The Seven Husbands of Helene Zabini

Chapter Two

I stand outside the old dust covered wooden door, counting the individual grains of chestnut brown on the cooler toned backdrop. This is pointless. I just need to... go in. Colin would go in. He wasn't afraid– not like this. He was brave. Be more like Colin.

Slowly, I raise my right hand and bring it to the hard surface of the door, rapping my knuckles on it several times. The wood feels cool against my bare skin. I take a small step back, fidgeting with my quill. Maybe I should have brought my typewriter instead... or–

"Come in," I hear a soft voice call through the door. It's the kind of voice that you never forget, smooth like velvet but it has this warmth– it sounds almost inviting. Insticitley I grab the golden doorknob, twisting it and pushing the door open, as if I would do anything she asked.

The room looks just like the rest of the Leaky Cauldron, or at least the part of it that survived the second wizarding war and the raids of the death eaters. The primary contents of the room are a large four poster bed on the far side, pressed up against the mottled glass window, and the familiar looking brimstone fireplace crackles with a marigold colored flame.

There is a singular armchair, faced away from me, but I can make out the shape of a hand. Her skin is warm chestnut brown, glistening with the vibrant hues of the dancing flame.

"Mrs. Zabini?" I ask, my voice sounding small, almost insignificant compared to the rest of the room. The only response is a bubbling laugh. It sounds almost childish, filled with pure unbridled joy. The only person I have ever known to laugh like that was my mother.

"You must be Dennis." She eventually continues, "Come my child, sit down."

Helene flicks her wrist, the matching armchair that was previously hiding in the corner drags across the carpeted floor leaving two lines of matted fur as it reaches its desired position next to her. Taking a final deep breath, I summon all of my courage.

Be more like Colin.

Slowly, I walk around the side of the chair, sinking into the plush red cushion. Turning to face her, I suppress a gasp.

There are very few words that would accurately describe Helene Zabini. Her face, even now, looks airbrushed. Her deep brown almond eyes have a spark, as if they are filled with life. She looks young, yet at the same time her expression betrays something deeper... more hollow. Sadness perhaps. She is so terrifyingly beautiful, so sickeningly feminine that she almost does not look real. Her gaze makes me squirm inside, part of me relishing in the warmth of her look, and the other part feeling more insecure then ever before.

"I am Helene Zabini," Her pursed pink lips start to move, her rich voice filling every corner of the room, "But you already knew that."

"If anything..." I fiddling with my long black quill as I reach into my leather bag for my notepad, "That is the only thing I– and the rest of the Wizarding World knows about you."

"We will get to that soon." She shakes her head, her silky black hair bobbing side to side, "But first, I wish to lay some ground rules."

I look up, my lips slightly pursed. Ground rules.

"First. You will write a novel based on my recollection of my life. I will be the only source of information, you will not do your own digging– Lord knows what you would find. Two. You will publish the novel in two months' time on the day of my death."

A small gasp escapes my mouth, the color draining from my face.

"Death..." I stammer.

She rolls her doe eyes slightly as if this is obvious, "Yes Mr. Creevy– I am horribly ill, and instead of ending my miserable existence in this damned realm sick and alone... I shall leave with the grace and dignity that I always tried to maintain."

"So you... plan to kill yourself."

"In a sense."

"In two months?"

"Am I understood?"

"Yes." The words escape my mouth before I can think better of it. Two months to write an entire novel, one based on the life of a woman who intends to kill herself on the day I publish it. What have I walked into?

"Then we must begin immediately," Mrs. Zabini clears her throat, leaning in slightly, "But my story begins long before I was born. You see, I believe that someone as dark and twisted as me can only be the product of centuries of turmoil... a hypothesis that is supported by my family tree."

I nod slightly, scribbling down a short header... family tree? And then, right below it, I write... considers herself dark and twisted.

"My grandmother's name was Laurena Kama." She begins, her eyes flitting to my piece of paper, "And she was married to a man named Mustafa Kama."

"He loved her greatly– the kind of love that the sun knows only for the moon, that the stars know for the sea. The kind of love that makes you believe in something greater than yourself. And... and well, she loved him too."

"But... you see, there was another man who loved her. If Mustafa represented good, then this man was all that was evil. He invaded her heart like the scourge, destroying everything in his path. And when she would not leave Mustafa, her first true love, for him- he... allowed his love to blind him."

"Did he..." I take a deep breath, "Have a name?"

"Corvus Lestrange the fourth," her voice is hollow as a sort of darkness clouds her eyes, "He raised his wand and used the Imperius Curse on her, manipulating her will so that she would leave Mustafa and come to his manor. She had two children... Yusuf Kama and Leta Lestrange. His abuse of his power is likely what cursed the rest of my bloodline... if I had to guess,"

"Returning to Leta, she also knew love that was as pure as that of Laurena and Mustafa. She loved a man named Theseus, Theseus Scamander. You have likely never heard his name, but I suppose you probably know of his brother... Newt Scamander?"

I nod, the memories of his escapades fluttering through my head. Dumbledore spoke fondly of him, as did many of his fellow Hufflepuffs. He fought against Grindelwald.

"But Leta died, she sacrificed herself in the battle against Grindelwald, but not before she and Theseus had a child. Amélie was 6 years old when her mother was killed. As she was raised by her father, a British Auror, she attended Hogwarts."

"And once she had graduated, she swore to be the exception to the curse started by Corvus' dark magic. She swore that she would help people, that she would become something greater. So she trained for years and became a healer at St. Mungo's."

"While she was there, a delegation of French Aurors arrived. The story goes that she was the healer responsible for the recovery of the French Minister. That is where she met Gabriel Diouf, the team leader and my father. They were married in the summer of 1945, and later that year they moved into a small house in the village of Colomiers."

"Other than them," She sighs, picking at something on her armchair, "24 other people lived in Colomiers, a village that many viewed as a shantytown filled with country bumpkins ... but to my mother, she saw this as her new home. Far away from the evils of Britain. She always enjoyed the simplicity of our life... waking up at the crack of dawn to get eggs from the henhouse for breakfast, and spending the afternoon in the garden painting the wild flowers that invaded our vegetable garden."

"On January 2nd, 1950, two days after the new year had begun, my mother died during childbirth. My very entrance to this world was tainted by tragedy." She shakes her head, taking a slightly raspy breath inwards, "And thus began the life of Helene Kama."