguished old gentleman” sort of way. He was well-dressed, balding, and had a monocle. He clearly needed his cane more than I did mine.

I held out a hand with a neutral smile. “Hello, sir. I am Blaise.”

He stepped forward and clasped my forearm. He tugged me towards him in what I was sure he thought was a fatherly manner. Or, he tried. One of us had functioning legs and hips and it wasn’t him.

That didn’t deter him in the least. “Oh, none of that, m’boy. Please, call me Lowelll, or uncle if you prefer. I feel like we’re practically family.”

I wanted to roll my eyes. Great, he’d be one of those. Over the years, I’d found that my “fathers” inevitably fell into two camps.

The first tried to ignore me, pretending as if I wasn’t part of the package. I actually preferred this. It wasn’t like old-Blasie hadn’t understood. There was only one reason men married my mother.

If anything, I appreciated how they clearly set our expectations for one another. I tended to leave these men alone so long as they offered me the same courtesy, allowing them to live out their fantasies for however long they could amuse my mother.

The second type was the worst. They were sycophants, plain and simple. They bought me expensive gifts and tried to show off how “fatherly” they could be. They thought that if they could win my approval, mother’s would naturally follow. 

Fools. As if mother cared for my opinion. Jury was out on whether she was capable of such affection in the first place.

And it seemed Lowell would be more of the same.

I briefly glanced towards my mother. Her smile was lovely, but I knew her well enough to notice the subtle tells. I knew that smile. It was the same smile she wore when she was contemplating her potions collection.

Which meant this man was likely to be husband number eight. Did I care enough to stop it?

No, I decided. If he wanted to believe he’d somehow be the exception after seven other men died, then so be it. After a certain point, a man ought to claim some sense of responsibility, right?

I smiled and nodded guilelessly. “Of course, Lowell. Thank you for keeping mother company. She’s a social butterfly and I’m afraid she gets lonely rather easily.”

“I know that all too well, m’boy,” he said with a chuckle. “Your mother is a splendid woman, one to be admired.”

We made some more small talk before heading home via one of the large fireplaces built into the brickwork of Platform 9 3/4.

I found out that they were engaged now. Given that they first met at King’s Cross when I was heading to school, this seemed a little fast.

Then again, that was probably the point. For all I knew, Lowell was a lonely, old man who was fully aware of his impending death. Maybe he just wanted a gorgeous woman to be a part of his life before he croaked. 

X

I sat across from my mother in our sitting room. She told Lowell that she’d like some mother-son time with me and sent him off somewhere as soon as we arrived. Our British manor wasn’t very large, but we had more than enough space to guarantee our privacy.

Now that we were out of the public eye, her mask of seductive innocence fell away. She raised a cup of fine china to her lips and allowed herself to savor the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed tea.

“How have you been, my little warrior?” she asked curiously. “Healer Alvarez suggested that your recovery would be the work of months, if not years.”

I almost forgot the name. That was the healer she’d hired back in Italy. “I am better than he’d hoped then. I no longer require a cane to walk.”

“You kept it anyway.”

“It’s grown on me. I was thinking about having the body replaced by a sword.”

Her brow rose daintily. “A sword? An interesting choice. Some might say it is… pedestrian.”

“It’s something I noticed when a few schoolmates tried to pull pranks on me,” I admitted. There wasn’t any point in hiding my abilities from her. “I can see a few seconds into the future, giving me just enough time to avoid harm. A wand is preferable of course, but a hidden blade seems like the perfect secondary weapon.”

“Yes, your newfound talent for divination. I’m hurt, Blaise, how could you not tell me?” she asked with a teasing pout. And though the gesture was almost playful, there was a dangerous glint in her eyes. “You know, you’re the talk of the town these days. More than one person has come to ask about your gifts.”

“They left empty-handed, no doubt,” I said. I took a sip from my own cup to give myself a few seconds. Valencia Zabini cared for me in her own, twisted way, but that care was itself a dangerous thing. “Truthfully, I didn’t know much. For a while, I thought I’d gone insane after I killed Aunt Carmen.”

