HP Fanfiction - "Welcome to the World"
Title: Welcome to the World
Author: mr_mercutio
Rating: PG-13 (Maybe R?)
Prompt Set: 50.2
Prompt: 49 “Welcome”
Word Count: 1626
Summary: Alessandro Zabini awaits the birth of his latest child.
Warnings: Murder, Pureblood politics
Notes: Written for my “100 Quills” Zabini universe. Prompt list can be found here.
WELCOME TO THE WORLD
Alessandro Zabini sits alone in his chambers, waiting. He has been sitting for hours now, tense and aching to get up and pace or perhaps read or even throw himself out the window, but knowing that none of that would alleviate the dreadful weight of the waiting. No distraction could be enough to take his mind away from the moment, and so he has been simply sitting in his chair, occasionally sipping from a glass of wine and staring at the clock.
This is his own fault, he knows. It would be lovely to be able to place the blame on anyone else, and it’s very tempting to lay it squarely at the feet of Melusina. Indeed, when he had discovered her condition he had called her whore, vile succubus, accused her of plotting to steal part of his legacy away for herself. It had been comforting in the moment to strike her down, feel secure in his fortress of righteousness, but he had known even then that he should have been more careful. A man should not have a mistress if he cannot keep her from becoming pregnant.
The past months have felt achingly long and also terribly short, watching her stomach swell as the moons passed overhead. His lady wife had found out early on of course, and her calm practicality about the matter has been so much more awful than if she had screamed at him like a harpy.
“Well the child simply cannot be,” she had remarked. “Our children are your rightful heirs, by law and by the agreement between our families, and I will not have it compromising that in the slightest.”
He had wanted to scream at her, desperate for her to lash out against him, give him an excuse to be angry with her, but he had kept his temper. “What do you expect me to do, then?” he’d asked. “The child is of my blood, the sacred blood of our clan.”
Again, that infuriating calm smile from her. She’d patted his hand in sympathy. “You will think of something, husband. You have no other choice.”
A knock at the door interrupts his ruminations. “Enter,” he barks, rising from the chair. The servants had all been commanded not to bother him this night, and his lady wife and children are all at the summerhouse in Sicily, so he knows it can only be one person.
Pandora, his sister, flushed and unkempt but smiling, comes into the room. “Congratulations, brother,” she says. “It’s a girl. You have a daughter.” She comes forward to take his hands in hers. “She’s beautiful.” Her hands are firm and warm, soothing the tremble in his own.
“A girl,” he echoes. “Very good. She is healthy?”
His sister nods, still holding his hands. “She is perfect. No defects whatsoever. The spells confirm that she is of our blood. She is a Zabini.”
He sighs, freeing one hand to tug nervously at his beard. “Well, there goes that option,” he mutters.
“You knew she had been faithful, brother,” Pandora remarks. “The girl is besotted with you, Merlin only knows why.” She hesitates for a moment. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“It’s the only way.”
“Well, we’d best get on with it then, hadn’t we?”
They walk in silence through the corridors, seen only by the portraits of their ancestors. Eight generations of Zabinis watching them, silent and waiting. They knew all the gossip of the family, knew the bastard had been born and that Alessandro was heading to deal with it. He can feel their flat eyes judging him and he wants to spit curses in their direction, demand whether none of them had ever made a mistake, ever produced bastards to threaten the line of succession. He knows at least one of them must have, but the family history always glosses over these little blemishes in an otherwise glorious saga. As he would gloss over this when his time came as well. It is what is done, he knows, and his imprecations fall silent.
The room Melusina is in stinks of blood and sweat, though it has been spelled clean by Pandora. It is a familiar smell, one that had embraced him every time one of his children had been born. Before it was welcome, the sign that he had another member of his family to hold close, but now it is mocking. He shakes his wand out of his sleeve and throws open the window, summoning a slight breeze to banish the stink.
