Coating the edges and gleaming in the light of the light bulb hanging above, unknowingly casting a light on such a grim scene. It was, however, one the bulb had cast a glow on many a time, it and its lost brothers, that had lost its glow and been tossed away so carelessly.
It was also a scene the woman sitting on the edge of the toilet had seen one too many times.
She sighed and rubbed her temples, tossing her elegant braided hair back as it crept over her shoulder. She had liked this one, as well. Force of habit, she supposed. Yes, he may not have been the richest (in fact, compared to the others he was horrifyingly poor), but there had been something about him, yes, something so captivating and alluring she could not have helped herself had she tried.
Mrs Zabini looked over at him. His free, blond curls were tinted with red now, and his piercingly acute blue eyes were forever frozen in horror. She had drained the water now, all the evidence had disappeared beneath the plughole, and now all there was left to do was to do dispose of the body itself.
All in all, he had been the best husband. Indeed, he had lasted the longest. Wasn’t it odd that the poorer they were, the more personality they had?
Her first husband had been the wealthiest. His accident while cutting tomatoes had been truly terrible. Oh, and how he had managed to fall on the knife! That was the worst of it. Such a terrible tragedy.
Richard, her second husband, had lasted no later than the honeymoon. Those Muggle fools! How were they to know that the barrier on the edge of their boat had been loose and rusty? Oh, but the sharks of the Floridian waters had loved him. Yes, he made quite the feast.
The third she could not remember the name of. How awful it was that somebody had laced their wedding cake with poison, and that he was to take the first bite? A tragedy.
Getting up, she removed the butcher knife from inside the tub and washed it in the sink thoroughly. Tears stung her eyes as she did so. This one had really been something special.
She turned in shock, gasping, and dropped the knife on the floor.
“Oh, Blaise, darling,” she said, rushing over to her son and embracing him. She recalled the first time he had witnessed the death of one of his many fathers. Well, if nothing else, that incident had kept him from straying too close to the fireplace.
She stepped back and released him, looking him over. He was still too thin for her liking, but his muscles were clearly forming well. A true Zabini. His thin, dark face betrayed no emotion as he stared at the scene around him.
“Do you want help ... clearing up?”
The same words repeated each time, with the exact same pause in the middle while he surveyed the area.
“No, honey, I’m ... I’m fine.”
“Did he leave us anything?”
“Dirt poor, dear. Dirt poor.”
Blaise nodded knowingly before turning back towards the door. He rested his palm on the frame for a moment, feeling the wood tenderly. It seemed to call to him, commanding him to feel it. Audra Zabini noticed he did the same thing each time, as though afraid the things around him were merely an illusion, as though they would crumble around him. Maybe this time they would.
“Have you been taking your medication?”
Audra smiled nervously.
“Of course, that lovely Healer I’ve been seeing has given me some –”
“I suppose,” he cut in, “that would be why I found this hidden under the sofa?” He withdrew a small black bottle from in his pockets and showed it to her. “It’s still sealed and everything ... date of prescription, three weeks ago. It says to take two each day.”
“Oh, well, perhaps I got a tad forgetful, dear, you know how it is .... Thinking of it, would you do me a favour?”
“Could you dig me a hole in the dirt patch at the end of the garden? I have some things to dispose of.”
He stepped out of the room without comment. She heard his light footsteps on the stairs, then the backdoor open and close. The gossips would have a bloody field day about this one. How many did this make now? Nine? Ten? Surely not more...
But, in hindsight, this one had deserved it. He was on to her, for one thing. Checking to see that nobody was around, she crouched and removed the notebook from behind the toilet, and checked the entries.
I think Audra is having doubts about this marriage ... she is becoming cold and distant ...
I found a bottle of pills earlier, don’t know where they came from or what they do ... Audra was reclusive when I told her, refused to tell me what they were, I’m going to look into it ...
Turns out those pills are to control anger and anxiety ... must get Audra to talk to me.
Audra is acting so oddly ... she’s becoming demeaning, her headaches are getting worse, and Blaise won’t even acknowledge me ... I’m going to take a bath and clear my mind. Then I’ll think about what to do.
After that, the pages were blank. Waving her wand, the book, man and knife rose into the air. She charmed them down the stairs, through the kitchen and out into the night.
A cool wind danced in the atmosphere of the night. It was sensual, yet taunting...
At the back of the garden stood her son, a shovel in hand, standing next to the final resting place of her latest husband.
With another flick, the three floating things dropped into the ground.
The dirt rose and fell, conspicuously covering the area. Better yet, nobody ever had to know.
“So, mum, what happened to him?”
“One day he just up and left, dear. We never saw him again. Now, come inside, I’ll fix you up some coffee.”
Author's Note: I'd like to say a big thank you for reading this! I have a few things to mention.
I'm sure alot of you know, but Black Widow is a term used to describe a woman who murders her husbands.
Ms. Zabini's name was never confirmed in canon, so I used the name "Audra." For some reason, I have always thought of her of having this psychological addiction to death, and that's what I tried to get across here.
Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this, and thank you for reading!