“Oh?”

“Back in that basement, I sometimes saw things before they happened. It was how I took her wand from her, how I overpowered her.”

“You said nothing of this in the hospital.”

“I didn’t know. I know now, but back then… I thought I’d gone delirious from the pain, had dreamt most of it.”

“And then, you began to see things.”

I nodded slowly. “It started slowly. I only had two weeks before school and I couldn’t control those visions. They were always small things. Pooky coming in with lunch. A teacup I was about to knock over on accident. They were insignificant things, but always pertinent to me. By the time I understood what was happening, I had enough time to grab a few books and the family crystal ball.”

“Fascinating, though I suppose such growth is only to be expected,” she mused.

“How so, mother?”

“Have you ever wondered why that crystal ball was in your father’s study?”

“I’d thought it belonged to an unknown master. The journal I found with it had no name.”

She nodded. “Yes, but there is no question that this master was a Zabini. Do you remember what your father did in his youth?”

I frowned. It wasn’t a secret. Father, Dante Zabini, died when he was sixty-six years old, shortly after my birth. He died in the very office I’d taken over as my own, face buried into a bowl of gazpacho, perhaps because mother was into slapstick during my infancy.

But, though his latter years and death were ignoble, he was once a feared soldier. In his mid-twenties, he served alongside many others from Italy as part of Grindelwald’s army. He was a piece of shit, but a reasonably competent one.

“You’re talking about Grindelwald. He fought in that war.”

“He did. He was a warrior, much like you,” she said with a sliver of fondness in her voice. “Well, his stories were such bores, but he was certainly proud of all that he’d done.”

“What does that have to do with the crystal ball?”

“Grindelwald was a seer himself, did you know that?”

I nodded. “I did, but my ball couldn’t have belonged to him. Father wasn’t anyone important in his army. He would never have entrusted an artifact like this to father.”

“Hahaha,” she laughed. It was a musical sound, all the more because of how mocking it was. “Yes, you’re right. It did not once belong to Grindelwald. If the dark lord had an object like this, he would have used it, not handed it out like a party favor.”

“Then…”

“I said it belonged to a Zabini. Though I don’t know how, Grindelwald learned that House Zabini had the gift. It was why he approached your father, certainly not because dear Dante had any personal strengths to be proud of.”

“I see… You think that me killing Aunt Carmen was what awakened the seer blood in me.”

“Magic is shaped by intent, but also, necessity. You needed it, so, in your moment of greatest need, your magic answered.”

I nodded slowly. “Then, why didn’t father awaken his talent? He fought plenty of times. He probably feared for his own life more than once, just like me.”

“I’m sure he did,” she said. She licked her lips at the thought. “It is a thrilling thing, isn’t it? The hunt. The moment of the kill.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Oh, but magic is never quite so malleable as when we are children. I’m sure Dante would have loved to possess the Sight, something to distinguish him from the masses of Grindelwald’s men. But alas, he never managed it. He was far too old for that.”

“Accidental magic,” I said. “That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Everyone knows accidental magic becomes vanishingly scarce as wizards grow. A child from the bloodline of seers, faced with death yet willing to fight, would that be enough for Magic to answer his prayers?”

I remained silent.

It was certainly plausible, but I knew the truth. I was Corbin Gates, a college librarian who filled out a CYOA and got yeeted across the multiverse.

Then again, perhaps what she was saying was true. My drawbacks integrated themselves into this world. Somnolent still haunted me and recovery was a slow process. It stood to reason that my perks would as well.

There was ultimately no way to know. Only one might be able to give me an answer, but I doubted Fate would be willing to chat.

Mother leaned back into the cushions, stretching like a lazy cat. “I’m proud of you, little warrior. You didn’t just survive, you thrived. You emerged with more power than Dante could have ever hoped for.”

“Thank you, mother.”

“Now, tell me about your semester. Hogwarts was such a marvelous time.”

I blinked in surprise. “You enjoyed Hogwarts? You?”

“Oh, come now, Blaise, there’s no need for that. Hogwarts holds some of my fondest memories,” she said with a happy sigh. I didn’t think she could reminisce about the “good ol’ days.”

“I never took you for the studious type.”

“How do you think I learned my social graces? I’ll have you know, I wasn’t always a social butterfly. Why, I spent many hours people-watching. I learned their mannerisms… their verbal ticks… their interests… all without the fear of broader consequences. It was a truly educational experience.”

Of course that’s what she meant. I wanted to facepalm. For a moment, I dared hope that she had something resembling a normal youth. 

She didn’t just learn spells, she learned people. She learned to craft perfect masks to better entrap the unwary. And, given Hogwarts was a boarding school full of horny teenagers and young adults, I suspected I knew exactly how she perfected her craft.

Still, I shared my own experiences with her. As expected, she didn’t give a rat’s ass about my perfect grades or the Slytherin private suite. Her focus was on my social life, or more specifically, the connections I’d made.

Naturally, she was most interested in the Girl Who Lived.

“Some people are too expensive to keep around,” she said, an old piece of advice she often liked repeating. “Muggleborns are one example, but the Girl Who Lived is another. Are you sure you can afford her company, my little warrior?”

I frowned. The ways he said it made Violet sound like a whore whose time I was buying. It wasn’t even about sex, or the implication of it. That was just how she saw people. Relationships were transactions to her; each person’s friendship had a price, in clout, in image, in reputation.

And, truth was, Violet was expensive. The parents of my housemates had long memories. Many still blamed her for Voldemort’s fall, no matter how ridiculous it was to blame an infant. Her friendship would cost me influence in the house, potentially depriving me of pieces and assets I could use in the future, when Voldemort returned. I hated that I understood the logic.

And yet, I couldn’t abandon Violet either. Even if my conscience would permit it, I knew what was coming. She needed my support, in a way no one else in this world did. Nor did I wish to live in a world Voldemort made.

The question was, what did I tell Valencia Zabini? Should I tell her that Voldemort was coming back? That he wasn’t truly dead? That Magical Britain would be plunged into yet another war?

Or should I remain silent?

On one hand, she was rich, cunning, and ruthless. She was the kind of ally who could get shit done while I remained in Hogwarts.

On the other hand, she was rich, cunning, ruthless, and mercenary. Valencia Zabini acted in her best interest, no one else’s. If push came to shove, I debuted even being her “little warrior” would change that.

“She’s worth it,” I said slowly. I couldn’t trust her with the whole truth, but... “Or rather, I think what she represents is worth it.”

“Explain, darling,” she replied. “I want to hear your thoughts.”

“I don’t think me awakening my seer bloodline was entirely by chance.”

“Of course not. You struggled. You overcame.”

“That’s not what I mean, mother. Seers, true seers, only ever appear to foretell times of great turmoil. Cassandra and the Trojan War. Nostradamus and the French Revolution. Something is coming, something that can change society as we know it.”

“Is that so? How certain are you?”

“I have no proof. It’s just a hunch, but… but I don’t think Fate is finished with Violet Potter.”

“Perhaps, but perhaps not.” She seemed to think on my words for a moment before her expression broke into a wide smile. She got up and took a seat next to me before drawing me into a warm embrace. “I’m proud of you.”

“Y-You are?” I stammered, caught off guard by the sudden show of affection. 

“I am your mother. Should I not be happy when my son shows initiative? She will be valuable in the future. If you believe that, let us call this an investment of sorts.”

I eyed her with cautious optimism. “I didn’t think you’d agree.”

“Oh, my love, I don’t,” she said with a melodic chuckle. “I said I am proud of you, not that I agree. Blood is but one measure of value, but it does remain the most important one.”

“I’m not sure I agree, mother. What if I can see something no one else can? All bloodlines were founded by exceptional individuals. They were heroes, inventors, scholars, and more, those who shaped history by their deeds. Therefore, isn’t ‘destiny’ the greatest measure of worth?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps your perspective is too long. Only time will tell. Isn’t that thrilling?” she whispered as she caressed my cheek lovingly. “So go, my little warrior. If the Girl Who Lived is to be your mark, then so be it. Hunt as you please. Draw her in. And then, when you’ve had your fun, claim what is yours.”

