Oh goodness gracious! I haven't been here for aaages!

Challenge #60

The prompt is perception and the purpose is to examine character biases in the following manner:

-The piece should be told from the view point of no less than seven narrators

-Each character should be describing the same event of your choosing

-The description should be such that it is not possible to tell what really happened until we hear from all seven characters

-The piece may be a one-shot or multi chapter fic

-The word count must be at least greater than one thousand but there will be no upper limit

-It may be written in first or third person

-It is not restricted to any particular genre, the piece may be humorous, dramatic, angsty, or any unique tone that one can think of

-Extra kudos for any sort of surprise twist at the end

The point is to examine how unique personalities and life experiences impact how an individual views reality and delve deeply into characterization and specifically what those factors might be. Additionally this will make for a good exercise in carefully planning how a plot fits together. Best of luck to everyone!

A Matter of Perspective

Officer Nathanial Squinkerdink
Head of Domestic Disturbances
Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Report on the death of Mr Marius Fuster. Age 98. Married at time of death to second wife Ms Carolina Zabini. Age 29. No offspring from marriage.
Mr Fuster complained of sharp pains in the abdomen at lunch on 22nd March and promptly collapsed causing great distress to Ms Zabini and her young son from a previous marriage, Blaise Zabini. Age 3.
Ms Zabini immediately contacted the Emergency Healers of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Mr Fuster was pronounced to have died of natural causes.
The Department for Magical Law Enforcement has carried out a brief investigation after anonymous claims of suspicious circumstances surrounding the death, including allegations concerning Ms Zabini's previous two marriages. Mr Lawrence Huett of the Auror's office was sent to the Zabini home and reported no trace of foul play in the death, either by Ms Zabini's hand or otherwise. The highly respected Autopsical Healer Maximillian Enoch has reconfirmed the pronouncement of death by natural causes.
As far as the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is concerned the case has been deemed closed.

Carolina Zabini

The clock was ticking very loudly in the near silence. Marius clinked his silverware rhythmically against his bowl as he calmly ate his soup. In the highchair next to me Little Blaise pouted sulkily. Each time I brought the spoon to his lips he turned his cheek to it screwing up his face. Small noises of protest squeaked past pressed lips, becoming louder by fractions with each refused bite. His rosying complexion promised a tantrum soon.
Bless the poor little thing, he was tired. I was working late. My latest shoot would run on for hours into the night, long past a certain young wizard's seven o'clock bedtime. But I could have his Nanny put him to bed at whatever hour I liked for all the good it did. My Bambino would fight sleep tooth and nail until Mama was home. Because Mama never forgot Bambino's good night kiss.
So no matter how late it was, as soon as I was home I would immediately tiptoe into Little Blaise's room. And no matter how quiet I was, or how deceptively deep his slumber appeared, big chocolate eyes would blink open around a sleepy "Mama?"
The end result; one tired and grouchy little boy at my lunch table.
"Come on Bambino," I coaxed, straining past my own sleep deprived irritation. "Just a few spoonfuls for Mama to make you grow big and strong. It's yummy, see?"
I slurped some of my own, very cool by this stage, minestrone.
"Mmmmm! Don't you want some too Bambino?"
"NO!"
The squeaks finally verbalised and a small brown hand sent a bowl skittering down the tablecloth, leaving gaudy orange stains in its wake. It landed in front of Marius.
Marius who was clutching at his chest.
Merda!
Any thoughts I had of reprimanding Blaise vanished at the sight of my wheezing husband. He was bent over double, clutching at the table for the support to remain in his chair. Groans began to pool at his mouth, leaking out and snaking their way up the table, past the minestrone soup, and into the ears of my innocent baby.
"Mama?"
A soft whimper cut through the groans.
I shot a quick appraising glance at Marius's shaking form and a quick charm towards the odd bronze figure that sat on the side dresser, before grabbing Bambino, nearly yanking his leg off in my haste to get him out of his chair. We flew up the stairs. In the haven of his bedroom I knelt close to him, urgently whispering into his face.
"Stay here and don't leave until Mama comes for you."
Baby teeth gnawed at his little lip.
"But Mama… Marius?"
"Mama will deal with Marius. Bambino has to promise to stay here and not leave until Mama comes for you. Do you promise?"
Huge chocolate brown eyes blinked at me worriedly.
A nod.
A kiss to the forehead.
And I ran back down the stairs.
Away from the comfort and tranquil baby blue of Bambino's bedroom into the turmoil and splotchy orange on white of the dining room.
The strange bronze figure was flashing periodically. It contacted the Healer's in case of emergencies. All sickly old men had at least one in the house. We had five, strategically placed.
Marius was on the floor by this stage. Curled into a grotesque position, half on his back, half on his side, limbs splayed unnaturally. His head banged erratically against the carpet. Groans and snorts fought to eek past the foam that bubbled up his gullet and collected round his lips.
Even as I slid to his side they were growing fainter. A horrible strained sound that would have been a screech if it could have gained any volume pleaded for me.
Carolina, he tried to moan. His last words.
I sank to my knees and lifted his head into my lap. A tiny dollop of foam splattered across my thigh. He gazed up at me as I stroked his head feverishly. He hadn't long to go. His hair was damp from his sweat and my very real tears. Anguished, angry tears.
His pale eyes sought me out and held me fast. I could see into his very soul. He knew. He knew exactly what was happening to him.
Dimly I was aware of green robed Healer's bursting into my home and sweeping Marius from my arms. They shouted confusing incantations and produced colourful potions, flapping their way towards Marius's body and bustling round until I couldn't see him anymore.
Somehow a mug of strong sugary tea had made it to my hands. More salt water tricked slowly down my cheeks.
The bastard had the nerve to die right in front of my son!

