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Heir Blaise Zabini lurked in the shadows of the alcove, tracking the Gryffindor upstart who had spent the past week staring longingly at Blaise’s fiancée. The first minute or two had been amusing. But now Blaise wanted nothing more than to send the Muggle-born back to the ancient times so he could be burned at the stake.
The whelp—Creevey the elder—had followed Lady Hypatia Potter for years from afar. That had been somewhat tolerable as the boy had been a child. Now that Creevey was sixteen, and daring to get so close to Blaise’s fiancée, he wouldn’t keep his peace another day.
Strolling out of the alcove and into the corridor, Blaise stood with his legs apart, shoulders back, and wand in hand. Colin Creevey halted, and then tried to walk around him. Blaise stepped to the side and blocked his path.
“What’s your problem?” Creevey asked without even offering lip service to proper manners and Blaise’s title. He grabbed his own wand bravely, futilely.
“I don’t have a problem, Muggle-born. You have a problem,” Blaise said. It hadn’t escaped his notice that, as a sixth-year student, Creevey still had yet to earn New Blood status.
Gritting his teeth, Creevey took one step forward and infringed upon Blaise’s personal space. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“Stalking my fiancée isn’t the smartest decision to make, assuming you want to live to see your disgusting Muggle family again,” Blaise sniped.
“Are you threatening me, Zabini? I’m not afraid of you,” Creevey scoffed, though he retreated a step.
“No, I’m not threatening you. I’m ordering you to back off.”
Blaise sneered when Creevey straightened his shoulders as if to square off against him in a duel. The little Gryffindor was even more foolish than he had thought. Everyone with a lick of sense knew what happened to men who tried to get too close to Lady Hypatia Potter.
“You should be, though. You should be very, very afraid,” Blaise stated.
Creevey snorted and rolled his eyes. “What are you going to do, Zabini? Sick your dad on me, like Malfoy always threatens? You’re just a spoiled prince hiding in the shadow of a king.” He laughed mockingly, cheeks twitching with mirth.
Blaise resisted the intense urge to thrust his wand through Creevey’s eye. No one with even the slightest hint of intelligence spoke about his father. Thirteen years later, he and his mother still hadn’t made peace with what had happened. And to imply that he—Heir Blaise Zabini—was anything at all like that whinging prat Draco made him chuckle darkly. It was broken and bitter, rough and jagged, causing Creevey to fall silent.
Draco’s father spoiled him rotten.
Blaise’s father had been murdered by someone who desired his mother—Helen, the Lady Zabini. She had been named for Helen of Troy, and her story had been just as tragic. But unlike Helen of Troy, his mother hadn’t been content to let men drag her where they willed. She married the man who murdered her true love, and then ensured he tragically died before he could ever touch her.
Such a revenge was too simple for the likes of a Zabini, too pleasant, not nearly painful enough for the loss of true love and a sealed bonding. So his mother lured the murderers’ allies away from their fiancées, their contracts, and then killed them one after the other, without letting any of them touch her.
People could mock his stepfathers all they wanted; he didn’t care in the least. But no one dared to speak ill of Blaise’s birth father. Not in his presence. Not in his mother’s. Unless, of course, they courted death.
“How blind you are, little lion. How very, very blind. I’m nothing like Draco. I fight my own battles, and I always emerge the victor,” Blaise said.
How should he punish Creevey? Unfortunately, the Unforgivables would set off alarms in the Headmaster’s Office. Oh, how dearly Blaise wished to Cruciate him.
“I don’t believe you,” Creevey said.
Blaise’s laughter was malicious and raised the hair on his own arms. “Oh?” He grinned with vicious amusement and began circling Creevey. “And who do you suppose pushed McLaggen down seven flights of stairs? Who do you think poisoned Boot? Who cast the Blasting Curse point-blank at Diggory’s ribcage? Who tampered with Flint’s broom, ensuring his three-month stay in St. Mungo’s? Who set fire to the Weasel’s hair? Who was responsible for Smith’s near drowning?” he whispered, delighting in how pale Creevey’s skin grew with each new revelation. It might be unwise to gloat, but it wasn’t like he intended to let the whelp keep this memory anyway. “Why do you think Draco received a Troll on eleven consecutive potions last term? No one is safe from my wrath, Muggle-born. No one.”
“Tia doesn’t belong to you,” Creevey muttered.
Blaise paused, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Surely the Muggle-born had not dared to speak her name. He could not have shortened her beautiful, fierce name to such an intimate, tasteless caress.
“I said Tia doesn’t belong to you!” Creevey spat, cheeks ruddy. “She could never love someone like you. You’re a monster! You don’t deserve her! I’ll treat her right—”
Creevey’s mouth was still flapping, but Blaise didn’t hear a word escaping it. No one had ever dared to speak to him in such a manner. No one had ever made such assumptions or threats, and especially not to his face.
