Chapter Text
Exhaustion pressed on Marchese Blaise Zabini as he tugged his hood down.
“Signore?” his guarda del corpo sounded alarmed, but he didn’t pay him much attention.
“You can leave, Alfonso. I need to be alone,” he infused more authority in his voice, his words brokering no argument.
“But, Signore—‘’
Blaise’s lips pinched into a disapproving hyphen
Losing his temper was a luxury he was denied since birth but…was this how defeat felt?
He had never really tasted that feeling before and wasn’t willing to admit he was tasting it now.
He was just regrouping and looking for a solution that was all.
His Slytherin pride was pricked.
The Elders of La Famiglia insulted him when they thought they could order him around, or Merlin Forbid, force him to acquiesce without a fight.
He hadn’t survived his mother’s lunacy and a war with a demented freak with murderous tendencies by remaining idle.
Now that he was twenty, it was time for him to take over his duties as the Head of the Zabini Famiglia.
His mother was never considered part of the prestigious Italian family. Many fingers pointed at her, accusing her of killing his father, the late Marchese Claudio Zabini.
Nevertheless, he carried the venerated blood of one of the purest families in Sicily and no one could deny him his birthright.
Taking this Title, however, came with a high price; his freedom.
After he spent eight years in Hogwarts, he was summoned to the Zabini Maniero in Catania where he was introduced to La Famiglia’s customs and business properly.
The estate had been dull and quiet, the days monotonous but he persevered.
He spent two years apprenticing under the Elders and learning as much as he could process.
The Zabinis were in a word, the Dons of Sicily. They controlled everything on the island from politics and trade to the shady transactions they had with their Muggle associates.
Unlike Pureblood families in Magical Britain, they did not consider Muggles and Muggleborns lesser.
Be it Galleons or Euros, money was money and only a fool would overlook the opportunity to garner more power and wealth.
The downside, though, was that his life belonged to La Famiglia since he took his father’s seat.
He was twenty, an age in which a respectable Marchese was expected to take a wife.
The Elders pestered him daily to follow the Zabini traditions. Unsurprisingly, they put together a list of distinguished witches with salient connections from all over Sicily.
All he had to do was to point his finger at one.
Alas, he couldn’t.
It was all her fault.
Two years ago an elusive witch stole his heart and wouldn’t give it back.
The night of Hogwarts Battle, he failed to leave the caste before it was too late.
Of course, as the last Zabini Heir, he was not allowed to endanger his life.
At least, Pansy opened her big mouth and they were ushered to the safety of the dungeons which they left after the winner was decided.
Blaise refused to partake in the celebrations for they did not concern him.
While waiting for his bodyguards to come and collect him, he roamed the deserted, demolished corridors reminiscing on his stay in Hogwarts.
What he did not foresee was stumbling on Hisolda Potter while she wandered aimlessly under an Invisibility Cloak.
It slid down her narrow shoulders and a flicker of a foreign turmoil awakened low in his stomach as she looked up at him.
He would be lying if he denied that the Golden Girl had always intrigued him.
Something about her demanded attention, even from someone who never cared like him.
At that moment, however, she looked terrible.
It must have shown in his expression for the corner of her mouth curled with contemptuous amusement. “Not looking good enough for you, Zabini? Forgive me, but I had a Dark Lord to take care of.”
He was baffled by the hurt and scorn in her tone, that until he remembered their previous interaction.
Three years ago, she approached him before the Yule Ball, yet before she could utter a word, Pansy told her mockingly that he was already taken.
He wanted to apologize or explain but never got the chance.
In sooth, he was forced to go with Contessa Bianchi who arrived with the Beauxbaton delegation.
It seemed that Hisolda Potter could hold a grudge.
“The thought never crossed my mind, Potter,” he clarified. “Everyone is grateful for what you did.”
She continued as she hadn’t heard him. “I don’t need your gratitude nor do I care about your opinion. Now, excuse me. I have to leave.”
“Wait!” He burst out, bothered beyond reason by her coldness. It wasn’t at all like him to speak impetuously, but he was too desperate to care.
Clearly, she meant to leave and downright forget about his existence. Merlin knows why, but he couldn’t accept that.
She gave him an arrested glance that reminded him of the gleam of light on an uncut gem.
After a charged silence, he spoke brusquely. “I never intended to humiliate you, it was Pansy’s doing. It’s right, I had to go with Clara Bianchi but I would—“
His earnest words were however met by a snort.