Blaise Zabini

Mama was working so hard. After lunch everyday she kissed me good bye and I wouldn't see her again until it was very, very dark and all the bunny rabbits were asleep in their burrows.
After she left I played with my toys in the sitting room. Then Marius came in. He would sit in his armchair by the fireplace. Then he would close his eyes. Then he would start to make snorrey noises through his nose. Then his head would droop droop droooooooop until it hit his chest hanging down like a bunny rabbit's ears.
Then Nanny would usher me out of the room, muttering Marius needed his sleep.
When Marius needs his sleep I'm not allowed to play properly. I have to be quiet and calm and in a different room.
Aunty Cissy calls her sitting room the family room.
Marius isn't my family.
Marius is my stepfather.
My real father has a portrait in the sitting room. It's a strange portrait. It doesn't move. Mama's in it too, in a long white wedding dress. She's very pretty and my Daddy's very handsome.
They're my family.
But Marius can make me leave the family room.
It's not fair.
After I try to play quietly I have to have a nap and I don't like them because I'm never tired. Even if I always fall asleep anyway, I'm still not tired.
After naptime I asked to go outside.
It was sunny so Nanny said yes. We went outside and chased bunny rabbits round the field. I ran and ran and ran but the bunny rabbits were too fast and I didn't catch any. I never do. I tripped over a burrow hole and fell over and scraped my knee but I didn't cry because I'm a big boy and only babies cry.
After Nanny took me inside and washed my knee. It stung and she kissed it better. But only Mama's kisses really work on cut knees.
Then it was dinner time. We had chicken and mashed potatoes and peas and carrots and it looked yummy but Mama still wasn't home.
Marius sat at one end of the table.
Nanny lifted me into my highchair at the other end beside Mama's seat but Mama wasn't there.
I didn't want my dinner.
Nanny kept pushing the fork towards my mouth and I kicked up a fuss and I screamed and wailed and Marius wandered off complaining about a headache.
I ate my mashed potatoes like a good boy.
At bath time I splashed my bubbles and Nanny got wet and it was funny. I piled the bubbles on my head and pretended I was Marius with my white hair and I slumped down the side of the bath and got water in my mouth and nose and it hurt but I didn't cry.
Then Nanny wrapped me in a fluffy towel and dried me and put me into my yellow pyjamas and she patted me on the head and told me I smelt all clean and powdery.
And she carried me downstairs and told me to say goodnight to Marius.
He grunted at me.
Then she told me to give Marius a kiss goodnight.
I dragged my feet because Marius's cheek is all rough and covered in tiny little hairs that jag you when you kiss him and I don't like that.
Mama's cheek is smooth. I don't mind kissing Mama Goodnight.
Nanny lifted me up again and told me it was seven o'clock. That means the big hand is at twelve and the little hand is at seven.
When the big hand is at twelve and the little hand is at seven I have to go to bed,
but I wasn't sleepy.
I rolled and rolled and rolled in my bed until my blankets were all messy and the big hand and the little hand had moved a whole lot even though it was still light.
Then I woke up and it was dark.
I said "Mama?"
Her pretty face smiled down at me.
She said "You should be asleep Bambino."
That's what she calls me, even though everyone else calls me Blaise. 'Cos Blaise was my Daddy's name and Mama misses my Daddy.
I said "Mama," again and I hugged her round her neck and she kissed my head.
She tucked me in and made my sheets all not messy again and gave me another kiss.
I said "Don't go to work tomorrow Mama. Marius is boring. I want you!"
I blinked at her very hard trying to stay awake.
She said "I won't Bambino."
I said "I love you Mama."
She said "I love you too Bambino."
She walked to the door.
I said "But I don't love Marius. He's boring."
She gave me a funny look.
And I fell asleep.

