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On a flat hill, protected from curious passers-by and day-trippers by clever privacy protection, stands a manor house of such symmetrical perfection that it almost looks like a painting.
The windows are tall and elegant, a circular driveway leads up to the main entrance, adorned with a grand set of dark double doors that look like they had withstood centuries of use and had welcomed hundreds of posh guests. The sandstone walls glisten in the bright sun of a summer’s afternoon, glistening in an almost golden shine.
All around the manor house, the air is filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the sound of birds chirping in the trees; birds so colourful and with such extraordinary plumage that they hardly seem indigenous to the Belgravia property, bordering Hyde Park.
At the back of the house a round glass table with a few chairs set up, the frames painted white and artistically curved. A tent-like parasol provides shade for two people, a woman and a man, both of the same graceful appearance, the same cunning eyes, youthful brown skin, and prominent high cheekbones, unmistakably alike.
They sit there in silence, looking out over the garden where the colourful birds are flying about, and both remain completely unfathomed as one of the doors to the house behind their backs opens and a tray comes hovering through. It carries a set of dainty china, and as soon as the tray comes to a halt and lowers itself onto the garden table, it sets to work serving tea–a twist of lemon for the lady's cup, no extras for the other.
The woman makes a small gesture with her hands, gloved in white satin, deliberately avoiding leaving the sharp edge of the shadow cast by the parasol, and the next moment the saucer with the cup on it floats into her open palm. She holds it there for a minute or two, seemingly lost in thought, until she takes a first careful sip, closing her eyes to savour the rich flavours.
Mrs Zabini (smiling): Remember how you used to chase the birds when you were a little boy?
Blaise: Hardly. (He raises an eyebrow.) I remember mustering at ungodly hours and cramming during holidays.
Mrs Zabini: And look into what a clever, young gentleman it has made you, my darling.
(Blaise smiles affectionately. While he sips his tea, the smile gradually vanishes until it is replaced by thoughtfulness.)
Blaise: I must admit, Mother, it feels unreal that you’re getting married again. Especially since I barely know the man you have chosen. All I know is that he’s of Muggle descent, which—to be quite candid—surprised me, given the . . . beliefs you used to hold.
Mrs Zabini: Oh, my dear son, I know this must be confusing to you. But one must move with the times, my dear. You may have grown up in a world where the purity of blood opened all doors, but that's history now that the Dark Lord has fallen. Remember, every next step in your life will de—
Blaise: —will demand a different version of yourself, yes, I know. But given the new agenda of authenticity they’re spouting these days; don’t you think you could have done better? Could you have found someone you like to drink champagne with, go shopping with, go on cruises with?
Mrs Zabini (turning towards him, genuinely): It’s perfect, Blaise, he’s perfect. One day you, too, will realise just how small the wizarding world is, how you know every name and every face. Expanding into the Muggle world to find a proper suitor has been quite convenient for me. I assure you, Mr Avery is a very fine gentleman with a flair for investing in trendy businesses and selling them at the right time. A true self-made man, my darling.
Blaise: But . . . (Slight pause. He rearranges his chair to face away from the sunny garden and towards his mother instead, a frustrated look on his face.) But that can’t be all, can it? There must be something you have in common, something that connects.
Mrs Zabini: But of course! Mr Avery is an accomplished man, that’s what I was trying to say.
Blaise: Mother, I can see that there's more to this than meets the eye. You've always been secretive, but this time it feels different. There's a tension in the air whenever you mention Mr Avery, like you're hiding something.
Mrs Zabini (pausing for a moment, her smile fading): Blaise, my love, there are certain things that you're not ready to understand just yet. Trust me, everything I do, I do with our best interests at heart. Mr Avery is a man of great potential, and our union will bring us new opportunities, both in the magical and Muggle world.
Blaise: Opportunities? What kind of opportunities, Mother? I thought we had everything we needed. We have wealth, social standing, and a comfortable life. We’ve got off cheaply after the war and are living quite handsomely. (He gestures towards the garden, then to the mansion, before he leans closer to Mrs Zabini.) Why do we need more?