His faithful old Healer, Angelo, nods at him from his place next to the bed. Sitting reclined against the headboard is Melusina herself. She looks so young, Alessandro thinks, her thin face wan and tired, but happy. In her arms is the child, swathed in blankets. She looks up at him and smiles. “My lord,” she says. “Come see your daughter.”
He cannot meet her gaze, and looks instead at Angelo. “All is well, then?”
“Yes, my lord,” the Healer says.
Alessandro nods once. “That will be all then.” Angelo bows and quickly leaves, casting a pitying look at the girl in the bed. Pandora sighs a little and glances questioningly at her brother, who nods once.
“Come now dear, let me see the little angel,” she croons, coming over and holding her arms out to Melusina. The girl hesitates for a moment, but then smiles and gently places the baby in the cradle of Pandora’s arms. “Hello,” Pandora whispers, tracing a finger over the tiny face. She rises from the bed and begins to walk out of the room.
“Lady Pandora?” asks Melusina. “Where are you going with my baby?”
“Hush,” says Alessandro, sitting down in a chair next to her. “She’ll be fine.”
“I want my baby!” protests the girl, trying to sit up. He lays a hand on her shoulder and presses her back down. He can feel her trembling under his hand, sees the tears starting to well up in her remarkable blue eyes. “Where is she going with my baby?”
He sighs. “This is my fault,” he says to her, “and I am sorry, my dear. I’m sorry I said all those things to you when you told me. You’ve been nothing but faithful.”
She reaches out and takes his hand in hers. “You are the only man in my life, my lord,” she whispers. “I love you.”
“I know you do, Melusina. I know you do.” He pulls his hand away from hers, reaching up and tugging at his beard. “I’m very sorry I wasn’t more careful. I know that you never meant any harm.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s fine. It’s fine.”
He leans over and places a kiss on her forehead. “I promise she’ll be taken care of,” he murmurs against her skin. His wand comes up between them and taps against her breast. “Avada Kedavra.”
He doesn’t want to see the life snuffed out of those blue eyes, so he pushes the corpse away from him to fall with its face towards the wall. She’d been the best of his mistresses, so vivacious and pretty. He hated that it had to come to this, but it was the only way. The girl would have wanted more, wanted a part of her daughter’s heritage, and that could never be. No, this was the only way.
Pandora is waiting for him in the next room. “It’s done then?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Poor thing.”
He grunts in assent and then collapses into a chair. “Everything is prepared for you. There’s a carriage waiting to take you, Angelo and the child to the cottage in Trento. Once Angelo determines that she is ready, there will be a portkey made to take you to the estate in England. I have opened a vault in the Gringotts in London for you, and I will see to it that it is kept full.”
“I know all this, brother.”
“It is imperative that you understand, Pandora. You know this is exile for you. You cannot come home as long as she is with you.”
She looks down at the face of the sleeping baby and smiles. “It’s fine,” she says firmly. “I want this. I’ve wanted this for such a long time.”
“I’m glad some good can come of my folly,” he mutters.
Pandora moves next to him and holds out the baby. “Look on your daughter and name her, my brother,” she says formally.
He trembles a little as he takes the girl in his arms. Each time he has held a newborn he feels this rush of helplessness, and it is both comforting and terrible to feel it now, looking down at his new daughter. Her tiny eyes open to look up at him, and it is a relief that they are the Zabini green and not the blue of her mother. He brushes a kiss on her little head, knowing that he will never see her again. “This is my daughter,” he announces to the room as though his audience is more than just Pandora. “I name her Isabella for my grandmother, and Morgana for our great ancestor. She is of my blood, of the blood of the Zabinis. May she be strong in her magic and make her family proud.”
His voice cracks a little, and he frowns at himself. It was harder than he’d expected, letting the child go, though he supposed it was a credit to himself. The baby was, after all, a Zabini. The circumstances of her birth were not her fault.
Pandora gathers the baby back into her arms, pausing a moment for Alessandro to rest his hand on Isabella’s head. “Welcome to the world, daughter,” he whispers. “Goodbye.”
