It was Christmas Eve and the Xanthos household was embellished with a tinsel of 1980s bling.
Eartha Kitt's Santa Baby boomed through the small space, overpowered only by Ray's off-pitch interpretation. He'd outdone himself that year, decorating every corner of the house with over-the-top ornaments to preserve the holiday spirit during such a turbulent time. His child-like excitement was not brought on by Christmas alone, but because it was the first time in months that his family was together.
And it would not be Christmas Eve if Romeo hadn't entered the house, shivering, with an armful of white envelopes carrying Christmas greetings.
„Fourty two of them," he announced, delivering them dutifully, his face a picture brighter than any card.
„Fourty two," echoed Ray in amazement, „My, I don't know how I'll fit all of them on my desk."
Leaving the box of ornaments behind, Ray proceeded to read through each card, peering over his glasses. The colorful pieces of cardboard were only a formality by which everyone could express their best wishes to the kind doctor, whom they loved and respected immensely.
Raymond Xanthos was the only doctor in the village of Barewick. Located just outside of London, the village was so little and irrelevant only its inhabitants knew that it had a name. He made it a point to establish his office right beside his home, so he'd always be available no matter what time of day or night it was.
„Such lovely people," he commented absentmindedly, smiling as he read.
Pocketing one of the white envelopes, Romeo wandered off to reach for another box, sorting through the ornaments he liked. The sly move didn't go unnoticed by his observant sister who decided to save her inquiry for later, far from the curious ears of their parents.
Once he'd read through all of the heartfelt cards, Ray wiped the corners of his teary eyes. „Romeo, would you grab that box? You must help me decorate this, we're not even halfway done!"
Romeo stuffed the crumpled envelope further down his jean pocket and picked up the large box, avoiding Ramona's all-seeing eyes.
"Dad, are you sure we have enough ornaments? This tree is... Is that a squirrel?!"
When Ray announced he'd bought the tree prior to the kids coming home, Ramona wasn't aware just how large the tree was going to be. It dominated the entire living room, massive branches hiding Romeo entirely from view as he wrapped the flickering, colorful lights around it. The boy was certain there was wildlife inside the tree, through his father loudly assured him otherwise. Packets of tinsel lied unopened on the carpeted floor, announcing the grandiosity of Ray's intentions.
„Oh yes!" Otis Redding's Merry Christmas Baby compelled Ray's limbs to move with the rhythm. He was trying his very best to brighten the mood, since neither Regina nor Ramona were too keen on celebrating. The tension between the two women could be cut with a knife and both men of the house pretended not to notice. Even though such a joyous, heartwarming sight filled Ramona's heart with a kind of peace she though impossible during such a time, it didn't show on her face. She was too preoccupied with the unspoken worries of her mother.
She sat on the floor, back against the couch and lips shut in a tight line. Her mother's skillful fingers weaved through her thick hair, braiding it patiently and with the utmost concentration. The agonizing amount of time she had to endure at her mother's mercy reminded her of why she hadn't worn her hair in cornrows for years.
"Keep still," hissed Regina, attempting to braid the last of her daughter's hair.
"Are you done?" Ramona whispered out, afraid her mother would lose it if asked the very same question for the fifteenth time. Regina opted not to answer, biting her tongue and sighing deeply, afraid she'd cuss her out for the impatience.
Scrapes of artex fell from the ceiling as Romeo wobbled on a ladder to hang the fairy. The horrid, tacky ornament was a gift from Ray's mother and he dutifully placed it on the tree each year, even after she'd passed and all four of them agreed they despised it.
The havoc of Ramona's complaining, Ray's singing and Romeo 'accidentally' breaking ornaments he didn't like continued until a loud, beeping noise startled the household.
"What in the world is that?" inquired a perplexed Ray over the music, dropping the tinsel as he glanced towards the kitchen.
"Darling, haven't you taken out the pie?"
"The pie?" he echoed, staring at his wife.
"Yes, the pie."