Mrs Zabini (her eyes glinting with a mix of determination and something darker): It's not just about what we have, Blaise. It's about what we can gain. What we need to maintain, not only for today and tomorrow, but for our future, Son. Everything comes at a cost, my dear. Life's cruelty will demand that you learn this someday. (She tenderly caresses Blaise’s cheek, a wistful expression on in her dark eyes.) Blaise, my dear, I understand your concerns, but you must have faith in me. Soon, everything will fall into place, and you will see the brilliance of our future. For now, let us enjoy this moment, this beautiful day, and cherish the bond between us. There will be time for more discussions, but let's not spoil this precious time together.
(Blaise hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching his mother's face for any sign of doubt. Eventually, he nods reluctantly, realising that he won't be able to change her mind at this moment.)
Blaise: Very well, Mother. I trust you. But answer my initial question, if you will. Does this fella mean something to you? Anything beyond the money?
Mrs Zabini (smiling to herself): Oh, you can’t imagine how much he means to me.
~
Crystal chandeliers reflect off the gleaming marble floor. Velvet upholstered sofas surrounded by mirrors are standing ready to receive guests for the fitting of selected pieces of jewellery, showcased in swish glass cabinets. Some of the gems have an ethereal glow to them. An otherwise solid looking aquamarine one seems to flow like water on the inside, with blue reflections moving underneath it as if one were to look through an aquarium. Another one seems to catch the lights of the shop in an extraordinary way, its sand-coloured surface sparkling brighter than the most high-carat diamonds.
A smartly dressed witch stands behind one of the cabinets, her hands crossed behind her back. She’s wearing a set of black dress robes with a sleek, long fishtail, her hair is bound back in an austere bun. Not a single hair seems out of place.
A soft bell chimes as Mrs Zabini enters.
Jewellery Designer: Mrs Zabini, I am delighted to see you.
Mrs Zabini (smiling): Good afternoon. I'm in need of something truly extraordinary for my upcoming wedding.
Jewellery Designer (enthusiastic): Of course, Mrs Zabini. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials. We have everything from flawless diamonds to white and yellow gold to the most exquisite Urals-sourced osmium. What kind of jewellery are you envisioning for the big day?
Mrs Zabini: I want nothing but the most exclusive and captivating pieces. (Her eyes start scanning the glittering displays full of exquisite jewellery.) I want to leave everyone breathless when they see me walk down the aisle. We already have our wedding rings planned, you see, my dear. What I need is an eye-catcher for my décolleté.
Jewellery Designer: I have just the thing for you. (She draws her wand in a dexterous gesture and turns towards one of the cabinets to unlock it.) How about a necklace adorned with a rare magical gem that shimmers with a bewitching glow? It will capture the light perfectly and enhance your beauty.
Mrs Zabini (eagerly): Yes, that sounds marvellous! I want it to be the centrepiece of my ensemble, the envy of all who lay eyes upon it.
(The jewellery designer carefully opens a velvet-lined case, revealing a breath-taking necklace that seems to radiate its own ethereal light. She delicately lifts it out and places it in Mrs Zabini's gloved hands.)
Jewellery Designer: This necklace is crafted with moonstone extracted from the highest peaks of the Alpes, carefully enchanted to reflect light, especially moonlight. It symbolises femininity and intuition–a perfect choice for such a special occasion.
Mrs Zabini (gazing at the necklace in awe): It's quite stunning. The craftsmanship is remarkable.
Jewellery Designer: Thank you, Mrs Zabini. It was created with meticulous attention to detail to ensure it captures the essence of your beauty and the magic of your love.
Mrs Zabini: I must have it. (The jewellery designer is about to set to work to finalise the purchase.) But wait, my dear. This stone is particularly beautiful in the light of the moon, you say? It would be rather a waste to wear it in broad daylight, don’t you think? No. I must have it, but it shan’t be the necklace for the reception. I need something that will really captivate everyone.
