CHAPTER 6: A Man of Wealth and Taste (Part 5)

Shadowfield Estate felt like a haunted manor these days. The type of place that would be abandoned, boarded up with nothing but dust and cobwebs inside. In the nights it was worse, with the moon looming large above the grounds and the constant howls from beyond the wards. It was as if they had been dropped into a horror film. The house was too large, able to fit hundreds of people at a time, having dozens of rooms on five floors, and yet they were the only three staying there right now. When Sirius and Remus lived here, it still felt empty, too big for the five of them, but it was more alive. Sirius was always raving madly about something or another and Remus was quiet, but it was nice to know there were other people in the house with them.

That all changed after the night of the sieges. She could still remember that horrible night. Richard and she had slept through most of it. They were supposed to visit Hermione at the Ministry early the next morning. They missed the carnage, the violence. They were soundly asleep while the entire country was burning. It wasn't until Fillius, Hermione's tiny teacher, woke them up just a few hours before dawn, that they knew something horrible had happened.

"The healers are tending to her in Saint Mungo's," he consoled them.

"Will she be okay?" Helen pleaded.

"They say the worst is past her."

"That doesn't answer our question," Richard said coldly.

Filius sighed. "The healers think she'll wake up. They say it's doubtful that she won't. They just aren't sure what state she'll be in when she does."

A sob escaped from her. She felt pathetic. Crying on the floor, falling apart and feeling like nothing could ground her. They were told they couldn't visit her. The hospital was full enough after the siege in London, and they were forced to wait until the following night before they even got a chance to see her. Once they were let inside, they didn't go out. They spent every night there. When the healers tried to kick them out, Dumbledore stepped in. And though it was clear Hermione didn't always appreciate their company, they continued to stay. Because even if she was often cross with them, it was a relief just to see her face.

As she began recovering, they began leaving her alone more. She needed those moments to herself, and they needed food and rest. It wasn't until the fifth day that Dumbledore finally came to see them. He explained everything, from the sieges to the events at Hogwarts and the Ministry, and despite all his work at the DMLE, he took his time and answered every one of their questions. He was apologetic and empathetic, but most of all heartbroken. It didn't lessen their anger, and it took them weeks after that to even talk about the man without distaste in their mouths, but they appreciated what he was doing for them nonetheless.

"Sirius has gone missing," he eventually explained. "No one has seen him since the Ministry… some of us fear the worst."

"Oh, God," Helen cried.

"What does that mean for us?" Richard asked.

"Shadowfield Estate is still at your disposal. The wards there will continue to keep you and your daughter safe."

"What about Remus?" Helen asked.

"He's… he's processing."

They didn't see Remus after that. When they returned to Shadowfield, he was nowhere to be found. And in the two months since, no one had heard a word from him. He hadn't come back to the manor or contacted any members of the Order. He hadn't even left a letter before he left. From what everyone knew, he was still alive and healthy. But that was from two months ago, and with how despairing things seemed now, Helen feared their information might be outdated.

Molly was a great help. She came around the place once a week with Arthur, besides Dumbledore, she was the only person that had visited them over the months. They would have dinner, sometimes they had even convinced them to stay and watch a film. From what Dumbledore had told them, the Weasleys had suffered just as badly as them. Those were nights both families needed. They had been invited to the Burrow a few times, but Richard always declined.

"It's dangerous," he told her one day. "We don't know them well."

"Molly and Arthur are part of the Order," Helen said. "Their children went to the Ministry to try and save our Hermione."

"I'm not saying they're not good people. But we don't know where they live. We don't know how protected their house is or who knows where they live. The safest place we can be is right here, even Dumbledore said it."

"Dumbledore's been wrong."

"Not about this," a dark look crossed his face. "The further we are from the wizarding world, the better."

After everything that happened, Richard was having trouble trusting wizards. Helen didn't blame her husband, everything they had heard had been rattling. It wasn't just the attacks or the blatant fact that the Death Eaters were rising to power once again. It was everything. The things that Dumbledore told them about how the Ministry is fixing stuff, erasing all those people's memories, changing the lives of countless people. Forcing parents to forget sons, and wives to forget husbands, taking away a piece of them all to cover up the fact that magic exists.

