Black Widow Baby
A/N: This fic was written for the 13th and final round before finals of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition (yay!). This round, the Mods went through each and every round so far and assigned different prompts to each individual player... Last season I thought I avoided the forbidden relationship prompts I didn't want, but lo and behold, my main prompt this round ended up being: S3R10 / Forbidden Relationships - A 'big age difference' relationship. Well played, Mods, well played :p
As such, it took a while to think of a comfortable pairing, especially given that I cannot do the most common pairing, Tonks/ Lupin justice. When some teammates suggested focusing less on the romantic/ sweetness of a relationship, the brain got ticking, and voila! one Gisella Zabini fic, this time from her POV and more spider, less falcon-based (a fic I've long wanted to write since 'Bird of Prey,' featuring Blaise's thoughts on his mother, earlier in the season).
Optional prompts:
(word) passion
(word) stranger
(word) prod
Word count: 2980 words (according to Gdocs and wordcounter... be proud, this fic was original 5219 words...)
Thank you to my team betas!
Thanks for reading, and I hope you...erm, enjoy? yes enjoy this Xx
Gisella took a long sip from her goblet and looked around the extensive ballroom. Couples twirled about, new dress robes swishing around their ankles, jewels glittering at the women's throats. Above them all, a thousand tiny candles burned brightly, casting the room in a warm glow. Those who weren't dancing stood around the room in small groups, and Gisella was more than aware that most of their conversations were directed at her.
"Septimus hasn't even been buried a month! If my Antonin died, you wouldn't find me at a ball," a witch standing near Gisella crowed.
"Do you see what she is wearing? I don't think those robes could get any tighter if she tried!" her friend chimed in.
"Gold digger if ever I saw one," yet another witch said.
The witches began to giggle, their laughter just loud enough to cut through the dreary classical music playing.
Rolling her eyes, Gisella put down her goblet. She had heard it all before from friends and strangers alike: gold digger, black widow, femme fatale. They were all words now synonymous with Ms Gisella Zabini ever since she had married her fourth husband; the wedding had been only two weeks after husband number three—Lucian, forty-two years old—suffered a heart attack. Taking a moment to adjust her shiny black robes and expose more of the cleavage Septimus had bought for her, Gisella turned and waved to the gossiping witches. Smiling, she watched them puff out their own chests in indignation and turn their noses to the air.
Yes, Gisella was perfectly aware of what people said about her, and they were right: she was a black widow and wasn't about to change.
Gisella sat at the living room window, her legs crossed beneath her and nose pressed to the smooth glass. Her dark eyes explored the street outside, watching some children run up and down the road, laughing and yelling as they kicked an old can along the bitumen. They looked like they were having fun, and if it weren't for the pride of saving the only good robes she owned from becoming torn and dirty, Gisella would have gladly joined them. It would certainly provide her with a distraction from yet another argument her parents were having.
"Oh, I don't know, Antonia, why would it bother me that I'm working from six to eight just so that your mother can live under my roof and tell me how useless I am?" Gisella's father shouted.
"Ha! Some big worker you are," her mother replied, her voice just as loud. "Have you noticed that your nine-year-old daughter has been wearing the same shoes for the last three years? We're a laughing stock!"
Sighing, Gisella tried to block out the shouting and let her gaze wander across the dusty window panes. Her eyes came to rest on a large black spider building its home in one corner. Reaching out a finger, she tapped the glass. The spider didn't shy away from her, gliding around the outside in an intricate pattern, a silvery thread marking its path.
"Perhaps you should have married Parkinson, then! I can see now you'd shack up with the old geezer just to get your hands on that mansion of his!" Her father's voice echoed around the tiny house.
"You're right! At least then I'd be able to afford some decent clothes!"
Gisella narrowed her eyes and concentrated on the spider's long legs and the way its many eyes glittered in the morning light. The spider had a large bottom, but rather than making the creature look hideous, Gisella thought the extra amount of glossy black shell made it look beautiful—terrifying, but beautiful.
She watched, transfixed, as the spider wove its way around the glass, spinning the delicate thread of silk to create a fine structure of lace. Just when she thought the spider was finished, her parents' raised voices would prod it into further action, and the spider would take off again and add more layers.
The spider was graceful, confident, beautiful, and the more Gisella watched it, the more she found her troubles slipping away. When a fly came buzzing past straight into the freshly woven web, she smiled and watched the spider make its way to the thrashing insect, pleased for the spider that its prey had been caught.
Scanning the ballroom, Gisella resumed her mission. Her eyes passed over the numerous young men milling about, lingering only long enough to lust over their fine physiques and handsome faces. Perhaps if she found someone to leave her with enough money to last ten lifetimes, she could revisit the possibility of selecting one of them for her own pleasure. For now, however, her target had to be of a more experienced age; there were really only so many times that young wizards could die from freak accidents involving Venomous Tentaculars or early heart attacks without serious investigation.
Fortunately, she soon found the perfect candidate. An older wizard, no less than twenty-five years her senior, stood with a few other wizards. With silver goblets in their hands and bloodshot eyes, their raucous laughter was earning the men scowls from passing guests. If it weren't for the family crests embroidered onto their robes that indicated their prestige, Gisella was sure they would've been asked to leave hours ago.