Jewellery Designer: Of course, Mrs Zabini.
Mrs Zabini (intensely): Something that inspires true admiration in my guests. (She leans towards the jewellery designer, a conspiratorial smile on her lips.) Tell me, my dear, is there magic within any of those gems that can help with that? Something that makes them a little more likely to be nothing short of awe-struck by the sight of me, perhaps?
Jewellery Designer (eyes widening slightly): Well, the enchantments enhance the beauty of the jewellery. I’m afraid I don’t specialise in magic that affects the beholder rather than the wearer.
Mrs Zabini (chuckling): Of course, dear. Just a passing thought. But if someone were to look for an amulet with, say, an effect similar to a mild love potion, and if this someone were to be a customer willing to pay the adequate price for such a nifty enchantment, would you have any recommendations?
(The perfect professionalism the jewellery designer radiates vanishes for a moment. Hesitantly, she glances towards a door to the side of the shop, half hidden by dark, heavy curtains.)
Jewellery Designer: I have a special piece that might be just what you’re looking for, Mrs Zabini. It’s not as flashy as the moonstone one, not as glamorous. Its simple elegance may not be what you are looking for in terms of style.
Mrs Zabini (eagerly): But what can it do?
Jewellery Designer: The amethyst in the necklace has the ability to repel negative thoughts from those who look directly into it. If it works, the viewer will feel at peace, some will even feel happily befuddled.
Mrs Zabini: If it works? What does that mean?
Jewellery Designer: Like most mind magic, the effect can differ depending on the skill of the viewer. A decent Occlumens, for example, might not be influenced at all.
Mrs Zabini: Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem. You see, some of the guests will be of the Muggle kind.
(The jewellery designer nods cautiously before she leaves. It takes a minute until she returns with a black velvet case. Opening it, she reveals a pale golden necklace with a perfectly round, marble sized amethyst in the centre, its colour a deep, mysterious purple. Both women stare into it for a long moment, fascinated.)
Mrs Zabini: It’s marvellous.
Jewellery Designer: Beautiful.
Mrs Zabini: Stunning . . .
(She reaches out to trace one gloved finger across the stone, but the jewellery designer snaps the case shut, and Mrs Zabini recoils. Curiously, the shop owner watches as Mrs Zabini absentmindedly rubs the back of her hand. When their gazes cross, both return to their professional posture.)
Mrs Zabini: Thanks for your help, my dear. I must have it. I will take both the necklaces, this one for the reception and the moonstone one for the evening festivities.
Jewellery Designer: Wonderful. The total for those exquisite necklaces comes to . . . (Slight pause.) It will be 60,000 Galleons, Mrs Zabini.
Mrs Zabini (nonchalantly): Ah, money is no object when it comes to creating a truly unforgettable wedding. (She draws her wand and a pouch with a playful floral pattern on it. When she taps it with her thin black wand, Galleons start to appear out of thin air.)
Here you go. Do you take Muggle money too?
Jewellery Designer (surprised): You can also pay a deposit instead of the full amount if you wish.
Mrs Zabini: It's just a small token compared to the enchantment this necklace will bring to my special day. Keep the change.
Jewellery Designer (stammering): Th– Thank you, Mrs Zabini. Your taste and generosity are truly unmatched. I hope the necklace brings you all the joy and beauty you deserve.
Mrs Zabini (with a mysterious glimmer in her eyes): Oh, I have no doubt it will. Thank you for your assistance.
~
As guests step through the elaborately carved wooden double doors of Bewitching Weddings, they are greeted by a sight of awe-inspiring beauty. A hall stretches out before them, the tapestries on the walls depicting magical scenes and historical events of bygone eras. Intricate patterns, swirling with enchanting designs, guide guests along a path leading to the heart of the mansion.