Helen understood why. Hermione had told her about the Dark Wizarding Age, all that happened when Muggles learned about the existence of wizards. But the way the wizarding world was acting, treating the normal people as if they weren't human, playing to be gods… it didn't sit right with them. What else were they doing that they didn't know? If they already have people in governments and newspapers, what have they done before that no one has ever found out? It was a small, dark thought that began growing inside both of their minds.

They didn't speak about it at first. But the more it kept growing, the more it affected them. And it got to the point where they doubted everything they thought they knew about the world. A few nights before Hermione came back from Hogwarts, the issue finally came out.

"We can't stay here, Helen."

"Do you think I want to?" She snapped. "But what can we do when our daughter doesn't want to leave with us?"

"We can force her."

"We can't. She already said what she'd do if we tried."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Richard bit back. "How long before some wizard thinks it'd be easier if we forget about everything? What if Hermione gets in trouble again? Don't you think for one second that if she dies, they'll let us remember."

"I know that," Helen fought back. "God, I know that. But, Richard, you know how she gets. And now with this… issue, if we try to corner her we'll lose her forever."

"If she becomes one of those… people, we already have."

They argued for nights after that, and even once Hermione came home, the fights didn't stop. Helen hated fighting with Richard. Before all this, they very rarely did. It was one of the things she was proudest of in their relationship. Now she couldn't remember a day when they went to bed on good terms. She knew they both thought the same. They were on the same side, and still they fought. It shouldn't be this hard. Their relationship was never meant to carry burdens like this, and though she was sure it was strong enough to survive them, it didn't make things any easier.

Neither did having Hermione home. She had missed her daughter dearly. If it had been up to her, she wouldn't have returned to that godforsaken school to begin with. After what was done to her, how frail she had looked on that hospital bed, the last thing Helen wanted was for her to leave her sight. But Hermione didn't give them much of a choice. They fought the night before she went back to that castle. She and Richard spent hours trying to convince her to stay. It had developed into shouting and fighting, something they never used to do, and it made Hermione worse. She'd stutter more when she got emotional. It made her look even more frail and only strengthened their desire to have her stay with them. It was a vicious cycle that fed the fight.

She didn't sleep that night. Richard didn't even come to bed.

Hermione barely left her room these days. At first, she was worried, thinking her daughter was depressed, alone, lounging on her bed with despair. But whenever Helen checked on her, she always found Hermione studying. On the bed. On the small table in the room. Whenever she'd come down for some food, she would bring a stack of books with her. She'd stay up late and wake up early and do nothing all day except study. The only times she left her room was when she went to the Longbottom manor for the lessons Harry was giving them. And despite it being the opposite of what she feared, the obsession was bordering on unhealthy. She barely ate, she showered maybe once every three days - and that was when she had to go out of the house. And she never talked to them any more. Never came down just to be with them. If they were lucky, they'd see her for lunch or dinner. But sometimes, she ate on her own time.

She and Richard tried to intervene at first. But every time it all developed into arguments and fights, and it made it all worse for the three of them. Hermione argued that this was for her big exams, the ones that determined what classes she was going to take next year. "It de-defines everything about who I- what I- what type of witch I'm going to- to be," she told them. Hermione thought she was explaining. That she was helping them understand. It only made them more wary.

But after weeks like this, Helen couldn't take it any more. She couldn't take this house. Couldn't take the constant fights and never-ending nightmares of what would happen to them if they didn't leave. But most of all, she couldn't take this distance from her family. And despite knowing all the objections Hermione would have, she finally walked upstairs and entered her room.

The place was so dark. The curtains had been drawn together and kept the sunlight out, leaving the two candles on Hermione's desk as the only light source there. Her daughter was hunched over, back curving as she rapidly scribbled on a book. The place was a mess, with dozens of parchments and even more tomes cluttering the desk. Helen stood there for half a minute, taking it all in, and Hermione hadn't even said "Hello," to her.