Flipping her long, silky raven hair over her shoulder and ignoring the tittering of the crowd around her, she glided forward, hips swaying and eyes focused on her target.
"Excuse me, would you mind if I reached past you for a drink?" she asked when she reached them.
Batting her eyelashes at her prey, Gisella watched her target's grey eyes bug out of his head. When his eyes fixated on her chest, he waved off the men around him.
"Why hello, lovely," he said, taking her hand in his sweaty paw.
Gisella held her hand steady as the man placed a slobbery kiss upon it, vowing to scrub it as soon as she got home.
"Please, call me Gisella," she said.
The man's tongue darted out and ran over his thin lips. "Oh, yes, a beautiful name," he said. "I'm Albert Flint."
"Pleasure." Removing her hand from his grasp, Gisella trailed her fingers up Albert's beefy arm, drawing his attention away from her chest. "Say, I don't think I've ever met a man with such… defined muscles," she lied, feeling Albert shudder underneath her touch.
"Well, yes, I must say I am rather muscular," he said, taking a step forward.
Gisella recoiled from the smell of alcohol and garlic on his breath, recovering herself just in time to lift a hand to her face and pretend to fan herself.
Albert's eyes glinted as he took another step forward, closing the remaining distance between them.
Every part of Gisella's being screamed for her to push him away, to run and stop such nonsense. The very thought of Albert touching her made her stomach churn and bile rise up her throat, but a quick glance at the solid, silver cane the man held in his other hand had her batting her thick eyelashes at him once more.
Just a few more moments and she would have this man under her spell.
Chewing on her lip, Gisella picked up an end of the sheer silk shawl she was wearing and draped it along Albert's hands, tickling them. She then moved it over his face, causing him to gulp.
"I don't—ahem, I don't suppose you'd be, uh, willing to get to know each other a little better?" Albert stammered, his confidence disappearing.
Gisella winked at Albert, and the sick feeling in her stomach was soon replaced with triumph—her prey had been caught.
The glass was cold beneath her palm as Gisella watched her father walk down the cement driveway, the worn trunks in his hands overflowing with robes. He paused when he reached the road, crimson and burnt-orange leaves falling over his shoulders.
Gisella flexed her fingers against the window, trying to reach for him. It was a lost cause, though, for she soon saw her mother run out after her father, pink dressing gown flapping around her ankles. Her mother's face was ruddy, mascara tracks sliding down her cheeks.
"You ungrateful bastard!" her mother shouted, her words penetrating the thin glass.
Her mother then took off a slipper and hurled it at her father's head, missing him by mere centimetres as he twisted on the spot and disappeared into thin air.
Sighing, Gisella turned her gaze to the spider residing in the corner. The number of insects caught within its web had grown since she had first met the spider, and she found its dominance over the other spiders around the house somewhat comforting.
Almost as though it sensed her presence, the spider crawled out to the centre of its web. It meandered around, stopping at one of the struggling insects. Extending one of its eight legs, the spider tapped its victim, spinning it around on the web. The insect wriggled about, beating its frail wings and lifting itself off the web just enough to think it was free. Lifting another foreleg, the spider then pushed the insect back down, squashing any hopes it had of escaping.
It was playing with its food, toying with them, Gisella realised as tingles flew up her spine.
Gisella couldn't help but admire her new dwelling. The manor seemed to be just that bit more refined than her last husband's home—the fine lace curtains seemed to be just that bit fancier; the gold-lined ceilings just that bit higher; the marble floors just that bit more polished.
Taking a deep breath, she strolled across the living room, eyes trained on her new and not-so-refined husband hidden behind the morning's edition of the Daily Prophet. His feet were placed on the new glass coffee table, and his gut seemed to protrude underneath his robes. Gisella had to remind herself that it wouldn't be long now before she would get her coffee table back, and with that in mind, she plastered a smile on her face.
"Good morning, darling," she said, trying not to choke on the last word.
"Go fetch me my potions, would ya?" Albert grunted.
Gisella rolled her eyes and took out a small phial filled with swirling blue liquid from her robes. Albert often took numerous medications that boasted to cure everything from memory to hair loss—something she wouldn't have had to put up with in a younger husband. Sometimes, Albert would even interrupt a night of passion—much to her chagrin for those nights were important to her overall plans of lulling him into a sense of false security—to get up and take such medications.
Waiting for Albert to scull down his potion, she took a seat on the arm of the lounge, leaning forward to massage his shoulders.
"I think it's time we discussed your will again," she said, purring into his ear.
Albert shuddered under her touch. "No, we've been through this; my son gets my inheritance," he said, trying to stand. "You won't have to worry, though, pet, you'll still get something."
Pushing him down, Gisella manoeuvred herself so that she was straddling his hips, suppressing a shudder of her own. Brushing his hair—or rather, what was left of it—with one hand, she used her other hand to force Albert to look at her.
"I know, my… love… I just worry is all," she said.
"Oh?"