Lady Hypatia Potter was the only one for him since Blaise first saw her in Leisure Alley. He was five at the time and she was four. Her hair was the color of freshly spilled blood and her eyes were the color of Galleons.
It was common knowledge that her mother—Lily, the Lady Potter—was immensely popular while at school. It was said that Heir Sirius Black almost killed Mister Severus Snape to guarantee Heir James Potter would win her hand, though details on the matter were sketchy at best.
At five, Blaise had marched up to Lord James Potter and declared, “She’s mine!”
Lord Potter had chuckled and patted his head. “Oh?”
Blaise had nodded once, fiercely, and then kissed Hypatia’s hand. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her from me.” His magic fluttered at the words.
Lord Potter had knelt on the cobblestones of Leisure Alley and stared at him for several minutes in silence. Blaise withstood the evaluation, expecting it. He knew he wouldn’t be found unworthy. He was Heir Blaise Zabini, after all.
Finally, Lord Potter had clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, “Your father was a great man. I remember him saying almost the same thing to your mother’s father when he was eight. Aren’t you precocious.”
“There’s no point in waiting. I don’t want anyone else to think they have a chance. She’s mine,” Blaise insisted, feeling the truth of it in his magic and soul.
Then Lord Potter had changed, his face taking on a dark cant; his eyes had shifted from hazel to molten gold. An impish, cruel light overtook him. When he next spoke, there were layers to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “You’ll protect her with your life.”
“Yes,” Blaise had instantly agreed.
“You’ll be faithful.”
He nodded. Nothing else was acceptable. Even after his father’s death, despite what others may think, his mother was eternally faithful to his father. She would never let another wizard touch her. Blaise knew he would be the same way. All he wanted was the little girl that looked like a faerie of blood and gold. “On my honor, I swear it.”
Lord Potter had stood, a pleased grin splitting his face. He had inclined his head to Blaise’s mother and said, “I’ll owl her betrothal contract this afternoon.”
She had smiled down at Blaise then, pride beaming from her, and Blaise had stood even straighter under the light of her approval as she said, “We’ll await it, Lord Potter.”
As the Potters walked away, escorting the bloody faerie between them, Blaise had called, “What’s her name?”
Lady Potter had glanced over her shoulder, a secretive smile on her face, and whispered, voice sounding like wind chimes, “Lady Hypatia.”
Blaise had tilted his head back to meet his mother’s gaze, and she had smirked before whispering, “Most high. Supreme.”
Inhaling deeply, Blaise blinked back the memory.
This Muggle-born whelp had no right to say such things. Hypatia was his fiancée, and would soon be his bonded lady-wife.
Blaise’s wrist stilled. He turned his gaze to his left arm; he didn’t remember moving it. The tip of his wand was a deep violet, and Latin words perched on his tongue, having arrived there without conscious thought. His wand was aimed at Creevey, who lay on the floor trembling and crying. Blood seeped from countless wounds, staining the stones, and three ribs were protruding through his robes. His pupils were wide and not tracking motion anymore, and Blaise absently wondered if he had just committed murder for the first time.
“Obliviate,” a musical voice said.
Blaise spun around just as the spell slammed into Creevey.
“Hypatia,” he breathed.
His eyes devoured her form, both loving and hating that she had changed out of the shapeless school robes. Her current robes were fitted, corseted, white chiffon with gold stitching. Her sanguineous hair was a sharp contrast, drawing his attention as much as it ever had.
As he stalked toward her, he wondered if he had been faerie-struck by her as a child, even though he knew it was impossible given the Fae blood in his own line. It would explain his obsessive need to make her his and his alone.
“You need to be more careful, Blaise. You might have been caught,” Hypatia said, her gaze trained on him as he approached her. Her words warmed his soul.
Blaise was just over six feet tall and towered over Hypatia.
It was known, though few dared to speak of something so sacred aloud, that Mother Magic had assumed a mortal-esque form to birth the Lady Morgana after weaving her soul. Mother Magic wanted to give Merlin his heart’s desire—a loyal and lovely soul mate—for his faithfulness. So, Mother Magic had taken the image of Merlin’s dream woman and created the Lady Morgana.
Since that day, countless pureblood wizards had been faithful in serving Mother Magic and obeying the laws, rites, and customs, no matter how ancient they may be, in the hope that Mother Magic would see fit to create a soul mate for them as well.
“There are no portraits in this corridor, Hypatia. I wasn’t careless,” Blaise replied.
Hypatia sighed, “That’s not the point. He’s just a child.”
