The Seven Husbands of Helene Zabini

Chapter Five - Early Years

"Mrs. Zabini?" My voice betrays a slightly tremor as I knock on the door. Glancing down, I try to catch my breath– balancing a glass of brandy and an assortment of quills in my left hand as I fiddle with my wand, "I– I brought your drink."

The door promptly swings open, her amber eyes flashing gold as she locks eyes on the drink sloshing around in my hand. She is tall, taller than I am– which I suppose isn't saying much considering I'm not particularly tall... but she is much taller than I would have expected.

Take a deep breath Dennis.

The sweet smell of her perfume envelops me, the taste heavy on my tongue as she silently leads me into her room, back to the seats from yesterday. Today she is wearing a dress made from emerald green silk, or perhaps evening gown is a more pertinent description. It clings to her skin, unfurling in a mass of shiny fabric that kisses the floor as she walks, bobbing side to side to the rhythm of her heels on the scuffed wooden floor.

"I suppose you would like to get started then," her voice scratches some itch I'd finally managed to lock away in the back of my brain, only adding fire to the fuel. It's slightly more hoarse, almost guttural in comparison to yesterday.

"Well... we have a lot to cover." I nod, taking my seat in the plush armchair and pulling out a quill. I spent all morning pouring over my notes, typing them up and trying to get some sense of a narrative... but the problem remains. I do not know Helene Zabini, and I have only just started to get to know Helene Kama. How am I to write a novel that accurately portrays her– when I cannot seem to grasp at her very essence... the events and emotions that drove her to do what she did.

"Very astute of you Dennis." She runs her tongue across the base of her front teeth, flicking it slightly just as she raises the glass of amber liquid to her pinkish lips, "Where did I leave off."

"We had just gotten to you deciding to become a journalist."

"Oh yes," she laughs, nostalgia twinkling in her eyes as she throws her head backwards slightly, as if she is reminiscing of a different time.

—

"Mademoiselle Kama," Madame Boucher presses her lips together, forming a small frown as she rakes her emerald green eyes up and down my body. I sit, rather meekly, across from her at the small stool pulled up to the edge of her desk, "I'm sure you are aware that I host these meetings with all of my girls in Bellamy hall, it is nothing to be... alarmed by."

The tone in her voice, its slight upwards tilt, tells me otherwise. Boucher is just like every other professor– she only remembers the old days, skeptical of anything resembling change. I nod slightly, fiddling with the dainty gold ring on the base of my pinky finger. My hands feel leaden, threatening to bore a hole in my lap as I look up at her anxiously, my eyes flitting to the large grandfather clock parked just to her right.

"Is there some place you need to be?" One of her thin black eyebrows, contorting her face as an expression of skepticism replaces her usual mask of diplomacy.

"No Madame." My voice sounds small compared to the grandeur of her office, as if I am not meant to be here– as if I am just another lost object for her to toss out the door.

"Forgive me– you kept looking at the clock." Her words cut into me, slicing at my face. A small smile curls on her lips at my obvious discomfort, "I have looked over your Ordinary Wizarding Level class registration submission."

"And frankly..." The smile turns into a repressed laugh, "I believe we have much to discuss– after all, it is my job to make sure that my girls are prepared to succeed."