I felt a shiver run down my spine as her sultry voice washed over me. I wasn’t sure if it was pleasure or fear, anticipation or dread. “I will, mother. If change is coming, then… then I wish to be at the center of it all.”

“Hah, the ambitions of youth. You are a man, I suppose, and you are as men should be. Dante was much the same. Men care for grand designs, Blaise. Power. Wealth. Influence. A legacy that will be spoken of for generations.”

“And women don’t? As I recall, you too were a Slytherin, mother.”

“I was, but my ambitions were for wealth and comfort. That is also very typical of women,” she said, as though she was conveying a universal truth to me. “Women, women tend to care more for personal pleasures.”

“You never had political ambitions.”

“No, I never did. Let your fathers talk in stuffy halls and conference rooms. Me? I’m in it for the thrill.”

I swallowed thickly. I wondered if Valencia Zabini saw in me a kindred spirit. Maybe a different sort of hunter, playing a different sort of game, but cut from the same cloth nonetheless.

“I suppose it is like a game,” I said slowly. “I think Magical Britain will get quite busy in the next few years.”

“And isn’t that lovely? We both like to be where things are happening,” she smirked. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? To sit at the eye of the storm and watch the world shake itself apart?”

“I… Yes, I guess you could put it that way.”

“And when the storm settles, position yourself right and you’ll find yourself ready to take your pickings.”

“I will, mother.”

“You know, Blaise, Lowell and I were considering retiring to Sicily, to the Zabini ancestral seat. He’s getting on in years and the Mediterranean weather would do him good.”

“I see.” I schooled my expression. It wouldn’t do to look too excited at the prospect, especially since I suspected that was where he’d suffer a predictable “accident.” “That’s a shame, mother. I will miss you if I cannot see you over the summer holidays.”

“I know you will, dear. I considered it, and have decided: I will remain in Britain for a while longer,” she said with a mirthful grin. “I’ll have to talk to Lowell, but I’m sure he’ll agree.” 

I nodded. I saw the way he looked at her. He’d agree if she said the sun was a triangle. “Moving abroad is a big decision. I’m sure he’ll be happy he can be close to family.”

“Yes, that’s a good reason as well. Our new in-laws will be able to attend the wedding more easily.”

“Th-The wedding?” I blinked owlishly. She was fucking with me; she had to be. She’d only just gotten engaged!

“The wedding. I was thinking the first day of spring. It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? A new beginning for a lonely widow and a distinguished gentleman. Oh! I believe he has a grandniece in your year at Hogwarts. You can walk me down the aisle and she can toss the flowers. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

That sounded like a fucking tragedy in the making. I knew exactly who she was talking about: Lily Moon, a Gryffindor. She loved quidditch, and so already thought I was the spawn of Satan. Somehow, I doubted becoming my cousin would elevate her opinion of me.

Then again, I supposed that my mother marrying Spencer would make me her uncle. Lording it over her could be fun.

I put on a practiced smile. Mother looked so giddy, just like a high school girl on prom night. Maybe it was counter-intuitive, but I knew her to be a deeply passionate person. It just so happened that her passions tended to leave bodies.

I realized long ago that Valencia Zabini truly loved weddings. Sure, she loved weddings because they represented the crowning moment of victory, the climax of the hunt, but she loved them.

Author’s Note

You know, Valencia’s fun to write. I’m going to have to think about how she came to be the Black Widow at some point though. Should I make her somewhat sympathetic? Or maybe keep her as a heartless sociopath? I haven’t decided yet.

Animal Fact: The African giant snail has the largest number of teeth in the animal kingdom at ~25,600.

Among mammals, oceanic dolphins have the most at ~260. If we exclude them to only terrestrial mammals, it is the South American giant armadillo with anywhere between 76 and 100.

And, of course, humans have 32, but functionally 28 since many people remove their wisdom teeth for various reasons.

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