In the grand hall, Mrs Zabini sits at a table covered in fabric swatches, flower arrangements and menu cards. The wedding planner, a meticulous and detail-oriented wizard, stands beside her, holding a clipboard.
Wedding Planner: Mrs Zabini, your wedding is shaping up to be an event to remember. The enchanted ice sculptures will add an ethereal touch. The dancing swans are so ice-cold—everyone will admire them. And the Ghost Tunes Quartet—we have them on a string, darling. Ever since you’ve invited Baron Manuhin, Benedetti simply can’t decline.
Mrs Zabini (nods): Excellent. But I want more. I want everything to be opulent, a feast for the senses. This is my eighth wedding, after all. It must outshine all the others.
Wedding Planner (smiling knowingly): I understand your desire for grandeur. We can incorporate floating candles and delicate fairy lights to create a magical ambiance. Oh! And for the ceremony, we could arrange a breath-taking flower arch, the epitome of romance.
Mrs Zabini: I want people to feel enchanted, to be completely captivated by the magic of the moment. Spare no expense with those flowers.
Wedding Planner (eagerly): Certainly, Mrs Zabini. We can bring in rare and exotic flowers from all corners of the wizarding world. Imagine a cascade of moonflowers and enchanted roses adorning the arch, their scent filling the air with an intoxicating allure.
Mrs Zabini (her eyes gleaming with anticipation): Yes, that sounds marvellous. I want the fragrance to linger, to cast a spell on everyone who attends.
Wedding Planner: And what about the reception? We can arrange for an exquisite menu, featuring delicacies from renowned chefs, each dish more tantalising than the last. We'll create an atmosphere that transports your guests to a realm of decadence and indulgence.
Mrs Zabini (smirking): Ah, yes. Food and drink fit for royalty. Let them revel in the pleasures of the night, unaware of the hidden secrets that lie beneath.
Wedding Planner (slightly puzzled): Hidden secrets, Mrs Zabini?
Mrs Zabini (quickly composing herself, offering a charming smile): Oh, just a figure of speech, my dear. The secrets of love and joy, hidden in every corner of this enchanted celebration. The mysteries of the foundations of an eternal bond.
(The wedding planner nods, seemingly satisfied with Mrs Zabini's explanation, though a flicker of doubt lingers in his eyes.)
Wedding Planner: Rest assured, Mrs Zabini, we will spare no effort in making this wedding an unforgettable experience. Your vision will come to life, and your guests will be enchanted beyond their wildest dreams.
Mrs Zabini (gazing into the distance): Enchantment is what I seek, my dear. Enchantment and the eternal beauty that it brings.
~
The St Agnes Café. High ceilings, patterned with a fancy stucco of stars and moons, span above the tables where guests are chatting, eating, and sipping warm beverages. A tray with delicate pastries is set on the table between Mrs Zabini and Mr Avery. Surprised and befuddled by the magic, Mr Avery nods and thanks the invisible attendant. When he sees his fiancé, undeterred by the magic surrounding them, he composes himself.
Mr Avery is a man in his late twenties, maybe thirty years of age, who hasn’t yet grown into his expensive looking dress shirt and serious-business-looking watch on his wrist. He squares his shoulders and flips back his stylish hair where it’s long on the crown of his head. He looks ill-placed, too modern between the robe- and hat-clad wizards and witches, some of which curiously eye him as he starts to sip his tea.
Mr Avery: You look beautiful today. I’ve missed you so much, babe.
Mrs Zabini (smiling): The feeling is mutual, Mr Avery. I'm delighted to have found such a kind and generous partner.
Mr Avery: It is a shame, though, that we haven't had much time to spend together. You’ve been so focussed on the wedding preparations that I hardly saw anything of you lately.
Mrs Zabini (feigning concern): I apologise, my dear. I want nothing more than to spend quality time with you once the wedding is behind us. (She discreetly rubs her gloved hands together, failing to mask the pain.)