Maximillian Enoch
Head of Autopsical Examining
St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Illnesses

I had known Carolina Zabini for many, many years. I took care of her back when she was a little girl of five years old with dragon pox and a fear of Healers. Her big sister Verdette had told her we cut up little girls and used them in our healing potions.
She stared at me with big, wide, fear filled, chocolate eyes refusing to open her mouth while her Mother screamed at her in Italian.
Balbina Zabini was one of the most loving mothers you could meet. But she could scream.
So I gave Carolina a lollypop. I showed her how I used my wand to take people's temperature and check their pulse. Then I let her examine my throat.
Slowly she stopped trembling. And she finally agreed that not all healers were scary and Verdette was wrong.
Balbina stormed off to scream at the unsuspecting Verdette in Italian.
I checked over Carolina.
She trusted me.
Carolina has always had the ability to make you want to protect her. She's such a delicate little thing. Gaining her trust is something not many people can do. Those who can feel privileged. And that was back when she was just a pretty little sprite from a family that couldn't afford to have as many children as it had.
Nowadays she's the most successful model in the wizarding world and one of the richest and most powerful women in all of Magicdom.
Strangely enough all the children from that family became abnormally successful.
And they all have a strong family ethos.
Carolina still uses her old family healer.
Though I'm not really in the Family Practice anymore. No I've always been interested in Autopsical healing you see. Though Healer is such a strange word to apply to a man who deals mostly with dead bodies. A little morbid I know, but I must be allowed to indulge in my dreams mustn't I?
And when the position of Head of Autopsical Examining became vacant Carolina did her best to see that it was I who was promoted. I asked her why she would bother going to all that trouble.
"I like to see my friends succeed," she smiled. "And it's always good to keep in with a Healer dear Max."
We laughed and clinked glasses.
And then husband number three arrived on my slab.
Three husbands dead in three years? People were beginning to mutter slanderous things against my Carolina. The sweet girl I'd known since she was five years old. The sweet woman who wouldn't hurt a fly. The sweet Mother who loved her child more than life itself. The sweet business woman who secured my position.
Marius Fuster was ninety eight years old.
He died of old age.
Natural causes.
Simple.

