The Seven Husbands of Helene Zabini

Chapter One

"Creevy" A sharp voice rings through the bustling room, cutting through the clamor of a dozen other reporters clacking their typewriter keys. I look up, my fingers temporarily pausing as my gaze locks on Patel, "My Office. Now."

Parvati Patel is standing on the opposite side of the room, her dark red lips pursed in a frown as her hands plant on her hips. She looks as if the very idea of talking to me disgusts her, although that could entirely be the fact that it is 7 in the morning on a Monday.

"Well what are you just sitting there for," She rolls her eyes as I stare at her, my eyes wide, "Are you going to come over here- or stare at me like bloody Bambi."

I hurtle out of my desk, trying to ignore the stack of papers I knock into, scattering them across my already trashed workstation. The Pavarti Patel wants to talk to me in her office. That's like- that's like... Harry Potter asking me to fight Voldemort for him, it's entirely unheard of. She never interacts with the new hires- Brown told me that you have to have written for the Prophet for nearly a decade for her to bother learning your name.

Scurrying through the ruckus of the bullpen, I dodge photographers carting around massive cameras and gaggles of columnists chattering as they make their way to their respective desks. She taps her black pumped heel on the linoleum floor, her warm brown eyes flitting to the clock. Oh my god- she probably hates me. Scratch that- she definitely hates me- I've clearly made her late for something or-

A small frown plays on her lips as she rakes her eyes up and down me. "Took you long enough." She's tall. Taller than I realized. I mean, I've never really been this close to her. Usually that's a privilege reserved for her Assistant Editors.

Oh my god. I know why she wants to meet with me. She's going to fire me. I mean, my article from last month wasn't as good as I wanted it- but we still had decent viewer engagement. Or maybe it's because the subscription rates dipped- what if it was my fault. Oh she is definitely going to fire me- she seems like the kind of person to laugh as she fires me. She terrifies me. Oh my god. Oh my god. What am I going to do?

"Ms. Patel," My voice cracks slightly as I speak. Damn it.

"Yes?" Her voice is sharp, as if she is waiting for an excuse to strike me down.

"Er- I was just wondering if I've..."

"Spit it out Creevy," Patel groans, throwing her head backwards slightly, her glossy black blowout bouncing as she walks. I struggle to keep up with her, stumbling over my feet slightly as I try to work up the courage to just... ask.

"Have I done something wrong?"

"I don't know," She comes to a crashing halt, raising her eyebrows as a sinister smile creeps across her lips, "Have you done something wrong."

"No-" I stammer, shaking my head vigorously.

"So you think you're the perfect employee."

"No." My eyes widen. Crap.

"I'm just messing with you Creevy," she laughs. She laughs. Parvati Patel, the Queen of Journalism, the first female and the youngest ever editor of the Daily Prophet laughs, "You're not in trouble, I just wanted to talk to you."

This does nothing to settle my nerves, and the sloshing feeling in my stomach threatens to overcome me. If she does not hate me already, she certainly will when I puke on her expensive white fur carpet.

Her office is large, with two walls made entirely of glass that overlook the rest of Diagon Alley, and a massive mahogany desk in the center of the tiled floor. It looks modern, or at least more modern than the rest of the office. She walks by me, sliding into her gray desk chair, leaving me standing in the doorway... awestruck.

"You can sit down, Creevy." Patel snorts slightly, looking up at me.

Get it together Dennis.

Quickly, and without too much hassle, I manage to convince my legs to carry me to the chair opposite to hers. Once I sit down, she reaches down into one of the deep compartments of the desk... which is more of a vault than a table, and pulls out a file.

"Tell me Creevy, do you know what this is?" She raises her eyebrows, holding up the thin scroll. It can't be more than half a centimeter thick.

I shake my head, fiddling with my fingers beneath the cover of the desk. "No."

"This is the known information on Mrs. Helene Zabini," She tosses it to me, the scroll arking through the air, slipping through my outstretched hands and tumbling to the ground. The amused look on her face paints my cheeks red, burning with embarrassment, as I scramble to pick it up, unfurling the scroll.

Helene Zabini.

"But..." The words tumble out of my mouth, "This is just her name."

"Exactly," She nods, "That is all we know about her. Other than the fact that she had seven husbands, many of whom died under mysterious circumstances. Oh- and she's also Blaise's mother... but he turned out to be a death eater- so I'd like to not focus on him in the book."

"The book?" The small amount of confidence that I managed to summon slips away.

"Oh yes," She giggles slightly, "It completely slipped my mind to tell you why I have brought you here. A week ago, we received a formal inquiry from the offices of Helene Zabini. She would like us to write a book detailing her life, to set the record straight... for everything."

Wow. That's- wow. This would be a massive win for the paper, not that we need a massive win, Ms. Patel has been doing wonderfully during her 5 years of management- but to have the only official story on Helene Zabini, one of the Wizarding World's greatest mysteries would be incredible. Our engagement would double-

"And she asked for you."

My jaw drops, hanging agape.

"Yes, yes- I know, shocking," She shakes her head, picking up a small piece of parchment she taped to the back of the file, "She has asked you specifically to write her biography. Your first meeting will be later today."

"I-" I stammer, lost for words, "She-"

"She is staying at the Leaky Cauldron and is expecting you at noon," Patel's eyes flick down the list of things to tell me, "And you will continue meeting her there at that time until she has finished detailing her life."

"Me?" The words sound foreign in my mouth, "She wants me."

"You were mentioned by name," she shrugs, "And Creevy- try not to screw this up. This could be our biggest accomplishment since Skeeter's book on Dumbledore."

"Didn't everyone hate that book?"

"If there is anything I've learned this past five years, it's that there's no such thing as bad publicity- our views still skyrocketed." Patel shakes her head, before pausing for a moment, "But just know that if you tank this- I will have your head."