Mr Avery: What’s wrong with your hands? I’d be sweating my tits off if I wore gloves and scarves and hats all day.
Mrs Zabini (scandalised): Mr Avery!
Mr Avery (raising his hands apologetically): Sorry, Moura. I know how you hate it when I let my mouth run away like that.
Mrs Zabini: (She leans back in her seat, satisfied with the apology.) I assure you, Mr Avery, once the wedding is over, we will have all the time in the world to enjoy each other's company.
Mr Avery (sincere): I hope so, babe. I've waited a long time to find someone like you. I didn’t know that there could be a bound between two people the way I feel connected to you. I want nothing more than to make you happy.
Mrs Zabini (nodding, her eyes sparkling as they scan the youthful skin of her soon-to-be husband): And I believe you will, my dear. Our future together—the possibilities it holds! They are endless.
Mr Avery (chuckling): Now, if that doesn’t sound romantic. (He leans in.) Babe, I know you want the wedding to be the real start of us, but how about we escape to my place for our rendezvous? It’s not far from here, my driver can take us. It’s a rooftop flat that overlooks the Thames. You can even see Buckingham Palace from the deck. It’s beautifully lit at night.
(His fingers reach out to trail over Mrs Zabini’s hands, but she coyly draws them back into her lap.)
Mrs Zabini: Mr Avery, I must insist on your patience. My standards may seem rather old-fashioned, but I must ask you to accept the ways in which the magical world works. The bond we will take, the promise we will give each other—you must understand that it can’t be compared to a Muggle ceremony. (A mysterious twinkle gleams in her eyes.)
Mr Avery (leaning back, intrigued): A magical bond? What exactly does that entail, Moura? (She gives him a strict glance.) Mrs Zabini.
Mrs Zabini: It's a sacred and ancient ritual, my dear. (She leans towards Mr Avery, lowering her voice. A sweet scent radiates from her hair.) When we exchange our vows under the magical bond, we make a profound connection, binding our souls together. It ensures a lifetime commitment and an unbreakable bond between us.
Mr Avery (nodding, fascinated): That sounds extraordinary. I must admit, I'm curious to experience such a unique ceremony. How will it be different from the weddings I know?
Mrs Zabini (smiling mysteriously): Oh, indeed. The magical bond ceremony is steeped in centuries of tradition and mystical practices. There will be rituals performed, ancient incantations spoken, and the power of magic harnessed to solidify our connection. It is a true merging of hearts and souls.
Mr Avery (amazed): It sounds like something out of a fairy tale. I never imagined our union would be so. . . enchanting. I’m (Slight pause. He’s searching for the right words.) I’m honoured to be part of it.
Mrs Zabini (reaching out to place her hand on his, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly): And I, Mr Avery, am equally honoured to have found a partner who embraces the magic and is willing to embark on this extraordinary journey with me.
Mr Avery (gently squeezing her hand): Mrs Zabini, I will embrace every aspect of our journey together. The magic, the traditions—I'll immerse myself in it all. I want to understand your world and be a part of it, for you and our future.
Mrs Zabini: That warms my heart, my dear. I've waited for someone who can truly appreciate the essence of who I am, who I want to be. Together, we'll create a bond that surpasses all others.
~
A windowless, dimly lit room beneath the shallow grassen hills of Hyde Park.
Mrs Zabini stands before an ornate, ancient-looking mirror. A stone pedestal before her, a massive cast-iron cauldron in the middle of the octagonal room. Clad in a white nightgown, she gazes at her reflection, her eyes filled with determination and a touch of madness. A dark ceremonial dagger and a tome with a tattered leather binding are neatly placed next to each other on the pedestal.
With a gloved hand, she raises the knife close to her face, observing the grey, decaying figure that appears in the dull blade for a split-second, a reflection of blind, dead eyes.
Mrs Zabini (facing away from the dagger, whispering to her reflection in the mirror): The time is upon us, my beauty. The time for the final sacrifice. The culmination of our desires. (Towards the dagger, tracing a finger along the blade, her voice laced with a macabre satisfaction.) My faithful companion. You’ve always served me well, and today you shall fulfil your purpose.
