Chapter Four: Last Chance

Gisella stood up to blow the candle out, the clock on the mantle chiming nine o'clock. Yet again this week her husband had missed dinner, claiming that he was too busy at work. Any other woman would have assumed that he was out with another woman, but Gisella knew Michael was too frustrating and stubborn for anyone else to desire. She went to put away the wine, lamenting at what a waste it was.

The front door slammed at that moment, and the devil himself walked into the room. Gisella left the candle, calmly sitting back down in her chair as Michael looked around.

"You kept dinner for me?" he asked, blinking at her.

"I tried. It's probably cold by now," Gisella replied.

Michael hung his head, going to the table and taking his seat next to her. Pulling the plate of roast beef and mixed vegetables, he smiled. "This looks great."

"Ugh, don't patronise me."

"I'm not." Giving her a wary look, he picked up his fork and dug it into the volume of green and white. Lifting the pile of broccoli and cauliflower to his mouth, he took a large bite and forced it down. "See? Mmm, it's good. Thank you."

Gisella huffed and folded her arms. That was another reason she knew that he had been at work and not having an affair; Michael Zabini could not act to save his life.

Waiting for him to finish, she asked, "So, how was your day? Learn anything knew about your precious ghouls yet?"

Michael swallowed, eyeing her. "It was good. I've learned nothing more than my latest discovery the other day, however. Are you asking for my sake, or for Gilderoy's?"

Narrowing her eyes, she shook her head. "I've apologised again and again for sending him those documents. How was I supposed to know that you were stupid enough to not have copies? It's not look we talk about our lives anymore."

"Gisella, please, I don't want to get into this again."

"Then why bring it up?"

Sighing heavily, Michael lifted a hand to his temple, rubbing it. She watched as he tried to steady his breathing, his other hand clenched into a fist. Lifting his gaze to her, he said, "I just wish you could understand how I feel. I know that you're trying to do what you think is best by working with this man, but I maintain that he isn't good news."

Struggling with her own breathing, Gisella refused to raise her voice. Not only would she not be held responsible for waking Blaise who slumbered in the next room, but she would not give Michael the satisfaction of making her angry.

In a strained tone, she said, "And I maintain that I am going to be a model. And Gilderoy is going to be the one to help me."

"Why are you so stubborn?"

"Why are you such an asshole?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Michael, all I am asking for is a little support. I let you go off with your precious ghosts and ghouls and whatever else you find oh-so-fascinating, why can't you let me do something that I enjoy?" Despite her earlier promise to herself, Gisella began to yell.

Michael, too, matched her tone, yelling, "Are we not good enough for you? I work, yet you want more. More, more, more!"

"Shh! You'll wake Blaise. Since when was it a crime to want nice things?"

Her chest heaved up and down, and hot blood ran through her veins. Her eyes flashed as she met Michael's own fierce glare, beginning a stare-down.

It was Michael who relented first, banging his fist down on the table. "Fantastic. Another meal ruined. I need a drink."

Reaching forward, he went to grab the wine Gisella had set on the table. Scoffing, she held it away from him, cradling the pewter goblet—a wedding present and one of the only fine things they owned—containing the vial contents Gilderoy had given her. She had put it in there earlier, hoping to calm Michael if he came home stressed. It had only been on a whim, however, the bad feeling coming back to her stomach when she had poured it.

"Oh, great, you're going to turn into an alcoholic now, are you? Can you not just listen to me?"

Michael shook his head, snapping his fingers for the goblet. "Please, Gisella."

Looking at the swirling crimson contents for a moment, she thrust it into his hand. "Fine. Drink up."

Michael took it, but placed it on the table. His eyes focused on her, tears prickling the corner of his eyes. She felt her heart sink for a moment, not expecting such a reaction.

"What happened to us? Where did we go so wrong?" he whispered, eyes sparkling with moisture.

Gisella opened her mouth to reply, but found no words could come out.

With a shrug, Michael picked up the goblet. "Look, if it makes you happy, take up modelling. I'm sure Gilderoy is alright deep down; heck, he likes ghosts, apparently. I also know you will make any design look beautiful," then, raising it in a toast, he placed it to his lips.

Gisella's stomach erupted, as though a million butterflies had taken flight, or a sea churning in a storm had taken up inside. Michael's words struck a chord, but it wasn't his compliment, or his gentleness. It was the mention of Gilderoy, clicking everything into place. She stepped forward, intent on pushing the drink away, but it was too late, and she could only watch as Michael's throat bobbed and the poison was swallowed.

The effect was instantaneous. Still gazing at her, Michael's eyes widened, his mouth falling open. Raising a shaking to his chest, he bent over, sweat forming on his brow. "I- I can't- bre- breathe," he gasped, slumping over.

She didn't know if she screamed or cried or yelled or simply stood quietly, watching as the life drained from her husband. His skin had become pale, eyes squeezed shut as the last breath shuddered out, blood leaking from his lips.

"Mummy?"

Turning around, her brain snapped back into focus as Blaise walked into the room, rubbing his eyes with the back of his chubby fist. Gisella swooped down on him, embracing him in a hug and blocking his view of his father.

What had she done? No, what had Gilderoy done?