"The thought of your death has me very worried as is, but to top it all off, I will have nothing to remember you by…"
Albert shifted under her weight, trying again to stand up. Gisella moved both hands back to his shoulders, refusing to let him move.
"My dear, that will not happen," he said, though he broke her gaze.
Realising that he wasn't falling for her charms, she moved on to a different strategy that would use Albert's weakness for avoiding emotions to her advantage. Taking a deep breath, she turned away from him and began to blink rapidly, spurring on the tears she always stored for emergencies.
"Y-you know I adore your son, but I-I know he doesn't feel the same about m-me," Gisella said. "I understand I can n-never replaced his mother, especially being the s-same age as him… I just hope he allows me to have a p-piece of you, to remember you by…"
Albert shook his head. "Nonsense, Austin likes you."
"I-it's okay, you d-don't have to lie," she said, burying her face in her hands. Shifting forward a little, she made sure that her chest was near his face. "I know he w-won't sh-share."
Albert heaved a sigh, and peeking up at him, Gisella could see that his eyes were trained on her chest.
"It's okay, love," he began, hesitation in his voice. Gisella added a few sniffles to her routine, and he quickly continued, "I'll change the will, okay? First thing tomorrow."
Sniffling, Gisella looked back up at him. "Thank you," she whispered, and hiding the smirk threatening to show, she placed a small kiss on his lips.
Albert embraced it, his hands winding around her waist and his whiskers scratching her skin. Her stomach churned as his hands began to grope her body, but she complied with his hungry tongue and instead counted the moment as a small victory to her plan.
Snow drifted to the ground, carpeting the road and driveway in a soft, white blanket. Gisella's attention, however, was focused once more on the spider in the corner.
Earlier that evening, she had run to the window upon hearing a car outside, sure it was her father finally returning home. It had been easy enough to believe that it was him even though he had always detested Muggle methods of transport, and even easier to let the crushing disappointment overwhelm her.
Her eyes now watched the spider huddled on the edge of its silky web, the fine thread much prettier now that small shards of ice glittered upon it. A lone fly was caught in the centre, wings fluttering in the wind and legs weakly kicking about. The spider was rubbing its legs together; its dark, beady eyes surveying its prey with interest.
Gisella supposed it was cold and too fed up to do anything else. Going to turn away from it and watch again for her father's return, she gasped when the spider suddenly sprang forward. It swiftly climbed to the centre of its web, tiny fangs clicking together. When it reached the fly, it pierced it with its poisonous fangs, rendering the fly still as it began to consume it.
"Gisella?"
Jumping, Gisella hopped off the window seat. She hadn't realised that her mother had entered the room, nor that she had been there a while, judging from the half-empty bottle of wine sitting atop the scratched coffee table.
Hesitating just a moment, Gisella walked over and kneeled in front of her mother. The older witch reached forward with a shaking arm and brushed away a lock of her hair.
"Gisella, my girl," her mother said, voice husky. "I want you to promise me something."
Holding still under her mother's touch, Gisella simply nodded.
"When you grow up and marry, I want you to make sure it isn't for something silly like love. Choose someone who can provide for you, who can give you something better than this shithole," her mother said, gesturing about wildly with her arms. Gisella moved the wine bottle out of her mother's reach as the witch, locking her gaze back onto her, said, "Be a smart girl; leave them first. Do you understand what I am saying?"
Looking at the tears now streaming down her mother's face, her mind still on the spider, Gisella nodded. "Yes, mother."
Gisella drummed her fingers on the table, watching Albert consume his dinner. Despite his wealth, the man clearly had never learned table manners in his life, his lips smacking together as bits of carrot and pie fell onto his beard. Every now and again, he would pick up the goblet in front of him and take a swig, only to scowl when he realised it was empty.
It was when he did this a fifth time that Gisella stood up. "Happy six month anniversary," she said, smiling at him.
Albert grunted, his eyes still focused on his goblet. Gisella picked up the bottle of wine she had been saving since their wedding and sauntered over to him.
Holding the bottle level with his eyes, she gave Albert her most dazzling smile. "I thought we could celebrate with something special."
When Albert's eyes lit up, she uncorked the bottle. Red foam spilt over the rim and she poured some of it into his goblet.
"Thanks, love," Albert said, slapping her bottom as she walked back to her seat.
Biting her tongue, she sat back down, dark eyes focused on Albert as he picked up his goblet. His tongue flicked out and ran over his false teeth before he lifted the goblet in a mock toast and downed its contents.
Gisella's stomach swirled as she waited for the poisoned wine to course through his veins. It was a minute before Albert's face started to contort, a beefy hand reaching up to his throat. He gasped a few times, the purple veins on his forehead bulging out.
Her heart almost bursting from her chest, Gisella waited for his last, strangled breaths to come out and his body to grow still. When she was sure that the life was extinguished from Albert's eyes, Gisella produced a nicer, untainted bottle from within her robes and poured herself a glass of wine. Raising her goblet in a toast to her newest fortune, she took a sip.
Yes, Gisella Zabini was a black widow—graceful, beautiful, and deadly—and wouldn't change it for the world.