(Taking a deep breath, Mrs Zabini begins to prepare the ingredients needed for the ritual—a delicate dance of dark magic and ancient incantations. Her movements are precise and practiced, betraying the experience worth several lifetimes. The sounds of little bones being snapped, flesh and tendons being severed with a dull blade carry through the small, dimly lit chamber, accompanied by monotonous humming.)
Mrs Zabini (softly chanting, her voice carrying an air of both desperation and anticipation):
As the moon wanes and the stars align, let the promise, given blind, bind flesh and soul forevermore.
I call upon thee, ancient ones, guardians of the forbidden lore.
By the darkest hour of night's embrace, I invoke your power, the arcane grace.
Unleash the magic that lies within, let my desires manifest within our hungry embrace.
From realms beyond, where shadows dwell, grant me youth's eternal spell.
Let my beauty defy the hands of time, untouched by age, sublime and prime.
With blood and sacrifice I pay the cost to regain what I fear to be lost.
Let the ritual be sealed, the flesh forged in masquerade, as I invoke your magic, unafraid.
(Mrs Zabini takes a moment to admire the wedding ring she wears above her white gloves. Then she cautiously takes it off and draws the glove along, revealing dry, waxy skin. Tendons tautly span across it like spider legs. Between them, the skin opens to reveal black necrotic flesh. The putrefaction crawls up her arm for a good bit before the skin around the elbow starts to look healthier, more elastic. She tucks the golden wedding ring with a flawless diamond in the centre back onto her rotting finger.)
Mrs Zabini (smiling softly): Truly enchanting. (She mashes together the wet and dry ingredients, takes a good amount between her hands, and turns around to the cauldron. Inside, a familiar but distorted grimace stares back at her with unseeing eyes.) My beau, I’ve no words for the glorious deed you’ve done for me, my dear. The promise you’ve given me shall hold true eternally—two souls, one life. Oh, how I will cherish this gift, Mr Avery. I’ll be taking good care of myself.(A wet sound as she drops the ingredients into the mixture of skin and clotted blood. Affectionately, she runs her hand through a wisp of hair.) For the next cycle, I shall teach my darling son the ways of the ancient ones. Oh, how scared I was when I fell pregnant with him! Scared of what it would mean for the decades to come! But what a clever young gentleman he has grown to be! Like mother, like son. I know he will understand and cherish this gift once he’s ready. But for now, it is I who must safeguard the blood coursing through my veins.
(Mrs Zabini carefully stirs the concoction in the cauldron, the mixture swirling and bubbling with an eerie glow. Her eyes remain fixed on the distorted grimace within, her mind filled with anticipation.)
Mrs Zabini (her voice a chilling whisper): The time has come, my dear Mr Avery. The ritual of rebirth is upon us. Fear not, my love. Your sacrifice shall not be in vain. Your essence shall merge with mine, forever bound in this dark covenant. Our souls entwined, our futures entangled in the shadows.
Mrs Zabini turns her attention to the distorted grimace within the cauldron, her eyes gleaming with a twisted affection. With purposeful movements, she climbs into the cauldron until she’s entirely submerged in the maroon concoction. The chambre falls silent, but in between the cast-iron walls of the cauldron echo the screams of tormented souls, louder and louder, until they climax in a crescendo of madness.
At last, she breaks free from the viscous membrane that has built up on the surface of the concoction with a breath so desperate and deep that it might as well be her first one ever. Shakingly, she stands, grabbing onto the brim of the cauldron for stabilisation.
When she regains her breath and foothold, she strips off her wet gown to reveal the shoulders and breasts of a young woman. After climbing out of the cauldron, she takes a few purposeful steps through the room. With tender admiration, she traces her fingers along the cold, sleek surface of the mirror, the back of her hand smooth and young.