"Oh my!" Throwing the tinsel carelessly and consumed by sheer panic, Ray rushed into the kitchen as speedily as he could. His Christmas socks did little to keep him from slipping on the recently scrubbed kitchen tiles and the poor man barely caught himself in time, sprinting towards the thick cloud of grey smoke. Ramona had forgotten entirely about the pie, as had all of them. Ray's exasperated sighs and cries sounded loudly over the joyous holiday tunes.
"Romeo, check on your father won't you?"
Even before his mother had said it, Romeo was leaving his job behind and gathering courage to enter the kitchen. Once inside he proceeded to console his father, who began blaming 'the Christmas spirit' for completely throwing him off schedule. "It was the clock, I believe it is too slow. Perhaps- oh, perhaps I've heated the oven more than I should have. Yes, precisely. Or maybe- Romeo, did you touch the oven?"
Romeo began listing his own views on the subject but would not bring up what they all knew to be the true root of the problem. Even the rats living under their house could have concluded that Ray's grand failure was to be blamed on nothing other than his cooking skills. The man was a disaster in the kitchen, he'd even admitted to it many times, thus the excitement in his eyes once he exclaimed he was making a pie came as a shock to everyone. But his family was kind enough not to point it out.
"I'm sorry, everyone," he exclaimed, returning to the living room in shame. "I've tried my very best to provide a lovely Christmas Eve desert for this family. But I've been bested by the cooking gods."
"That's certainly it, dad," said Romeo, patting his father on the back.
"Right," said Regina, "Wouldn't you lot like to eat something unburnt? I'll whip up a pie in a moment."
"I'd be proud of my cooking skills too, if I were a magician," Ray grumbled, set on diffusing the tension. Romeo forced out a laugh.
"I'm a witch, not a magician."
"Yes, sweetheart, that's quite unfortunate. I've never seen you pull a rabbit out of a hat. Now, when you learn that trick, you can brag."
"Have you taken into consideration the Blibbering Humdinge?" asked Ramona.
"The what?"
"Blibbering Huminge. Nasty creatures, they are. I bet they sabotaged your pie," Ramona joked.
"Oh, perhaps you're right. I've not considered magical pests of any kind. Is this Bewildering Humdinger known to do such things?" Ray inquired, appearing genuinely interested in the subject.
"I'm afraid you'll have to ask a friend of mine, she's the expert on such creatures," she explained and Ray joyfully nodded along at the mention of a friend, genuinely interested in the topic.
"Friend?" Regina inquired, even before Ray was able to ask a question of his own.
"Yes."
"Who is this friend?"
"Luna Lovegood," Ramona explained. "Her father is Xenophilius Lovegood, he's editor of The Quibbler."
"I know Xenophilius," said Regina, in a tone of voice that indicated instant dislike.
"Then we must have them over sometime," Ray added gleefully, even though such a suggestion could only remain that. A suggestion.
"When all of this is over, of course," he stated, noticing his wife's shoulders tense. Romeo shot his sister a very brief, inquisitive look. She could see the mechanical cogs turning in his brain and knew it was only about time before he started asking questions.
"Are you two close?"
"Sort of," Ramona replied, cringing slightly as her mother's fingers pulled on her hair. Disclosing just how close she'd gotten with Luna would certainly send both her parents into cardiac arrest, since not even her brother knew of everything that had befallen their family.
"I didn't suppose you'd be too keen on befriending a Lovegood," Regina explained, as cordially as she could. "If she's anything like her... eccentric father."
"Luna is lovely," Romeo interrupted, not even looking at his mother as he spoke. "I, for one, am glad Ramona befriended someone so kind and genuine." His tone was curt and dismissive, rather uncharacteristic for him, but he didn't seem too much like himself ever since they'd gotten off the train.
Regina didn't attempt to make any further comments, accepting that she was outvoted and continued her diligent work. It wasn't long until mother and daughter were left alone, the two men discussing how much was too much when it came to festive decoration.
"You alright, mum? You seem... tense," Ramona spoke.
"I'm fine," the woman responded in a sickeningly convincing tone. Ramona was glad her mother couldn't see her eye roll.
"I was thinking about going to see auntie and Blaise tonight," Ramona announced, picking at her fingernails. She said it quietly enough for only her mother to hear, hoping the conversation would be brief and painless. But nothing about Regina Zabini was brief and painless.
"Oh." The sigh was one of mock surprise, used by her mother every time she pretended to ponder over a topic she'd eventually say no to.
"Is that alright with you?" The question itself, as it left Ramona's lips, was one of mock concern. She knew her mother was not alright with it in the slightest, but wondered what the excuse could be this time.
"Why would you even want to go?" she inquired, starting on the last braid. Regina attempted to sound aloof and surprised, though her words oozed with panic and she could not hide it.
"I haven't seen her in a long time."
"Exactly. Why now?"
"I miss her," Ramona said, hoping that alone would be enough. She hadn't seen her aunt in years on account of it being unsafe, but nothing was safe in the current climate. Seeing her aunt was, perhaps, even safer than going back to school. Regina didn't even dare use the safety argument, since she knew her daughter would retaliate with a fire of questions and accusations she wanted to avoid at all costs.
"But we don't know where she lives and-"
"Blaise gave me a portkey."
"I'm not sure it's safe to-"
"Blaise already spoke to her and assured me it's beyond safe. Besides I... I think it's time Romeo met her."
"You didn't mention your brother going as well," Regina accused, no longer attempting to hide just how much she disliked the idea.
"I think it would be good for him. She is his aunt too, after all." The words settled heavy on Regina's heart. She knew it was foolish to forbid it, since there was no apparent danger in Ramona seeing her aunt, but none the less she didn't like the idea. Even though she trusted her sister, she didn't trust her with her children. She trusted no one with her children.
"I don't want Romeo going."
"Mum, he is bound to find out," Ramona said, eyes trained on her brother. He discussed animatedly with his father, arguing about an enchanted ornament he'd gotten from a friend at school, and tried to explain that the candle wouldn't light the whole tree on fire since it was, in fact, enchanted. Ramona wanted him to salvage what he could of that happy Christmas Eve, for there was going to be very little salvageable once he became aware of everything.
"Not yet," Regina whispered out.
"When?" Ramona retaliated bitterly. "When you're imprisoned for murder? Or perhaps when you're killed for treachery?"
Regina said nothing while she finished braiding her daughter's hair, though she did so less gently from then on. The dark braids fell to the small of Ramona's back and Regina would have marveled at her work if she weren't so preoccupied.
"You're foolish for keeping it from me. I'm fully aware that he snitched," Ramona whispered out, turning to her mother. "Karkaroff snitched. He told someone we're alive and you're terrified of it."
Her dissecting gaze remained the same ever since she was a child and Regina knew there was very little she could do to beat around the bush. Ramona was like a dog with a bone. She wasn't going to stop digging until she sunk her teeth into it.
"Mother, please, say something. You've told me absolutely nothing ever since I came back from Durmstrang, only that we're not safe anymore. And that horrid letter you sent me, I-"
"I meant every word of it," Regina whispered, looking at her husband and son to make sure they weren't listening.
"Are you serious? How can you ask that of me?" Ramona accused, her sharp tone snapping Romeo's head in their direction. Roughly grabbing her wrist, Regina dragged her daughter to the kitchen.
"We've sacrificed everything to stay away from that life. From our old life. If the Dark Lord finds me, I-"
"You'll do whatever it takes to stay alive. It's not up for debate," her mother demanded, interrupting her declaration. The ferocity in her gaze ripped holes in Ramona's sternum, penetrating her lungs and rendering it impossible to take a breath.
"He'll kill me," Ramona whispered out. "I can't believe you think that another scenario could possibly exist."
"No, he won't," Regina said. "He respected your father, I'm the one he disliked. You must put on a show for him. Show him that you're still your father's daughter."
"Mum," Ramona whispered out almost desperately. Her mother seemed utterly mad, her wide, dark eyes lit with panic and chest rising and falling rapidly. She looked like a woman possessed as she spoke, barely recognizable in the flurry of panic and angst.
"It was foolish to think I could keep you out of this. There is no escaping them. And there is no place for weakness in this situation. Keep yourself and your brother alive, whatever the cost. If he wants to give you the Dark Mark, you take it. If he wants you to kill, you do it. It's not a question of weather or not you can, Ramona. You must. Whatever the price."
The woman's shoulders slumped as she faced her first-born, tired eyes settling upon a face so similar to her own. Ramona hadn't worn her hair in cornrows for years and, without the curls, each crevice of it was accentuated. Only then did Regina see just how much she'd grown and how pain had carved her features through the years.
Each time it felt like the walls were closing around her, Regina's immediate response was to keep Ramona at an arm's length. She never wanted her daughter to worry too much. But it never played out that way; where Regina thought that the walls were closing in on her and her alone, she often dismissed her daughter standing in her shadow, in that same room, with the same walls crushing them both. Ramona worried so much, worry almost became her.
"You demand this of me as if it's simple," Ramona said, outraged at her mother's requests.
"It isn't. That is exactly why I demand it. We do what we must to stay alive." She'd never seen her mother so unnerved. So desperate. So on edge. Regina had been calm and collected but ever since Karkaroff's death, something inside the woman snapped. The instinct to stay alive was overpowering common sense and perhaps, in that state of mind, burdening her seventeen-year-old daughter with demands of unflinching bravery seemed right. Justified, even. But to Ramona it sounded downright insane.
Even in such a state, with a sunken face and horrid, dark bags under her eyes, the vehement beauty of her mother struck her. Even though Regina had a knack for letting the fire inside of her consume her, and she'd simmer and burn for days on end, this time it was seeping out of every pore and destroying everything in it's wake. The gentle prettiness was no longer gentle, but vicious and feral.
"Mum, this is mad. Beyond mad! You can't tell me that you are actually asking this of me. Have you told Ray this grand plan of yours? We have friends mum, perhaps we could do something else, we could ask for help or-"
"Friends? Karkaroff was a friend and look where that's gotten us," she hissed.
"He would have died either way, and dying by breaking the unbreakable vow might have been kinder than dying at the hands of the Dark Lord. But the fact that you believe a kinder fate might await us-"
"You're a child, Ramona. I'm the parent. Don't attempt to lecture me." Regina's harsh words resonated through the empty kitchen. She wasn't about to listen to Ramona's rebuttal, having said everything so clearly and bluntly there was nothing for her daughter to do than comply. But Ramona was never the one to comply easily and thus she spit out her next words carefully, perhaps in an attempt to knock some sense into the frantic woman.
"A child? I was never a child," she gritted out, the bitter words biting her mother like frost. "Do you remember that time I found you bleeding out in the tub? I was nine! Was I a child then, mum? Or when I saw my father murdered in cold blood? I was six. Or better yet, that time he made me kill my own cat because it peed on our carpet? I was five fucking years old. Or maybe you've forgotten-"
"Watch your tongue," the woman snapped. "I've done everything in my power to keep you alive. You do not get to talk to me like this, you do not get to blame me for all of it."
"You can't possibly think I'm capable of handling all of this by myself. You're not thinking clearly mum, there are other ways to-"
"We never know what we are capable of until there comes a time where we must do it."
Regina left her standing in the kitchen without another word. Fear caged her mother, shackled her arms and imprisoned her brain. Her mother couldn't possibly ask this of her, could she? In that moment, Ramona knew she had to take matters into her own hands. No matter what her mother said.
Hours later Ramona found herself before the large, red door in mitten covered hands, snow clinging in small lumps to stray fibres. A long while had passed before the doorknob turned and Blaise's head peeked out, with a half-smile and eyes that promised a rising sense of warmth.
"Took you long enough," he joked, opening the door just enough for her to pass through it.
"Did you get my letter?" she inquired, launching herself towards the warmth of Blaise's house. The snowstorm had made the short period in which she waited for the door to open rather unbearable and she praised Ray for shoving the warm hat on her head before she left, since her hair was no longer a protective mess around her scalp.
"We did," he said, "And she isn't happy." The life-sized, morbid paintings and faded tapestry panels on the walls seem to blink at Ramona as she entered.
"I'm not happy either," Ramona announced. She haphazardly shoved the portkey in Blaise's hands, rapidly taking her mittens, scarf and coat off. She was beyond eager to finally see her aunt, to talk to someone who could, perhaps, straighten her mother out.
"Well, well, well," Blaise commented, taking her clothing and hanging it by the door. His house was large, larger than Ramona remembered it, and felt as empty as it always did. The grand, wooden staircase lead to a hallway of darkness and the entirety of the vast space seemed eerily quiet, except for Blaise's footsteps.
"What?"
"The hair. I'm used to... all the hair. But it looks nice."
"Of course it looks nice. I'm fucking hot," Ramona declared. Blaise snorted, giving her a once-over, taking in the dark, glitter-stained sweatpants and overly large and poorly knitted Christmas sweater Ray made for her. It was wonderfully loud and bright, a creepily disproportionate snowman displayed across her chest.
"Humble as always, cousin," he sighed. "Though I suppose it does take some delusion to feel remotely attractive in... that. Is that a melting snowman?"
"It's not melting, it's just got character. And don't be mean, Ray really tried. He knit you a sweater as well, just this morning," Ramona told him, handing Blaise the neatly-wrapped garment.
"A present? For me?"
Impatiently and giddily, Blaise unwrapped the present with child-like joy and pressed the sweater against his torso, marveling at the lovingly crafted image of yet another inordinate snowman with beady, red eyes.
"She really didn't let you bring Romeo along?" he inquired with an undertone of disappointment and observed himself in the nearby mirror, turning and posing as if he were standing before a camera. Ramona hadn't expected him to be so amazed with the sweater but by the way his eyes were marveling at her stepfather's creation, there was no doubt that Blaise loved the gift.
"No. I had to send you a letter before I came. Ray wouldn't let me leave without eating dinner first and it was hard to explain to Romeo where I was going. I'm just sure they were all stalling and trying to get me to stay, on mum's orders of course," Ramona said, walking over to her cousin.
"I already devised a plan of rescue as soon as you wrote that if you're not here by midnight, it means you need assistance. And don't worry too much. We'll deal with it all together. I could tell auntie wasn't herself when I saw her. Poor woman is scared out of her wits," Blaise breathed. "But fortunately for us, my stoic and eternally emotionless mother is as ready as ever."
"Don't be mean, Blaise."
"Oh, I'm being nice, trust me. If only I said what I meant," Blaise scoffed, throwing his arm around Ramona's shoulders and leading her through the large hallway, past the grand staircase and towards the only open door.
"Malfoy wrote to me this morning," Blaise whispered in her ear, just as they were about to enter the room. He spoke so quietly she could barely hear him. "He told me he didn't dare write to you, in case someone found out where you lived. The situation in the manor is horrid, and he asked me to tell you not to return to Hogwarts."
"Is there something in the air these days?" Ramona inquired just as quietly. "Both he and my mother seem out of their wits."
"Won't you even consider it?"
"We'll talk about this later," she demanded, sighing heavily and stepping into the room, Blaise's arm falling off her shoulders.
The living room was dimly lit and large, just like any room in the house, and filled with old furniture and useless clutter, just like any room in the house. Enchanted, mesmerizing wall sconces hung on the mute colored walls like earrings. Her aunt's tastes were questionable, but there was one ongoing theme that put the room together- luxury. Adorned with gold and diamond threads, thick curtains hid the long windows across the walls, leaving a shy peak of the immense backyard filled with statues and fountains and flower gardens Blaise despised with a passion.
What Ramona had assumed to be a shadow took the form of a woman, her hair in a violet, silk bonnet and a matching silk robe hugging her body. She stood by the window, eclipsed by the shade of an old wall.
„Auntie?" Ramona called. Smoke curled around her and billowed in dense clouds. A gold cigarette holder sat on her pointer finger and the woman, unflinching, started through the window.
"Ramona," said the woman then, after a long period of silence. The voice was unexpected, with a hint of more power than the frail body would suggest. It was not the one Ramona remembered; like it traveled through vocal chords made of heavy sandpaper. It was low, with an agreeable trace of huskiness.
„I preferred Zenith. It sounded... stronger. It had a meaning. And it made you someone. Ramona... Ramona sounds like just about anyone."
Blaise appeared at Ramona's side, looking at her with a distinct I-told-you-I-hate-my-mother-for-a-reason look. He then cast his eyes on the woman, looking utterly solemn and grave once she turned towards the two.
"I much prefer being no one, or anyone, than bearing my father's name," Ramona said, knowing her aunt's remarks meant no harm. The woman was utterly different from her sensitive, emotion-driven mother.
"You are your father's child. Weather or not you bare his name makes no difference," she then said, stepping out of her shadowy cocoon and appearing in the light. Her skin had a honeyed glow and her lips were still full, the radiance of her beauty reminding her that she was very aware of what she looked like. The woman seemed even more beautiful than the last time she saw her, it that were even possible.
Ramona's sharp intake of breath gave away how little she liked her aunt's commentary and the woman's lips stretched into an almost malicious smirk.
"Your father was a great man, don't sneer at the mention of him," she explained. "He was a vile, cruel man that deserved what he got. But great. I believe I even respected him for a brief period of time, before he married your mother."
Blaise almost snorted beside her but played it off as a sneeze.
"Bless you," Ramona whispered, hoping to change where that conversation was headed.
"Thanks."
"Come here," the woman called. "Let me see you."
She observed Ramona as if she were a most intricate painting with a well-hidden message, taking her in from head to toe with that resolute, steady gaze she was known for. Ramona dared not breathe while the woman disassembled her and put her back together, eyes not unblinking but slowed. Blaise grew uncomfortable as his mother leered at his cousin, but Ramona was not shaken. She glared back just the same, equally ferociously, unflinching.
„Exactly as I pictured you," she said. The cold comment sounded like both a compliment and an insult, but Ramona gathered that it was the former. Perhaps it was her lips that give away her intention, not quite smiling but tilting as if they mean to, but it could have also been the satisfactory nod.
„You've not changed," Ramona said.
„Oh I know," the woman said, „I dare say I'm even prettier than I was at your age."
Victoria Zabini was known to walk the line separating arrogance and confidence. She'd been brought up with a belief that she was superior to everyone else by virtue of her birth; and not only did her pure-blood status bring that notion along, but her disarming looks only served to fuel her vanity and sense of self-righteousness. Even though her sister matched her looks, she never matched the unnerving and stoic nature that allowed her to turn into, as Blaise kindly described, a self-serving, egoistical psychopath.
She had a way of alluring men, a way of twisting and bending them just how she liked, and she did so in such an obvious way it appeared no fool would fall for her charm once they heard of her ways. And yet, they did. They fell like rotten apples and she crushed them with the heel of her expensive shoes.
And she did not regret it once.
Though, even though she appeared to lack a moral compass, she was a woman governed by her own rule-book. The top of that rule-book was reserved for her family, who she was devoted to unquestionably. When her sister had called with her intent to kill her husband, Victoria was well versed in the matter at hand. Even once she expressed she was to marry a muggle, Victoria did everything in her power to assure it. When her niece called for help, she was ready to tear the head off any serpent that dared cross her kin. And she would lie and lie to protect her family, even if that meant suffering greatly for it. Blaise, no matter what he thought about his mother, admired that trait most of all.
„You seemed incredibly cross with your mother in that letter," Victoria pointed out, walking over to the two antique couches stood opposite one another on the hand-woven rug. "What did my dear sister do?"
"I'm afraid she's gone insane with worry," Ramona began, sinking into one of the couches. It was the first time she rested her body that day, and felt like she was melting. Her aunt would often interrupt with blunt questions. Before each question she paused, head tilted to one side just a smidge, waiting for Ramona to deliver an articulate answer.
"Perhaps she is not completely insane," Victoria said, lighting her third cigarette in a row. "You are, after all, fraternizing with a Death Eater that could very well sell you out if need be. Call it a mother's instinct or just plain old pessimism, but it seems to me that your outburst at your mother's words is deeply rooted in something else."
Words didn't seem to come out of Ramona's mouth at the accusation and Blaise, had it been said by anyone other than his mother, would have burst out laughing at her face.
"Don't look at me that way sugar, your face is plastered with that sickening glow nothing can bring about but new love. It's disgusting, really, and beyond infuriating to see such potential wasted on a Malfoy," at that, the woman snickered. "I really hoped you'd turn out smarter than your mother but, there you are, wasted away on a rotten man." The cut-throat, sharp words of Victoria Zabini made warmth rush to Ramona's cheeks.
"I'm not-"
"Oh don't even attempt to fib, we all know you can't lie. And besides, that letter Blaise received this morning confirmed it," Victoria said, smoke leaving through her nose.
"You read my letters now?" Blaise inquired incredulously.
"Don't be silly, boy," she dismisses, "I'm not that kind of mother. But that letter- I saw where it came from and I won't let you hide these things from me."
She then leaned forward with the utmost seriousness and glared straight through Ramona, cutting her open.
"This bullshit may slip through your mother's fingers, but that's not what it's going to be like with me. Frankly, I'm certain that her apparent insanity is working in your favor since she is seemingly blind to your infatuation. I won't let you take the weight of your safety net collapsing, I've been prepared for Karkaroff breaking the vow ever since he made it. You're not going to come into contact with the Dark Lord if I have any say in it. However, you're just making it worse for all of us," she explained, setting aside her cigarette holder and standing up.
"Draco can be trusted," Ramona assured her.
"And what makes you believe so? The fact that you're in love?" the woman sneered.
"You're acting like it's a disease," Ramona retaliated.
"It is, my darling, of the worst kind. He'll turn his back on you when it's convenient for him to do so, and you'll have to suffer the consequences," Victoria said, staring at her like an enraged goddess, shielded by the dim light.
"I trust my judgement," Ramona argued, standing up herself. She could hold her ground well, but could not intimidate her match.
"He's a Malfoy, love. And he's a man. What good can he bring?"
"No good, I'm sure. But he makes dealing with the bad just a bit easier," said Ramona, feeling like a child as she said those words. They were beyond foolish and not at all convincing, but there was little she could do to explain to her aunt just what it was she felt. The words hung in the empty space as her aunt smiled at the girl with a mixture of sadness and pity.
"A cock and a blue eye are a dangerous combination," Victoria sighed. "But I'll let you make your own mistakes, and I hope it doesn't cost you your life. Learn from your mother, she's been ruined by men and their wants and their needs. And I? I much prefer doing the ruining myself." Victoria stopped talking, looked her up and down, and then spoke again.
"You think you're incapable of doing the things I've done. The things your mother has done. And you judge us for it, even though you don't think you do. But tell me, Ramona," she spat the name like a curse. "If it came down to someone threatening Romeo's life, or Blaise's life, or even Draco's life. Wouldn't you do just about anything to save them?"
"I would," Ramona whispered out. Her aunt smiled rather wickedly and approached her. She traced the side of her face with her long, claw-like, blood-red nails.
"You're not like me. And you're not like your mother. You are your father's daughter, and you despise yourself for it," she whispered, watching her niece's fiery eyes penetrate her soul. "You're not afraid of what your mother has asked you to do. You're afraid of yourself because you know you're capable of doing it."
Gracefully, Victoria Zabini walked away, her silk robe trailing behind her bare feet. Her feather-light footsteps sounded for only a short while, and she didn't turn back, leaving her niece and her son in the dead silence of the night.
A silence that, moments later, would be interrupted by a frantic knock on the door. Blaise rapidly walked down the long, empty hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing in Ramona's stomach. She was left frozen in her spot until she heard a familiar, deep and spine-chilling voice say,
"It's not my blood, I promise."