"Tea?" Helen asked.

"'M busy," she mumbled. "Studying. Can you close the, uh… the door, yeah?"

Hermione didn't even turn to look at her. She didn't put the quill down or even stop writing.

"Hermione," Helen called out. "Hermione, please stop writing. Hermione!"

She didn't stop. And Helen finally lost her cool as she marched inside the room and forced the window curtains open. Immediately, all the light filled the room. And just like a vampire being burned, Hermione practically jumped away.

"What was- Can't you just leave me alone? I told you I'm, uh… I'm, I'm busy."

"No, because we need to talk."

"I have my… my… the, uh, exams. I have them in-"

"I don't think you should take them," Helen interrupted, and Hermione's face darkened. "And your father doesn't either."

"No," Hermione shook her head. "We're not having… just… stop it, alright? Just stop."

"Hermione, just hear yourself, please," she begged. "Look at what they did to you."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. God, Hermione, if this is just the start, what do you think will happen when things really get going? This is your life."

"Yes! Yes… it's… it is my life. I get to make my own… err…" she slammed her fist against the desk. "I get to choose. Not you."

"No, you don't, you're just a child," Helen snapped back.

"Not- not according to wizarding… umm… wizard rules."

"Of course, they don't think you're a child. It doesn't need a genius to see how twisted they are. Don't you know everything they're doing? Those… those things that so-called Ministry is doing? Can't you understand how vile they all are?"

"They- they… they are trying to fix things."

"They are ruining people's lives!"

"They weren't… there was no choice. If they… if they- things could get worse."

"And that makes it better? We're as much human to them as those elf creatures."

"What… what… what would you, err, what could they do? How else were they supposed to… umm… to fix all of this, huh? It's the… uh… the Death Eaters. They are the real ones at fault."

"Hermione, just please listen to what you're saying. How can you be condoning all of this? It's cruel. It's heartless."

"It's necessary," she said roughly. "What else… there was no other way."

"That doesn't make it any less wrong. These people think they can play God. They think that they can control our lives and get away with it without any consequences. Is that really the type of person you want to become?"

Hermione scoffed. "You… you… you sound like that, uh. Like that wizard shooter."

It felt like a punch to the gut. Helen felt as if all the air had been pulled out from her insides. She couldn't imagine what she was hearing, and the fact that it came from her own daughter only made it worse. And at that moment, she wanted to cry like never before. Because the family they had once been, the one she thought they still were… it didn't exist any more. "Your father and I don't feel comfortable here any more."

"I'm not leaving," she shook her head. "I am… uh… a witch. I am a witch. You can't make me leave."

And despite all of it. Despite how horrible it felt just being in this house. How much she wanted to leave this rotting house, this country filled with people who viewed them as less than human. How much her own daughter had broken her heart with a few sentences… she couldn't leave either. Because if Hermione would be staying, so would she.

When Helen exited her daughter's room, she found Richard waiting outside. And without saying a word, she threw herself into his arms and finally allowed herself to cry.

Blaise could hear his mother in the kitchen. They had house-elves, of course they did, every respectable family had them. But his mother still preferred to cook the dinners herself. "It's tradition, figlio," she'd tell him. She'd clean her own room and if she'd make it to another room before the elves had worked on it, she'd clean them up herself. It made them all mad, they'd reprimand her in the same way his Nana Cocco used to whenever he'd have one of his bursts of accidental magic. But whenever they did, his mother would just scoff, turn around, and loudly criticize the creatures as if they weren't around to listen in. In the end, they started working during the night, making sure everything was cleaned up just perfectly by the time Alessia Zabini woke up.

She didn't do it on purpose, he didn't think. His mother loved fighting, loved arguing, she was always the one who needed to have the last word, or she wouldn't be happy. But Blaise didn't think even she would be as sadistic as to actively look for a fight in her own home. It was probably second nature, muscle memory kicking in any time she saw anything in the wrong place. If one of the forks was left on the counter or a cushion thrown to the other side of the couch, she wouldn't be able to walk past it without fixing it herself.