Lawrence Huett
Auror's Office
Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Ms Zabini sat in the middle of her sitting room. Her little boy was on her knee. He'd gotten big! The last time I'd seen him…
That reminded of the last time I had seen him.
It was just like this time.
A traumatised Ms Zabini trembling and sobbing and clutching her son like he was the only thing real in the world. A sniffling Baby Zabini whimpering "Mama?" and clutching at her expensive robes with tiny chubby hands.
It reminded me of my Mum. When Dad died.
This woman was broken.
Again.
What was it? Just over a year since she'd remarried? And already her husband was dead. I'd visited her twice before and I hated it. The world just couldn't pile enough grief on this woman could it?
Although this one was old. What was a beautiful woman like Carolina Zabini doing with a man nearly one hundred?
She'd answered that question a thousand times in interviews.
"Who can put an age on love?"
Now lots of people were sceptical. So was I. At the time.
But they don't know Ms Zabini. She's genuine about her emotions. I should know. I get to witness first-hand the state she's in when her husband… husbands, die. It's tragic. But if I ever see her at any other time. At a conference, at the Ministry, on the street, she always greets me with a grateful smile and squeezes my hand.
Thank you, she says silently with that squeeze. Thank you for helping me through those awful times.
I passed her a cup of tea and she looked at me with those gigantic tortured eyes and wailed.
"I never thought of him as old! It was just such a shock!"
Who in their right mind would believe this woman could kill her husband?

Cossette Pascal

"You stupid bitch."
I couldn't bloody believe it. My stupid sister-in-law had killed another husband.
She glanced wryly at me.
"Is that any way to talk to a woman recently widowed?"
"It is when it's you Carolina."
She hmpfed.
"Where's Blaise?"
"He's in his room playing. I know you've just gone up to see him Cossette."
"And how is he coping with all of this?"
"He's fine. A little shaken, but I think that's more due to the fact that I look shaken."
"Figures. He's such a sweet and sensitive boy. He loves you more than he should. Just like my brother."
A flash of pain crosses her pretty face.
"Yes. Just like his Father."
Damn her. Damn her and her real and genuine pain. Damn her for loving my brother. And damn him for loving her in the first place!
Because I really, really hate Carolina Zabini. I don't know why I just do. I always have and I always will. But my stupid, stupid brother made me promise once if anything ever happened to him I would look after Carolina and the baby that was growing inside her at the time. They called him Blaise. After my brother.
And then he went and fucking died!
As if it wasn't painful enough having to bury my older brother who should've lived for years and years after he did, I then had to start looking out for that bitch!
Which is why I was her main supporter when six months after he died she decided to remarry. Because Blaise had always had strong views about that sort of thing. He practically ordered Carolina to remarry if he ever died. So Little Blaise would have a father figure around the house.
I don't even think she was that keen on the idea. But she loved Blaise. And it wasn't as if he was going to die!
And then he did.
And we became reluctant allies in the fight to keep Carolina married.
Enter husband number two, Daniel Baliss.
He was a disaster.
Well he wasn't at the start.
He was a man. He was tolerable. I think Carolina chose him as a reminder that no one, no one, would ever be as good as my brother. No man could ever match up to Blaise Pascal. Daniel didn't know this of course. But he must have suspected something. He can't have thought Carolina actually loved him. I suppose eventually he needed a way to get that out of his system.
She still loved Blaise, you see. And the only part of Blaise that lived on.
My nephew is the cutest little boy you will ever see. He's the absolute spit of Carolina, more's the pity, but by Jove he's Blaise Pascal's son through and through. I love him like he was my own son. If I ever had a son I don't think I even could love him as much as I love Little Blaise.
And Carolina adores him.
If you want to hurt Carolina, you hurt Blaise.
But who would ever hurt that sweet little Baby Angel? Who could!
Daniel.
Carolina came home early one day. Daniel was sitting with Blaise on his knee. His wand was pressed to Blaise's arm. Which was littered with tiny burn marks.
You know the kind? Easily healed. Easily hidden. Who knows how long the sick fuck had been doing that to the child. Weeks? Months? Blaise was two years old. Two! A fucking baby!
No wonder the child always clung to Carolina when she was around.
Daniel went on a "grief imposed binge" that night.
They found him the next morning.
Alcohol poisoning.
And that's the gospel truth.
No funny business. Just a silly bastard who drank too much in one go.
(Funny for a man who never drank.)
Good fucking riddance.
But Marius? Well now that was interesting. When I first heard about him dying I headed straight for my sister-in-law's home and practically gave Little Blaise a full body examination.
"Are you alright Sweetheart?"
"Yes Aunty Cossette."
"Nothing hurts? No one hurt you? You can tell Aunty Cossette."
"No Aunty Cossette. But Mummy seems a bit sad. Marius died today."
"Did you… like Marius, Blaise?"
"Not really, he was boring." He gasped. "But I didn't want him to die Aunty Cossette! I didn't mean that!"
The poor tyke was nearly in tears.
I kissed his forehead.
"I know you didn't Sweetie. Where's your Mummy?"
'Mama' was in the kitchen making herself a cup of tea while the house elves flattened themselves against walls and squashed themselves into cupboards not knowing what to do when the Mistress was present in a place no Mistress should need to set foot.
Well done Blaise. You married a peasant.
And now she was handing me a cup of her handmade tea. Which wasn't bad.
"I miss him Cossette," she told her own mug. "I miss him so much."
"Well you can miss Blaise later; we have more important things to worry about. When do the aurors come?"
"Auror Huett is arriving tomorrow at three."
"Well then by half two I want you in the sitting room crying your lamps out. You can tell me everything after they leave. It's better I don't know." I hesitated. "And have Blaise on your lap."
She nodded slowly and murmured "I don't really want him out of my sight. Even now, he's playing in the other room. I don't like it. I feel like, I need him to be with me. All the time."
I set my tea down with a sharp thud.
"Then lets go get him."