Images and thoughts flooded his mind, and Blaise realized he must have unconsciously used Legilimency on Creevey and ripped through his mind. “He’s hardly a child. I can assure you, Hypatia, his thoughts were anything but innocent.”
“Oh? I find that hard to believe. He’s like a puppy. What could he possibly have thought to make you angry enough to do this?” Hypatia demanded as she gestured at Creevey.
“Shall I demonstrate?” Blaise inquired.
Before Hyptia could respond, Blaise hooked his hands around the back of her thighs and lifted her into the air. She yelped and grabbed his shoulders for balance as he backed her into an alcove and against the nearest wall. Her supple, strong thighs locked around his waist. Blaise bit his lip in an effort to control himself.
“You were in this position, my love. Only you weren’t wearing anything,” he breathed against her ear.
Gasping, eyes wet with tears, Hypatia clung to Blaise. “I would never—” Her nails bit into his back. “You won’t let him do that to me. I know you won’t. Nor anyone else,” she whispered as she buried her face against his neck.
“I will kill anyone who attempts to make that a reality. I will curse anyone who fantasizes about it. You’re mine, my love,” Blaise said before kissing her neck. He nibbled her earlobe.
“Get your hands off her! You dishonorable—”
“Hush, Cassiopeia. It’s not what you think,” Master Rigel Black said as he peered into the alcove at Blaise and Hypatia, before turning to scowl at Creevey’s fallen form.
“No, I will not hush! Are you out of your mind?” Lady Cassiopeia Black fisted her hand as if she would punch him, wrinkling the bit of parchment she held. “He’s bloody well got her pinned to the wall, and she’s crying!”
If Blaise had been anyone but himself, he might have flinched at the accusation and released Hypatia. As it was, he knew the truth. And Hypatia’s nosy godsiblings weren’t going to force him to part from her, not when she was this shaken. He hadn’t seen her cry since her younger brother was thrown from his pegasus and almost died.
Rigel rolled his eyes at his twin sister. “How do you think this played out, then? Heir Zabini accosted her, and then what? Creevey rushed to save her? Dueled valiantly for her honor?” He waved a dismissive hand at the prone Gryffindor.
“That creep?” Cassiopeia asked, staring down at her fellow Gryffindor. She kicked Creevey in the shins. “He tried to sneak into the Prefects’ Bathroom last month to take pictures of Hypatia while she was bathing.”
“What?” Rigel yelled.
Hypatia paled and clutched Blaise more tightly, as if she would be physically sick without his support. She trembled against him, her magic withdrawing to form a shield around her. Vulnerability wafted off her, when she was usually so strong.
She stared at Cassiopeia in disbelief, as if she had never heard that before. Judging by the embarrassed chagrin on Cassiopeia’s face that just might be the case.
“You should have told me,” Blaise stated.
Had Creevey been the only one? Were other wizards doing the same? The thought of that Muggle-born, or anyone for that matter, having a camera and being in Hypatia’s presence while she bathed made him homicidal.
Was nothing sacred anymore? High Lord Salazar Slytherin had the right of it—those born of Muggles had no place in their world, especially not if this was how they would treat ladies in general, and particularly those blessed by Mother Magic.
“I handled it,” Cassiopeia replied, resembling a Black for the first time since Blaise had met her.
“How?” Rigel asked.
Cassiopeia chuckled. “You don’t want the details.”
“I do,” Hypatia said as she leaned back against the wall. She unhooked her legs from around Blaise’s waist and slid to the floor, eyes dry and burning with an unholy light. “I do.”
The smirk on Cassiopeia’s face reminded Blaise of the last time he had seen Lord Sirius Black in the same room as Professor Severus Snape.
“Let’s just say that whatever Creevey’s desires and fantasies might have been, he never would have been able to act on them. If you catch my meaning.”
“The Impotence Curse is illegal,” Blaise said. The thought of Creevey being unable to perform at all filled Blaise with a ferocious delight. Suffering rightly befell all who coveted his lady.
Cassiopeia smiled innocently. “But he’s a Muggle-born, and I’m the Black Heiress. And Hypatia is the Potter Heiress. Name one law that would allow for a conviction in his favor given his actions.”
“There aren’t any,” Rigel replied.
“Precisely.”
Hypatia went and gave her godsister a hug. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”
Laughing, Cassiopeia said, “Just this morning, when I styled your hair. But I appreciate it all the same. And, of course, I love you too.”
“Then why,” Hypatia asked, voice frigid as an iceberg, “did you imply Blaise was forcing himself upon me?”
Satisfaction shone from Cassiopeia’s haunting gray eyes as she said, “Because I needed to know something.”
“Oh?” Hypatia bit out. She traced her wand up her godsister’s throat. “What’s that?”