"Do you always have to be such a neat freak?" He yelled that at her a few summers before he was admitted to Hogwarts.

"It's not being a neat freak," she sniffed. "It's being Italian."

Maybe. But Blaise was also Italian, and he didn't feel the need to fix the slightest stain on the cloth. Not when he knew the elves would take care of it the moment he left. No, it wasn't being Italian, he didn't think. But she grew up very differently from him. Old habits died hard, and no matter how much you changed from who you once were, it was impossible to scrub away all the dirt.

Blaise still felt weird being around this house. This wasn't the place where he grew up him, the home that had housed his ancestors for centuries and centuries, not like the great manors where all his friends lived. His mother had only told him about him at the end of his third year at Hogwarts. He couldn't have spent more than five months in this place. It's not like he wasn't used to this, his mother had moved them in with every boyfriend or husband she could find, but for the first time, they weren't living at someone else's house. This was their manor. Their palace. Palazzo Zabini. It even had their name on it. For the first time, he was in a place he should truly consider as home.

He didn't.

It was a warm, lovely place. Elegant and extravagant and full of things that continued to impress and fill him with pride. This was the type of place where he would want to live, the type of life he wanted to lead. There was nothing about this place that didn't scream rich and famous and powerful. The walls were covered in paintings, there were sculptures and even a ten-foot-tall fountain in the centre of the entrance hall. The paintings on the ceiling were just as impressive as the ones from the Sistine Chapel, and each room held at least three historical objects lost to the Muggles after the Statute of Secrecy was put into place.

It was more impressive than any of his friend's manors. More impressive than Hogwarts itself, in his eyes. This palace was unlike anything he'd ever seen before in his life, and as much as he wanted to call this home, he couldn't. Not because he hadn't spent enough time or because he hated the place, but because he couldn't call this his own. He felt like a guest in his own home, one of the tourists who travelled halfway across the world and marvelled at the churches and museums. It wasn't his. He hadn't earned this. And despite how much his mother called it home, he didn't think he could do so as well.

Blaise heard the clacking of her heels as she crossed from the kitchen to the Dining Hall. She was dressed like a modern-day muse, not a crinkle in her long dress or an imperfection in her make-up. Dressed in all black and making sure she looked good enough to entice any man that came her way, there wasn't a day when his mother decided a set of casual robes would be good enough. He didn't expect that of her, not today, but he noticed she had put in more work than he had expected of her. The only reason why Blaise wasn't concerned his mother would try to seduce Potter was because he didn't exactly have much money, but something still bothered him about the display.

"Tell me you're not going to try and sleep with him."

His mother looked offended at the mere insinuation. "Of course not. But it won't hurt to try and entice him."

"He'll see through it."

"Every man sees through it," she said patronizingly. "They all fall either way."

His mother then gave him a soft smile, gently grabbing his arm before pulling him in for a hug. Her lips graced against his scalp. All he could smell was the overpowering smell of her perfume. And when she pulled back, she kissed him on the cheek, leaving a large stain of lipstick behind.

"Mum," he whined, immediately scrubbing it off.

"Oh, hush." She began looking him up and down, and her smile slowly faded from her face. "I thought I told you to wear the Eldritch robes."

"Arcane's robes are more comfortable."

"They're unrefined," she sniffed. "Colloquial."

"It's just dinner, Mum."

"We're having guests."

"Guests," he laughed. "What- They won't care. Potter won't even notice the difference."

"Merlin, damn it, Blaise, I gave you an order!" She screamed out, so suddenly Blaise flinched back. "Go to your room and get changed. Quickly. Harry's portkey's arriving in seven minutes."

There was nothing he could say to change her mind. Whenever she got like this, any further argument would just make things worse for him. "Fine."