A real, blunt snort.
He, Blaize Zabini, Hogwarts’ most eligible bachelor and the Marchese of the Zabini Famiglia was rebuffed.
He was so consumed with emotion that he was only vaguely aware of hovering over her. “You’re tired after your trial so you are entitled to treat me unfairly. I’m not a liar, Potter. I would’ve taken you to the Ball if I had a choice to begin with.”
She blinked at him through thick eyelashes, taking a deep breath.
“I—I have to go, now.” Her voice dropped an octave, a brush of dark velvet against his ears.
“No, you won’t,” he breathed stubbornly.
Both went very still.
After a moment—acting of their accord—one of his hands came to her jaw, his thumb erasing traces of soot and sweat from her skin.
There was something astonishingly comforting about being so close to her, about touching her.
Without considering his actions, he angled her head upward with great care, his breath fanning against her cheeks.
As if realizing what he intended, she made his stomach lift as if the floor had just disappeared from underneath his feet when instead of pushing him away, she closed her eyes.
There was a brush of pink against her cheeks. Her breath was ragged and Blaise knew she did not mind.
In fact, she needed that connection as much as he did.
His mouth finally came to her in a silky caress while the pad of his thumb drew over her chin.
It was brief, it was innocent but it made him lightheaded, unlike any kiss he shared with his previous dates.
His lungs strained to draw enough air but he couldn’t let go, not when she strained upward asking him silently to kiss her harder, to kiss her longer, to give her all that she needed.
Abruptly, he stopped.
The reminder of where they were, of her state of mind was like a slap of icy water.
A protest slipped from her throat when he set her aside and prepared to apologize.
Bewildered, she looked at him, that, until her eyes widened and she took a step back, then another.
“I—we…”
To his consternation, she didn’t seem at all willing to remain after their kiss or give him a chance to explain.
His pride had been hurt by what must have been a blunt rejection.
If only he could turn the clock back to the day he had kissed her in the dark corridors of Hogwarts, he would manage the situation far differently.
She had been drained and overwhelmed and probably intimidated by his forthright affection.
How he wished he had soothed her fears instead of standing there like a fool.
How he regretted letting her leave so promptly.
He had been haunted by thoughts of her and the dazzling connection he sensed at that moment.
His magic had reached for her, wanting, demanding more, much more.
And now, he was expected to settle for an unknown witch who could never measure up to Hisolda Potter.
Never.
Sensing that his pleading wouldn’t be heard, his guard nodded stiffly and apparated.
Blaise smiled faintly, his eyes going to Mount Etna; the indomitable reminder that life was too short to spend it in regrets.
A day ago, he received an answer from Rolf Scamander promising help.
The Magizoologist was the husband of Hisolda’s best friend. Blaise felt no shame in reaching for him as a last resort.
He met Rolf Scamander before and felt an instant liking to the wizard despite his quirks and quiddities.
It surprised no one when he tied the knot with Luna Lovegood.
Taking a last look at the Sicilian Baroque architecture, he filled his lungs with his home’s smell before he visualized the Bakery Rolf mentioned in his letter.
It seemed that the Magizoologist was enjoying the delicacies offered by the unrivalled Italian Cuisine.
•─────────★•♛•★────────•
Eight unbaked batches of dough sat on the marble counter while Chef Hisolda Potter worked on the ninth.
As she did, some tension she carried with her unknitted in her shoulder muscles, and the shiver from its release rippled through her body.
It was where she belonged.
She had come into work before the sun was up just for this: the culmination of many weeks spent perfecting her new Cannoli recipe.
Each batch of dough had a slightly different ratio of bread flour to almond flour or sugar to salt.
The dough had raised perfectly, and now it was nearly ready for the last bake.
Hisolda could feel her excitement building, and in the quiet of the Bakery’s kitchen, she allowed herself a pleased hum.
“I’d like to help with the ricotta,” Luna said excitedly.
Hisolda stared at her with an adoring look on her face.
She was the only link with her past, the only friend who accepted her the way she was and saw no fault with the path she decided to follow.
After the war, her soul shrivelled at the thought of spending another moment in the land that gave her nothing but grief.
She was free at last, free to do what she wanted, free to pursue her dreams, free to use her fortune the way she saw fit.
Excitement drove her as she decided to chase her dream.
Hisolda had always wanted to become a Pastry Chef.
She blamed it on Petunia for introducing her at a young age to the delights of baking and kneading and whisking.