Author: mr_mercutio
Rating: PG-13 (Maybe R?)
Prompt Set: 50.2
Prompt: 49 “Welcome”
Word Count: 1626
Summary: Alessandro Zabini awaits the birth of his latest child.
Warnings: Murder, Pureblood politics
Notes: Written for my “100 Quills” Zabini universe. Prompt list can be found here.
WELCOME TO THE WORLD
Alessandro Zabini sits alone in his chambers, waiting. He has been sitting for hours now, tense and aching to get up and pace or perhaps read or even throw himself out the window, but knowing that none of that would alleviate the dreadful weight of the waiting. No distraction could be enough to take his mind away from the moment, and so he has been simply sitting in his chair, occasionally sipping from a glass of wine and staring at the clock.
This is his own fault, he knows. It would be lovely to be able to place the blame on anyone else, and it’s very tempting to lay it squarely at the feet of Melusina. Indeed, when he had discovered her condition he had called her whore, vile succubus, accused her of plotting to steal part of his legacy away for herself. It had been comforting in the moment to strike her down, feel secure in his fortress of righteousness, but he had known even then that he should have been more careful. A man should not have a mistress if he cannot keep her from becoming pregnant.
The past months have felt achingly long and also terribly short, watching her stomach swell as the moons passed overhead. His lady wife had found out early on of course, and her calm practicality about the matter has been so much more awful than if she had screamed at him like a harpy.
“Well the child simply cannot be,” she had remarked. “Our children are your rightful heirs, by law and by the agreement between our families, and I will not have it compromising that in the slightest.”
He had wanted to scream at her, desperate for her to lash out against him, give him an excuse to be angry with her, but he had kept his temper. “What do you expect me to do, then?” he’d asked. “The child is of my blood, the sacred blood of our clan.”
Again, that infuriating calm smile from her. She’d patted his hand in sympathy. “You will think of something, husband. You have no other choice.”
A knock at the door interrupts his ruminations. “Enter,” he barks, rising from the chair. The servants had all been commanded not to bother him this night, and his lady wife and children are all at the summerhouse in Sicily, so he knows it can only be one person.
Pandora, his sister, flushed and unkempt but smiling, comes into the room. “Congratulations, brother,” she says. “It’s a girl. You have a daughter.” She comes forward to take his hands in hers. “She’s beautiful.” Her hands are firm and warm, soothing the tremble in his own.
“A girl,” he echoes. “Very good. She is healthy?”
His sister nods, still holding his hands. “She is perfect. No defects whatsoever. The spells confirm that she is of our blood. She is a Zabini.”
He sighs, freeing one hand to tug nervously at his beard. “Well, there goes that option,” he mutters.
“You knew she had been faithful, brother,” Pandora remarks. “The girl is besotted with you, Merlin only knows why.” She hesitates for a moment. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“It’s the only way.”
“Well, we’d best get on with it then, hadn’t we?”
They walk in silence through the corridors, seen only by the portraits of their ancestors. Eight generations of Zabinis watching them, silent and waiting. They knew all the gossip of the family, knew the bastard had been born and that Alessandro was heading to deal with it. He can feel their flat eyes judging him and he wants to spit curses in their direction, demand whether none of them had ever made a mistake, ever produced bastards to threaten the line of succession. He knows at least one of them must have, but the family history always glosses over these little blemishes in an otherwise glorious saga. As he would gloss over this when his time came as well. It is what is done, he knows, and his imprecations fall silent.
The room Melusina is in stinks of blood and sweat, though it has been spelled clean by Pandora. It is a familiar smell, one that had embraced him every time one of his children had been born. Before it was welcome, the sign that he had another member of his family to hold close, but now it is mocking. He shakes his wand out of his sleeve and throws open the window, summoning a slight breeze to banish the stink.