“I already knew Heir Zabini’s heart. He chose you when he was five, Hypatia. Your father and his mother signed the betrothal contract. You’ve been wearing the Zabini protection anklets since you were four. He’s been cursing, hexing, and maiming people to protect you since you came to Hogwarts.”
Blaise listened to each truth, wondering where Cassiopeia was heading with all these statements. Rumor said she was a Seer, like Cassandra of Troy. But as the daughter of Helen, Blaise wouldn’t be ignorant and discount her words. The Blacks would have smothered the rumors if they weren’t true. There would be a point to the offensive slight she had spoken earlier.
“And here you are, all grown up.” Cassiopeia circled Hypatia, fingers skimming her shoulders. “You’ve been seventeen for months now, and not only aren’t you bonded, but you haven’t even kissed him yet.”
Hypatia flinched.
“You haven’t truly chosen him yet. I wanted to see if you would defend him. You did. Why?”
“Because...”
Blaise’s gaze narrowed when Hypatia didn’t finish her thought aloud. After all this time, after all he had done, after all he had offered, did she not wish to bond with him? Was his love in vain?
“Why?” Cassiopeia demanded.
“Leave her alone,” Rigel said.
“Silence!” Cassiopeia’s voice rang with authority. Her face was sharper, pointier, as if some mystical entity possessed her. “Why do you defy My will? Why do you not choose your chosen one? For truly, your souls match. I have made it so.”
Hypatia ducked her head and hunched her shoulders. Her answer was almost inaudible. “He doesn’t love me, Mother. He just thinks I’m pretty.”
Blaise swayed and stumbled against the nearest wall.
“He says I’m his, but never”—Hypatia sighed and hugged herself—“never that he loves me.”
The entity—Mother Magic, of course it was Mother Magic—in Cassiopeia’s body kissed Hypatia on the crown of her head. “How like my precious Morgana. You are so similar in temperament.” Mother Magic stroked her cheek. “She doubted Merlin’s love, as well.”
“What?” Hypatia choked out.
Blaise almost said the same, unable to imagine the Lady Morgana doubting Merlin’s love for her. Every pureblood wizard knew that he had worshiped the ground his lady walked upon. Every pureblood wizard knew he had slaughtered all of her enemies. Every pureblood wizard knew he had treated her gently, carefully, honoring her life with every part of himself.
Lady Morgana had been unsure of him?
Just as Hypatia, apparently, was unsure of Blaise. That thought cut to the quick.
“Has not your Heir Zabini called you ‘my love’ on more than one occasion?”
“It’s just a saying. Papa calls chaos, and pranks, and Firebolts, and treacle tart, and countless others things my love,” Hypatia replied, eyes shadowed with pain.
“Has not your Heir Zabini held you close and kissed your neck just minutes ago?” Mother Magic challenged.
Hypatia stared at her toes and answered, “He said it was a demonstration of Creevey’s thoughts.”
The catch in her voice made Blaise wince. Had Hypatia truly not understood him? Had he held so fiercely onto the reins of his emotions that she hadn’t felt his passion for her? His ever-aching need? His desperate desire? His unending love?
Cassiopeia’s eyes radiated cold moonlight as they turned upon Blaise. “Now is the time to prove yourself, Heir Zabini.”
She barely had time to step back before Blaise hugged Hypatia to his chest. “I will.”
Then Blaise released the reins on his emotions, allowing everything he usually kept locked away to surge forward in an instant.
He was peripherally aware of Cassiopeia dragging Rigel away, Creevey Levitating behind them, but only paid it a passing thought. He had a much more important task at hand—convincing Hypatia that he loved her.
“Merlin honored Lady Morgan le Fay,” he said, “and I will honor you, Lady Hypatia the Fae.”
“Blaise, I—”
Blaise threw his magic over hers, blanketing it, and poured his obsessive, possessive, protective desires into her own magic. He hurled his aching love, his need, his want, and his gentler emotions: joy at seeing her, longing for their bonding, wishing for their children, but mostly—prominent among all others—his resolute, unshakable, unvanishing, eternal love for her.
“You’re mine,” he growled.
Blaise noticed the exact moment when her aureate eyes finally shone with understanding. All these years, every possessive declaration had been a confession of Blaise’s love. And she hadn’t heard it until now.
Hypatia put her hands on his shoulders and stretched upward on her tiptoes; Blaise bent down to accommodate her. She leaned their foreheads together and stared into his eyes, then nodded acquiescently.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
And then Hypatia was kissing him, her hands buried in his hair.
As he claimed her mouth and held her as tightly as he could without hurting her, Blaise thanked Merlin that his ancestors had always followed the Ancient Ways.
The love of the blood and gold faerie was beyond price.