Many would consider the task another form of abuse but Hisolda found in the quietness of the Dursleys’ kitchen her haven.
Then came her Hogwarts letter followed by years of being chased by Voldemort and manipulated by Dumbledore.
One thing never changed though, her love of baking.
She spent the past two years touring Europe's most prestigious Pastry Chef Schools and being tutored by the best.
From Le Courdon Bleu in Paris, to Hotelschool Ter Duinen in Koksijde, Belgium until she landed in Castello di Vicarello in Tuscany.
She was enthralled by the cultural and culinary treasures Italy flaunted and felt no longer the need to look elsewhere.
In Catania’s Magical District, she found her inner peace and decided to begin for real.
She started her Bakery, L’abbraccio Di Lily.
Like Tom’s pub, her bakery was located in the intersection between Muggle and Magical Catania.
It pleased her to serve her original Italian delicacies to everyone interested in her creations.
“I’m done with the whisking, what do I do next?” Luna seemed in high spirits as she worked on the filling.
She was studying some obscure creatures that inhabited Mount Etna with Rolf. Hisolda was exhilarated when she learned that her friend would visit again.
Luna never stopped encouraging her and raising her spirits.
After her last confrontation with Ron and Hermione, she never foresaw how the blonde would remain by her side.
They kept correspondence while she toured Europe’s forests and mountains, chasing Fantastic Beasts and following the path of the great Newt Scamander.
Luna had finally found her path as well.
“Let me sift in the powdered sugar,” Hisolda explained. "We’ll add cinnamon and allspice next.”
Luna grinned, oblivious to the fact that she had flour on her cheeks.
Hisolda beat the heavy cream until it was fairly stiff. She refused to use magic while working on her kitchen. She enjoyed doing it the Muggle way.
“I want some raisins. Rolf likes the chocolate chips,” Luna said, while she helped her fold the ricotta into the cream.
“You can have whatever you want. First, we have to refrigerate the filling for an hour.”
“I applaud your resilience, Hisolda. You’re a great witch. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” Luna observed dreamily reminding Hisolda of the first time they met several years ago.
She flicked her wand from her Dragonhide holster, the one she kept at all times strapped on her right arm, and muttered a Cleaning Charm.
Luna rubbed her spotless cheek and shrugged. “But...I can’t help but worry.” She waved a hand through the air, jangling the many coloured bangles on her wrist. ‘’This place is too large for you to remain on your own. You deserve happiness. I can feel your loneliness.”
Hisolda froze as Luna glided toward her and pulled her stiff body against her, her dainty palms sliding to her back and patting it lovingly.
“Luna—‘’ she managed to say.
“Don’t despair. Your heart was never meant to beat alone. Love will find a way,” she paused. Her silver orbs shone like Moonstones and searched her tense face. “You have to let love in. It’s time Hisolda Potter.”
Hisolda tried to fill her starved lungs with air but couldn’t.
She couldn’t focus on anything other than Luna’s cryptic words.
She knew.
Somehow Luna knew about her deepest secret.
Thanks to Sirius, Hisolda understood the reason behind her incurable fascination with Blaise Zabini.
It was The Potter Heart, her family’s curse; the secret they kept under wraps and refused vehemently to unveil fearing for their safety.
Every Potter was meant to lose their heart once for their compatible match, a match chosen by Mother Magic.
It was easier said than done or maybe, it was just her luck for the only wizard she had ever wanted did not return her affection.
Despite her nerves, she relaxed into Luna’s embrace.
It was impossible not to. Her best friend was very warm and pure; she oozed safety.
“What if my heart was fated to remain alone?” she voiced her yawning fear.
She felt a smile nudge against her neck. “It’s not.”
Suddenly, Luna pushed her away and shook her head.
Hisolda noticed that her eyes were back to normal.
“I feel a presence outside. Go and give your customer what he seeks,” she ushered her out.
“But Maria—‘’ Her assistant could always take care of the customers. She was paid handsomely for that.
“Not this one,” Luna smirked. “Oh, I’ll have a Struffoli and wait for you. Go.”
Hisolda looked at her friend with a mixture of exasperation and concern.
Reluctantly, she did as she was told.
The first thing she noticed as she rearranged her apron was that Maria was nowhere to be seen.
How dare she leave the Bakery unattended? She would have a lengthy talk with her later.
Hisolda’s eyes widened and her hands shook as she took her first look at the customer’s profile.
He was silent, his brows drawing together as he studied the golden pastries filling the cases.
