Sort of inspried by the Five Kisses Competition.. but I don't know if it'll be entered or if I'll enter my other one. Anyway it's Blaise Zabini's mother, her story always seemed interesting.
Disclaimers: I don't own... that's J. K. Rowling!
The first kiss she cared about happened with him, all those years ago. She was sixteen, and deeply in love. It was night time at his huge mansion and they stood out on the balcony. Inside there was a diner party for all the respectable pure-bloods his family knew, but it had been so boring they'd escaped outside.
He leaned in and brushed a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. She smiled at him, feeling joyous as his lips brushed her neck.
"You look beautiful tonight." He whispered. She giggled.
She'd worked for a very long time to look perfect for tonight. She knew, of course, that she was one of the prettiest girls in school. Her exotic features looked best with her make-up done just the way she had, sweeping eyelashes and high cheekbones more prominent.
He plucked a rose from a nearby bush and led her down the marble stairs as he tucked it behind her ear. She could help sighing in content as he drew her closer to him, hidden now, from the windows.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, and pulled her in closer. With the moonlight above them they slowly sank to the soft leafy ground.
She was so lost in the moment she forgot herself entirely. It wasn't long before she became his.
...
She didn't want to look at the cot. Inside was the child he had given her, and, just like him she didn't want it. He had abandoned it, but she could not. She was filled with a bitterness she was becoming used to, a bitterness that was defining her.
He hadn't shown up for the birth. She hadn't expected him too. After he'd turned her away when she'd come, pregnant, to his doorstep. She had fooled herself. She'd though he would want her, that he could make this right. She'd been so very wrong.
Now she couldn't even go back, not with charms up to keep out her and her family. She couldn't beg his forgiveness. Not that she'd want to anymore.
She may have been only seventeen, but she knew better now. It would be her, all on her own. And something would have to be done to get rid of the baby. She approached to cot at last, ready to look at the thing for the first time.
The tiny thing was looking cosy, all tucked up, but it's face was hidden from her. The nurses had turned the baby on it's side.
She glanced at the tag on it's wrist, not marked with a name. The St Mungos nurses had been shocked when she'd said it didn't need one. They'd told her to think about it.
With disgust written all over her features, she lifted the infant.
It had a lovely face. It would obviously be beautiful in later life. She still didn't care much. It was her child after all, of course it would be beautiful. And beauty didn't change the fact that she didn't want it.
But something happened at that moment that changed her mind, and her life, forever.
The baby opened it's lovely eyes, the same as her own, and gurgled.
She blinked in shock. It's gaze seemed strangely focused for an infant so young. She leaned in to look at it's tiny face. The baby reached up it's hand and took a lock of hair in it's fingers. Then it gave a tiny yawn and closed it's eyes, drifting back to sleep.
She couldn't help the immediate reaction within herself, the melting of her resolve. It was her child after all, and it didn't even look like him. It was as if it hated him as much as she did. It had kept his face from marring it's features.
She felt the warmth she thought long dead bubble up inside her and, for a moment that she would never forget, she pressed her lips to it's forehead.
Three minutes later she had sought out a quill, and in her elegant hand the wristband had finally been labelled "my dear Blaise"
...
Blaise was so young, only five, the next time she was getting married. He sat, looking sullen, on top of her dressing table. She went to him and cupped his chin so he looked at her.
"Honey, you know I have to get married to him." She told her son. Blaise scowled and turned away. "It's only to make life better for you."
"I don't want you to get married." He said stubbornly, lower lip jutting out.
"It'll be over soon enough." She said. "It'll be just us two again."
Blaise still looked uncertain, but he finally got up and followed her to the door.
The wedding was so ornate she could have laughed, but she held it in. It was funny to think she would soon be rich. The only snag was that she'd be rich and married. And she did not want to be married. She had a plan though, and this marriage wouldn't last long. Soon she a Blaise would have all the money they'd dreamed of. They could be free.
When the vows had been said and it was time to kiss the bride she averted her eyes and blushed like a school-girl. It was an act, for she wasn't the young, innocent, virgin bride her husband though he was getting.
And the kiss, though it meant nothing to her and everything to him, was one she'd remember for a long time. It was the mark of her success in getting what she wanted.
But most of all it marked to beginning of a long tradition. For the kiss was followed by many more meaningless ones in all seven other marriages.
And the kiss, though it meant nothing to her, meant the start of her new life or lies.
...
He was sick of course, very much so, and still he trusted her without question. Though so many suspected her after her other husbands had died so mysteriously, he had never doubted her. That was the beauty of the webs of lies and love she was so skilled at weaving.
He looked at her with all the love of the besotted old man he was. She gave her practised, sad smile.
"I'm so scared, my love." She breathed. "You've gotten so frail."
"I will be alright my dear. But never fear; when I am gone form this world you will be provided for." He coughed into his sheets, and she forced herself not to look at him in disgust.
"Oh, do not speak of your death. You will recover, I just know it." How easily the words fell from her tongue.
"My family," he wheezed "Have been trying to tell me you are killing me off. I fear they may be angry I have left it all to you. They seem to want the fortune for themselves."
She kept silent. A look of welling sadness masked her bored features.
"I understand they have been feeding me lies. I don't know why they try to turn me against you. Be careful, my love, for when I am gone I believe they will want to get rid of you." He coughed again, like the frail old man me was "I have written them out of my will. It will all go to you. The only one who has always wanted what's best for me."
"Oh, I dare not believe you are really leaving this earth." She sobbed "Do talk like this, as if your death is mere moments away."
"My dear wife." He smiled "So –sensitive."
"Hush," She crooned, leaning in. She lifted a cup from his beside table.
"To your health," she whispered, lifting it high in the air. He took his own cup from its place in her lap.
"To my love." He contradicted. She smiled her sweet, sad smile and leaned in for what she knew was the last time, kissing him affectionately, but falsely. He kissed her back, but was content to leave it short. Then he lay back against his pillows and drank deeply.
His eye widened in shock and, suddenly his face went slack. She knew he was gone. Having stolen his last kiss she looked up and saw that her son had been watching. Disgust marred his arrogant features and he turned his face away.
"Blaise!" She called after him, but he didn't falter in his step.
"It was all for you." She said softly "Everything I did was for you, Blaise."
All those false kisses would never need to be given again. They had all the money they needed. She would never kiss anyone romantically again. Her kisses would be reserved for her beloved son.
I think I like it. Anyway review :) It's really sad to see people who are fans of my stories that don't review!