His faithful old Healer, Angelo, nods at him from his place next to the bed. Sitting reclined against the headboard is Melusina herself. She looks so young, Alessandro thinks, her thin face wan and tired, but happy. In her arms is the child, swathed in blankets. She looks up at him and smiles. “My lord,” she says. “Come see your daughter.”
He cannot meet her gaze, and looks instead at Angelo. “All is well, then?”
“Yes, my lord,” the Healer says.
Alessandro nods once. “That will be all then.” Angelo bows and quickly leaves, casting a pitying look at the girl in the bed. Pandora sighs a little and glances questioningly at her brother, who nods once.
“Come now dear, let me see the little angel,” she croons, coming over and holding her arms out to Melusina. The girl hesitates for a moment, but then smiles and gently places the baby in the cradle of Pandora’s arms. “Hello,” Pandora whispers, tracing a finger over the tiny face. She rises from the bed and begins to walk out of the room.
“Lady Pandora?” asks Melusina. “Where are you going with my baby?”
“Hush,” says Alessandro, sitting down in a chair next to her. “She’ll be fine.”
“I want my baby!” protests the girl, trying to sit up. He lays a hand on her shoulder and presses her back down. He can feel her trembling under his hand, sees the tears starting to well up in her remarkable blue eyes. “Where is she going with my baby?”
He sighs. “This is my fault,” he says to her, “and I am sorry, my dear. I’m sorry I said all those things to you when you told me. You’ve been nothing but faithful.”
She reaches out and takes his hand in hers. “You are the only man in my life, my lord,” she whispers. “I love you.”
“I know you do, Melusina. I know you do.” He pulls his hand away from hers, reaching up and tugging at his beard. “I’m very sorry I wasn’t more careful. I know that you never meant any harm.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s fine. It’s fine.”
He leans over and places a kiss on her forehead. “I promise she’ll be taken care of,” he murmurs against her skin. His wand comes up between them and taps against her breast. “Avada Kedavra.”
He doesn’t want to see the life snuffed out of those blue eyes, so he pushes the corpse away from him to fall with its face towards the wall. She’d been the best of his mistresses, so vivacious and pretty. He hated that it had to come to this, but it was the only way. The girl would have wanted more, wanted a part of her daughter’s heritage, and that could never be. No, this was the only way.
Pandora is waiting for him in the next room. “It’s done then?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Poor thing.”
He grunts in assent and then collapses into a chair. “Everything is prepared for you. There’s a carriage waiting to take you, Angelo and the child to the cottage in Trento. Once Angelo determines that she is ready, there will be a portkey made to take you to the estate in England. I have opened a vault in the Gringotts in London for you, and I will see to it that it is kept full.”
“I know all this, brother.”
“It is imperative that you understand, Pandora. You know this is exile for you. You cannot come home as long as she is with you.”
She looks down at the face of the sleeping baby and smiles. “It’s fine,” she says firmly. “I want this. I’ve wanted this for such a long time.”
“I’m glad some good can come of my folly,” he mutters.
Pandora moves next to him and holds out the baby. “Look on your daughter and name her, my brother,” she says formally.
He trembles a little as he takes the girl in his arms. Each time he has held a newborn he feels this rush of helplessness, and it is both comforting and terrible to feel it now, looking down at his new daughter. Her tiny eyes open to look up at him, and it is a relief that they are the Zabini green and not the blue of her mother. He brushes a kiss on her little head, knowing that he will never see her again. “This is my daughter,” he announces to the room as though his audience is more than just Pandora. “I name her Isabella for my grandmother, and Morgana for our great ancestor. She is of my blood, of the blood of the Zabinis. May she be strong in her magic and make her family proud.”
His voice cracks a little, and he frowns at himself. It was harder than he’d expected, letting the child go, though he supposed it was a credit to himself. The baby was, after all, a Zabini. The circumstances of her birth were not her fault.
Pandora gathers the baby back into her arms, pausing a moment for Alessandro to rest his hand on Isabella’s head. “Welcome to the world, daughter,” he whispers. “Goodbye.”