For an insane moment, she wondered what would his favourite be as he admired her handiwork.
Would it be Panettone, Maritozzo, Struffoli or Sfogliatella from which winked almonds, powdered sugar, raisins and dots of chocolate?
She risked another look at him and she could scarcely breathe when brown and green clashed.
Blaise Zabini was strikingly handsome with an uncompromising masculinity that made her nerves jump.
The angles of his face were bold, the nose sturdy, the lips full and inviting. His skin was a rich, glowing honey, and his hair the darkest shade of black.
There was an aristocrat’s ease about him, with a hint of languid grace. He was sophisticated and keenly intelligent, but there was something not quite civilized about him.
A hint of danger, a smoulder beneath the surface her heart couldn’t resist.
Although she dreaded what would come next, she stood her ground as he moved over to her with predatory intent.
“Hisolda Potter…”
She went rigid at the way her name came from his mouth.
Like a prayer, like a hug under a starry sky.
“Zabini,” she said through parched lips.
“Do I need to use my wand so you don’t run away again?” he teased relentlessly as he moved closer still.
“Why would I do that?” she managed to say, brimming with a strange, squirmy, guilty heat.
It wasn’t his fault that her heart chose him. He owed her nothing.
Still that kiss…and then the way he pushed her away…
A dark tendril of laughter twisted his lips. “Oh, you would. You did that twice. You never gave me a chance to explain.”
His gaze was exquisitely tender that she shivered.
There seemed no way to make him understand that she didn’t need his reasons.
All that she needed was his love.
“You don’t have to. We were young and foolish. Can I help you with something? Perhaps—“
‘’No, you will listen.” His reply was immediate.
She was forced to concede as a glint of searing emotion appeared in those onyx eyes before it was quickly extinguished.
“Do you know how long I spent looking for you? How much I cursed myself for letting you go that night? You have no idea, Hisolda.”
He rested his palm lightly at the centre of his chest and whispered. “You left a gap here. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget about you.”
It was then that she understood…the accuracy of the description. It mirrored the seeping wound in her heart.
“But you pushed me away. Twice. You ignored me,” she insisted.
“I would never do that, Cara. That night, I feared that I was taking advantage of you considering what you went through. When I kiss you again, I want you to be fully there with me, every part of you is important and I want them all.”
His voice was at her ear, smooth with amused chiding.
She couldn’t move, stunned by the rush of hope that had begun to overwhelm her.
“Again?” she whispered struggling to keep her mind on where this conversation was heading.
Finally, his hand went to her cheek. “Yes. Again and again. There is a special connection between us, Cara. One I can’t do without. You can fight me all that you want, but I’m not letting you go. Never.”
Her breath caught, her lushes lowering, hiding her misty eyes as her trembling hand curved around his.
The skin beneath her fingers was surprisingly warm and thrumming with magic that sang to her.
His hand lifted to the side of her face, tilting it upward, while his other arm drew around her waist.
She went pliant as he adjusted the angle of her face and coaxed her lips to part.
He began to search her, wringing sensation and sweetness from her responsive mouth and she surrendered, thoroughly.
The Curse ran in her blood, slow and ruthlessly alluring until it clung to every part of her and she didn’t resist.
Suffused with an agony of need, she caressed his chest and tried to get closer.
It wasn’t enough.
When he sensed the smudge of moisture on her cheek, he went still and lifted his head.
He stared down at her while their breaths mingled. “Hisolda…”
She raised her fingers to her lips, touching them tentatively as if they’d been burned. “You won’t leave me again?”
He noticed his smirk as he brought her against the hard ridge of his chest. “I wouldn’t dare. I want you as my bride, my life-partner. As the Marchese of the Zabini Famiglia, I have duties to fulfil and I can't see myself with anyone else but you,” he said playfully and she wasn’t certain if he was jesting.
“Blaise, you—‘’
The sound died on her lips, however, when Luna joined them.
She smiled widely and nodded to Blaise. “I’d be happy to help with the preparations. We have to make Hisolda’s wedding ceremony extra special.”
A chuckle escaped him at her mortified silence.
His hand came to her back, caressing the length of her spine. ‘’I would be grateful for your help, Mrs Scamander.”
Hisolda felt her chest tighten at the extravagant happiness that filled her heart.
The bond clicked into place, spurned by Blaise’s love, given freely.
Like every Potter before, her time had come to sip the nectar of love… with some Italian pastries.