Chapter 5:
The Throw of the Dice


"From childhood's hour, I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone."


Blaise Zabini clenched his hands into fists, and pursed his lips. Twenty-three years of being a Zabini had bred, within every half-inch of him, the kind of indifference and pride few could match, and it was a rare occurrence for him to show anger, much less wrath – usually, he would let it bubble under the surface, give it no outlet, until the anger gave way to careful planning, the kind of cold-blooded logic that never does good, only harm, to the one it is directed at.

-- He aimed for revenge equal to the injury – or so-called injury – done to him, never for fury.

Things were, however, different today. Unfeeling as he could be in most matters – which was not to say he was not capable of experiencing emotions; merely to say that he had excellent self-control, that he knew how to breed, within himself, his softer sentiments, until they were as sharp as a sword ready for battle – he held a respect, not a grudging sort as one might believe, for his mother; and, with all said and done, he knew he could never think harm her.

He could, however, raise his voice -- and that, he did, right now.

“Do not kid me, woman!”

Shreya Zabini drew herself up to her full height. She was a gorgeous woman, and even time had not greatly rusted her beauty – though her only son personally thought this was merely solid proof of how good age-defying cosmetic potions had become. Her fiery, orange-tinted hair was twisted into a knot at the back of her head, right now, and strands of it escaped, to frame her face, from within which frame she glared at him with dark, very cold, blue eyes.

“How dare you speak to me like that, Blaise!”

He wanted to ask her what kind of question that was, and if he could please thwack a fist into the nearest wall, because he knew she was his mother, and he could not, therefore, possibly make the reply he wanted to make, to that statements of hers.

Instead, he matched her glare for glare.

“You seem to believe my life is a joke, mother. That you can bend me the way you want me to bend, and I will allow you to.”

“You –” She lowered her voice, most dangerously. “– have gotten everything you have, from me, Blaise. That temperament, that ability to impress others, that self-control. Do not believe I do not know you inside-out – why would I even think that I -or anyone else for that matter – can possibly bend you to my – or their – will? I am not foolish. You are a copy of me, and you should be grateful for it! Otherwise, you might have been moaning about heartbreak, and died of it, like your weak father!”

“My father was not weak!” Blaise spat. “The only weakness he ever showed in his entire life was to fall in love with you, and he died of it because you were too busy cheating on him to pay him any –”

“What kind of man dies of heartbreak?” Shreya Zabini rolled her eyes. “I have never heard a sillier story. At any rate –” She turned away from him. “– I am glad I was able to get rid of him, and still get to keep his money. Not that I needed anymore.” She shrugged, as she said the last five words – David Zabini had been her third husband; and, even if she had put aside the riches her first two marriages had won her, she would still have been a rich woman, because she came of a high family.

Of course, she had married again, after David’s death. She had, however, not changed her last name: the changes of name had been starting to get pesky and, besides, she had a son from David; and she did not want to have Blaise go through a dozen surnames -- ah yes, she had had an inkling her latter husbands would die, too.

It is, after all, as they say – what happens once, will never happen again. But should it happen twice, it will be sure to happen a third time -- and that, frankly, was the story of her life.

“This is not about your marriages, or your money!” Blaise said, calmly. Shreya turned around to face him again; surprised, when she should not have been, at the coolness of his tones -- and saw the anger seething behind his eyes. It made her want to roll her own, again. Men – how foolish could they possibly be?

“I will live -" Blaise spoke each word in a way that was part-venom, part-statement. "My life as I deem fit, and in no other way. How could you possibly think I would go for an arranged marriage?”

“I happen to believe you would never go for a love marriage, either,” Shreya replied, crossing her arms against her chest. She knew him – he was, like her, too hard to satisfy. The best of men did not appeal to her, and the best of women – not to him. The only difference was that, in him, the quality – or was it a drawback? – was much magnified; and, though she had married – not really settled down, of course, she had always been too fiery a thing for that – he had no plans to.

Not now, and certainly not later.

- Despite, of course, his assurances that he would, one day, find the perfect girl: Shreya knew him too well to think he would. Women were too ordinary for him; and, the few he did like, he was too haughty to admit to him own self that he did, or possibly could.

“Marriage, my foot! Stop lying to me, woman!”

Shreya’s eyes flickered – livid. “Why the heck would I feel the need to lie to you? Do you think you can possibly match me? You’re not twenty-five yet, Blaise, you can not possibly feel that I –”

“Then, dang me, if it’s true!” He spat.

Her chest rose and fell, in quick, furious breaths, and she would have slapped him across the face, if she had not been sure that would only anger him further, and make conversation even more impossible. “I made an Unbreakable Vow to Signett Malfoy that, should he have a daughter, and should she be able, and pretty, and skilled enough to satisfy me, I would give her my son in marriage. I can not turn back from it now.”

He clenched his fists, again. “—and you did not think it fit to tell me this, the fact that you went ahead and made the biggest decision of my life when I was only five, until now? What if I tell you I’ve fallen in love with some Russian item, and want to marry her, instead? What, then?”

“Cut it out, Blaise.” She sounded, not angry, but irritated now. “You were already an arrogant little thing at five, and I could tell you had my genes – I knew you too well to think you would ever fall in love with some Russian item -- and, even if you have –” She narrowed her eyes at him. “—I’m not silly enough to believe that you would take her name in the same sentence as the word ‘marry’ – that isn’t you, Blaise, and I should know. I have, after all -" Her lips twitched into what may, or may not, have been a smile. "- had to put up with you for twenty-three years.”

Not that she meant that last sentence – she loved him, as fiercely as any mother could. It was just not Shreya Blaise to show her affection too openly. Not to mention – she knew, somewhere deep down, that logic would always come first; her son, second.

“Well, I have no plan to marry a girl I have not met even once, in my whole life!” Blaise glared. “Tell Signett Malfoy that his daughter isn’t pretty enough for me.”

Shreya Zabini’s lips curved into a mocking smile. “—and die, right there, right then? Do you think I am stupid, Blaise? That girl is pretty enough for the likes of anyone – it would be a breakage of my Vow, to tell Signett she is not. She was a beautiful, as a child, too – I could tell she would grow into quite a darling.” There was no affection in Shreya’s voice, as she said that last statement, though Blaise knew that she did not call anyone beautiful, easily. Not unless someone had left a mental mark on her.

“She has,” Shreya looked at him, as she continued to speak. “Been raised like a princess, even home-schooled and not allowed to mingle with men except for her cousins, lest her eye should wander -" Her tones turned rather mocking, at that last statement -- "Signett Malfoy always intended her to marry you -- and she’s his only daughter, terribly rich. Think of the fortunes she would bring.”

“Do you think I give a darn about fortunes?” He looked right back at her. “I have money enough for ten generations –” Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but he did not care, right now. He certainly had enough for three or four. “– She could have a rubber duck for a nose, for all I know!”

“Then would you rather that I die?”

It was the first time Shreya had been this direct, about what could happen if he refused to wed Signett’s daughter, and Blaise turned away, unable to look his mother in the eye. He would – could – not be the reason of his mother’s death, that he knew quite well. She had raised him, taken care of him, even loved him in her own way; and, whatever else he may or may not have been, Blaise was certainly not ungrateful – and, of course, he loved her. She was his only parent, his only real family.

With an inward sigh, he turned round to face her.

“No.”

*

[] References:

+ "The gods throw the dice, and they don't ask whether we want to be in the game or not." - Paulo Coelho, By The River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept.

+ "From childhood's hour, I have not been -" - Edgar Allan Poe, Alone.

+ "What happens once will never happen again. But what happens twice will surely happen a third time." - Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist.