Chapter 8:
Spilled Milk


"Gather the stars if you wish it so.
Gather the songs and keep them.
Gather the faces of women.
Gather for keeping years and years.
And then --
Loosen your hands, let go and say goodbye.
Let the stars and songs go.
Let the faces and years go.
Loosen your hands and say goodbye."


Shreya Zabini’s eyes widened. She had expected her son to give in to her wishes – she knew, too, that he would never have, if it was not the fact that she would die, if he did not – but she had not expected him to give in so quickly, without throwing a proper tantrum, the kind he had not thrown in years, not since he was a child.

“Then you are willing.” It was not a question, but a statement.

He pursed his lips, as if trying to bite back the worst kind of anger he could ever feel. “No,” he said, at long last. “The heck I’m not willing! The last thing on earth I want to do is marry." Marry. He said the word, as if it were an insult. "But -” he looked at her. “- The way things stand, right now, it appears we have no other option.”

She noticed the way he switch to ‘we,’ instead of I; and was well-aware that he would never admit that he, Blaise Zabini, had no plans to fall upon. She did not however comment upon it. Did not speak up, in fact, until he spoke up again, to say,

“I do, however, have a condition.”

Then she laughed. Shreya Zabini laughed. It was an open, silvery, very lovely sort of laugh, and anyone would have found it easy to fall in love with it; but, at that moment, Blaise hated it, because it was mocking, in a way only he could understand, because he knew her so well.

“Do you think –“ Shreya shook her head, still laughing. “That you are in a position to set conditions?”

“The heck!” Had he not been Blaise Zabini, he might have grabbed one of the expensive works of art that lined the walls that led to, and away from, the hallway, and ripped it to pieces, right in front of her eyes. But he was Blaise Zabini, and he hated to loose his cool; because, for him, it was a sure sign of weakness. “I am going to be the filthy, little girl’s husband, of course I am in a position to set conditions!”

Shreya frowned, no longer laughing, and gave a little nod of her head, her way to tell him to go on. That she was here, that she was listening -- even if she thought he was acting the fool.

He inhaled deeply, as if to calm himself. It was a hard task, not to shout at her for having done this to him – her, who knew him so well, knew how he hated the thought of giving himself to any, one woman – and he was surprised that he had managed it. Of course, that thought only gave him an ego-boast, at the worst of times. Then, calmly, very calmly, he said.

“I want to meet her.”

Shreya raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be silly,” she said, in an irritated sort of way. “I have seen her, she’s pretty enough, she’s gorgeous – and you know I hardly ever say that about anyone.”

“You would, now,” Blaise said acidly.

It was not like Shreya was stupid, and did not get what he meant – he was trying, of course, to assert that she would tell him sweet, little lies, to save her own neck – and the words stung, not because they were meant to, but because she had thought he knew her better. She was excellent at keeping things back, but she never lied. It was one of her own principles, a significant part of her own set of rules - the only she followed, to be frank - and one she had never broken, never intended to.

“I would have thought –” and her tones were equally corrosive – “That you, if anyone, would know me better.”

“Oh, I apologize for being rude,” he said, very sarcastically. “But it’s a little hard to trust you after you have just thought it fit to tell me that you have promised to some demon I have never seen.”

“She is not a demon!” Shreya flared. Her anger was, not at his words, but at the fact that she knew she could not satisfy him, right now – he would want to meet the girl, and that was out of question. “At any rate –” she seemed to calm down, or at least try to. “You should know that you can not meet the girl. It was part of the Vow, that you would take her for who she is. Of course –” She raised her voice, a sign that he need not interrupt. “I am not stupid, and set the condition that the marriage would only happen if she is able, beautiful and talented enough for my likes.”

Blaise glared. “I refuse to marry her, until I have seen her.”

“You idiot!” Shreya matched him, glare for glare. “I have seen her, and she has everything a man could ask for. There is no way that I can say ‘no’ to this marriage, now – the girl keeps her father’s part of the bargain. It would be a pity if the boy -” the boy meaning, of course, Blaise – “refuses to keep his mother’s part of it, and show himself weaker than a girl.”

Blaise was too intelligent to take the bait. Many others might have been roused into a passion, and said a yes, just to prove that they were not ‘weaker than a girl.’ Blaise, however, knew how to keep his head clear, when and as the situation demanded. “Do you mean,” he asked casually. “That the whole point of this is to prove that a girl I have never seen, is weaker than me? That’s a little low, for your standards, mother.”

-- She slapped him.

He could not have been more surprised, if she had taken out her wand and killed herself on the spot – the slap was like a landslide in a place that had never known the meaning of the word ‘disaster;’ simply because he had not expected it, not from her. Blaise raised a hand to touch his face --- and then he smirked at Shreya.

“Resorting to physical violence now, mother?”

“I did not give birth to you to see your insolence, you bloody, little fool,” Shreya spat at him. “If you can not talk to me like I am your mother, then do not talk to me at all. I will let Signett Malfoy know that you refuse – I don’t give a darn if I die, Blaise Zabini, I am not afraid of death.” There is a part, even in the most world-sickened of us all, that wants to hold on to life; and there was that part in Shreya. She loved jewellery -- good music -- the touch of a new dress -- and she wanted those, a little longer. But, at the end of the day, she was not scared of death, or even of the afterlife – though she was not sure if one existed.

Or if she believed one existed.

She did not look at him again; but turned around, ready to leave, to visit Signett right now – and he grabbed her arm from behind.

“Let go of me, before I curse you,” Shreya glared.

Blaise rolled his eyes.

“Stop acting like a pregnant woman.”

“Let go of me!”

He let go of her, she slapped him across the face again – harder, this time, much harder; it actually hurt –-- and he broke into laughter. “Tell Signett I’ll marry his little demon,” he said, shaking his head at her. “Whenever he wants to. Just not at four in the night, please. I sleep, then, sometimes.”

He turned around, walked off without another word. Shreya stared after him for a while, watching his dark figure retreat into the gloom, and then she ran a hand through her orange-tinted hair, not sure where his thoughts were, right now; not sure what was going on in his mind.

She could have paid a million galleons out of her person account at Gringott’s, to know.

*

[] Reference:

+ "Gather the stars if you wish it so -" - Carl Sandburg, Stars, Songs, Faces from Smoke and Steel.