Marius Fuster

It was a cold night. Abnormally cold for September. It promised a cold Christmas.
I remember Marjorie used to feel the cold terribly. She'd sit beside the fire all wrapped in woollen blankets with only her little red nose poking out in the cold air. She was a good wife to me. We grew old together. And she died first.
I miss her terribly.
And then one day, ten years after Marjorie passed away, I met another young lady who had lost a loved one.
My Marjorie was Eighty six years old. Carolina's first husband had been Twenty six.
It was a crying shame.
We grew very fond of one another.
So I devised a plan.
"Carolina my dear," I said. "I'm old and frail with a list of illnesses the length of your arm. I'm not long for this world and more to the point I'm lonely. Would you keep me company for a few years?"
And we got married.
On a cold September day which turned into a cold September night.
She came into the sitting room and handed me a cup of tea.
"Oh darling, you know I prefer lemon to milk," I grumbled good humouredly.
She grinned. "Yes and I know too much lemon is bad for you on your medication. Too much lemon juice will react with the powdered woodbine in your Liver Soothing potion making it clot somewhere between your stomach and your gall bladder."
How irritating to marry someone who knows more about potions than me. I've been taking six a day for the last twenty years.
"Oh come Carolina, you know how much lemon juice it would take to hurt me. Even if it wasn't diluted by the tea I'd choke to death long before it had any effect. One cup won't kill me!"
She rolled her eyes. "It all builds up. Over time it's bad for you." But she went to fetch me a new cup anyway.
And I started to think.
One cup wouldn't kill me. And wizarding lives can go on for so, so long. Some lucky sods live to one hundred and fifty!
I wouldn't like that.
I miss Marjorie. I'm just killing time until I get to see her again.
Of course I am sick. But with my potions… I could live for years. Years and years. Happy enough but still pining for my Marjorie.
And Carolina. She would be tied to an old man for the best part of her life. Is that fair? Am I not selfish to pin her down so?
And her little boy. I can't run and play with him. Fifty years ago maybe, but now? What three year old wants a stepfather in his nineties?
So no, a little lemon in my tea wouldn't kill me.
But say I had it every day. Say I had some form of citrus juice in all my drinks. Say my meals were laced with Acid Intensifier. A potion designed for those with too much alkali in their systems. A tricky potion. One only a very skilled witch could brew. A witch with a special talent for potions.
It would only take a few drops at first. My body would start to build resistance to it. Slowly, oh so slowly, more and more would be added. It would take months, maybe a year, but eventually the battle between my medicine and the acid would reach its climax. Leaving no trace there had ever been a battle. I'm ninety eight years old. Old age. Natural causes.
And say I placed this before my pretty new wife as a purely academic theory. And say she was reluctant, for we really are rather fond of each other. And say I persuaded her.
What would happen then?

Oh goodness! I haven't written anything in so long! I feel so rusty!