"And clean up your room!" She called out to him as he left the dining room before loudly sighing. "Oh, mio Merlino, quanto sono stufo di quel bambino"

Just as he'd said, Harry didn't notice his change in robes. The only way he would have noticed anything was if Blaise had dressed up in a clown costume and acted like an Aztec doing a ritual dance from a thousand years ago. He was all smiles and greeted him warmly, and despite their animosity over the past year, Blaise knew it was genuine. Or at least half genuine. He didn't bring his bird, which made sense, he only brought her out whenever he needed to impress someone or make the crowd awe at the sight of him. But he'd met his mother a few times by now, and Blaise didn't think he'd ever become someone Harry would particularly try to impress. They'd been through too much for that already.

His mother must have been disappointed when Harry barely acknowledged her state. He was polite, a gentleman - or at least one compared to who he knew Harry to be - but nothing more. For Alessia Zabini, the woman who'd have every man fawn over her, it was unusual for her. It made sense, Harry was never one driven by lust, but Blaise couldn't help but wonder if things would have been different if they didn't know each other.

Dinner was a usual affair, a practised dance between the three of them that they'd recited once a week since the term ended. When Harry came the first time, his mother all but ordered Blaise to take him out to the city. It was his first time out of Britain, and Italy had a lot of lovely sights to see. But before Blaise could even offer, Harry rebutted any attempts. He'd portkeyed over a thousand miles every week and had never even expressed any interest in leaving the property. He came in straight to business, and while he wasn't too formal with Blaise, he could tell this was different from when they all hung out together. He didn't know if that was because they had the least connection in the group, or because these weren't exactly family visits.

Blaise didn't quite know what to think about Harry. He had known him for five years now, and he still didn't know what to think of him. He had changed so much, gone from one extreme to another to the next, to the point where Blaise couldn't help but view him as unreliable. After what he'd seen of the Montagues and everything that went down last year, he understood why. But the problem was that there was still something off about him. It was his sudden change, the sudden lack of misanthropy and anger issues that were a core part of his personality, it all made the picture just a bit off. It wasn't just Harry, either. Draco had daddy issues and a need to conquer the world, Daphne was a megalomaniac and master manipulator, Pansy was just unfriendly and unpleasant to anyone, and even Theo had his own issues.

They were all crazy to a certain extent. Hell, maybe he was too, and he just didn't realise it yet. Regardless, it used to make him feel as if he didn't really feel like he properly fit in with them. He guessed this was what it felt like to have siblings. He didn't like all of them all the time, and had outright hated a few of them for years, but he still couldn't really tear himself away from them. Thinking about doing Hogwarts or his life in general without them felt like something was missing. Maybe the craziness of all of them just bound them to this toxic co-dependency. After the Montague murders, he couldn't rule that out.

It was weird how okay he felt about the Elijah situation. Maybe it was because the bastard had tried to kill him. He and his bloody knife would have scarred him for life if Harry hadn't allowed his phoenix to heal the gashes. To a point, he knew it had been wrong. And even if it wasn't, the lack of any regret or distress from being complicit in covering up the Elijah murder was definitely wrong. He wasn't like that. When he first watched Harry kill Graham, he had been horrified. It had struck him like nothing else before, and filled him with nightmares for months and months. There wasn't a night when he didn't go to sleep and feared he would wake up to Harry carving his face with a deranged smile.

If it had been up to him, he would have ratted him out to the Aurors. He almost did. A clue here and there in their interviews. The truth was, he didn't realise it until later. His subconscious acting on its own, he assumed. But the truth was, he was too mixed up with it to snitch. Before he could do anything, Pansy and Theo and all the others got involved and began planning how to cover the whole thing up, and Blaise was left with no other choice but to comply.

He would never forget that night. Looking back on it, that was when he realised the difference between him and them. They all immediately jumped into action, deciding how they would cover this up, when his first thoughts were to leave Harry to the Aurors. But after the Elijah cover-up, Blaise had sensed something shift. He wasn't appalled, he no longer felt distant from the others. He used to look at Harry and see a murderer. A mad, violent animal that was barely human. Now he didn't. There was nothing further to it, no way he could really describe how he felt about him - not yet, anyway - he just wasn't that crazy madman Blaise used to think he was.

He had definitely gone crazy as well. There was really no other explanation for it. Either hanging out with Draco and Daphne and the others all the time ended up corrupting him, or the trauma of everything was just too hard to cope with that he went mad as well. He knew that the moment, he had decided to give Harry a second chance. But when the bastard actually came to him and sat there, letting Aurora heal the wounds Montague gave him without even being asked… it just fucked things up more. He'd felt like he'd gone mad for wanting to give Harry a second chance. Now he felt he'd gone mad for thinking it was wrong in the first place.

There used to be right and wrong, and Harry single-handedly fucked all that up for him. He wasn't angry about it. Wasn't grateful either. Blaise guessed this was just a part of life. There was no way of maintaining a black-and-white view, especially not with everything that was fucked about the wizarding world. There was a reason all his friends had lost it, Blaise was just a late bloomer to it all.

When his mother found out about what Harry had done for him, she had immediately insisted he join them for dinner. She sent the letter herself, and though Blaise didn't think Harry would reply, he had. It wasn't until after the term had ended and they had all been sent home, that Blaise learned of everything they had talked about in their letters. His mother had said she just wanted to repay the favour, but someone as famous and powerful as Harry had become wasn't someone Alessia Zabini would ignore.

It wasn't until after they were done with dinner and the house-elves had cleared the table that they delved into more formal topics.

"Scrimgeour tells me you're going to Mexico," Harry said.

"Russo thought that I could be useful there," his mother said with a soft smile. "It is an important meeting, after all."

"So I hear. You'll be going too, yeah, Blaise?"

"My mother wouldn't go without me, I'm afraid," he said charmingly, and the two others laughed. "Have you told the others?"

"No, not yet. Scrimgeour is keeping this close to the chest. He doesn't want the location to leak."

"It's good to see a man of Scrimgeour's calibre take over for Fudge," his mother spoke. "Britain needs a strong hand in times like this."

Harry smirked. "I'll tell him you said that."

"Please do."

"This actually reminds me of something I wanted to ask you," Harry continued. "What's your involvement with Britain? From what I hear it's not common for Italians to go all the way to Hogwarts."

"Most go to Beauxbatons, yes," his mother responded. "I spent a few years in Britain, my fourth husband was from there. He signed Blaise up for Hogwarts the moment he was born. He may no longer be with us, but I couldn't take that away from him."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. This was the first time he had said those words to Blaise's knowledge. They didn't sound like a lie.

"Life moves on. We must too."

Harry smiled politely. "I couldn't agree more."

Dario arrived an hour before midnight. Being an old, curt man, he didn't come for dinner like Harry did. Even when Blaise first got his wand, he remembered how quickly the whole thing was. There were nine wands already waiting on the table by the time he and his mother arrived. Blaise was forced to try them all out, quickly and efficiently, before Dario picked one of the bunch and sent all the others to their cases. The whole thing took less than a minute, and though Blaise originally doubted his wand would work well, after five years of using it he couldn't think of a better match.

He greeted them all sharply before snapping his fingers at Harry and asking Blaise's mother what room they could use. His mother graciously offered them her study, and though Harry clearly didn't look amused at Dario's attitude, he didn't say anything.

"Ah, ah, not you, boy," Dario snapped at Blaise when he tried to enter the study with them.

His mother pulled him back by his robes. Before the door closed, Harry gave him a nod of gratitude.

"Go wait in the Entrance Hall," his mother commanded. "I'll be there in a minute."

"What for?" Blaise asked.

"The meeting won't take long. They'll leave afterwards."

"So?"

"So, you'll be a good host and say goodbye to our guests with me."

"I don't get the point, if they're going to-"

"Quiet," she snapped. "Ti ho dato un ordine, ragazzo. Non dimenticare chi è la madre qui."

His mother left without saying another word. After taking a final look at the door, Blaise sighed and headed downstairs. And as he waited for nearly ten minutes on his own, his thoughts drifted as to what was so important for Harry to demand this meeting with Dario.