Chapter Text
Bianca Zabini's first impression of Hans Westergaard was not—that great; he was rather dull, with an expression that drifted into the distance. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else but in the hall where people came to celebrate his father's nameday.
Unlike his older brothers, who had showered her with praise, Hans Westergaard found that the wine glass was far more entertaining.
It infuriated Bianca to no end.
Not even the dancing flowers in the air could lift her mood.
(Their first meeting was at the garden when Bianca was strolling with his eldest brother, Eero Westergaard. Eero Westergaard was a handsome man, broad-shouldered with a charming smile.
It was a shame that he was a condescending man, though Bianca would not complain if he were to be her eighth husband; she might keep him for a year or two. Surely, his money was enough to make up for the things he lacked.
"Ah, Bianca," Eero Westergaard cooed, stopping his track and pointing with his chin. "Look who was here,"
Bianca followed his gaze. There stood Hans Westergaard with Eero Westergaard's other brother, Lars Westergaard.
"Your brothers?" She tilted her head, smiling sweetly.
"No, darling." He sneered. "One was a troll my parents picked out of pity, and the other was my brother Lars."
"Oh?"
They continued their walk towards Eero Westergaard's brothers, and he kept rambling. "I'm sure Hans was an illegitimate child, though I can't prove it just yet. He was too weak to be a Westergaard; my parents might pick him up somewhere. My lady mother had quite a soft heart, you know."
Bianca doubted that.
She had met with Lady Westergaard, and even from the first glance, the lady was not one with a soft heart—Bianca was sure the lady would not be one to tolerate infidelity; Lady Westergaard would sooner burn the Southern Isles Castle with fiendfyre than let Lord Westergaard father a bastard.
"That she is," Bianca nodded. Eero Westergaard thought highly of his lady mother; it was better not to antagonise Lady Westergaard.
When they halted their steps again, Lars Westergaard noticed them and stopped his chat with Hans Westergaard. "Ah, brother. I see you already got your hand with the most beautiful flower in the garden."
"You jest, Young Master Westergaard." Bianca chuckled as she extended her hand.
Lars Westergaard took it and kissed her knuckles. "I would not jest in front of beauties, Madame Zabini."
Lars Westergaard let go of her hand, and she still kept her hand in the air, pointing in the direction of Hans Westergaard. Hans Westergaard blinked at her; once, twice, thrice.
Bianca wanted nothing but to draw her wand and curse him. How dare he let a lady such as herself wait.
"Forget about him, Bianca." Eero Westergaard barked. "One look at him now, and people would say he grew up in a barn instead of a castle."
Lars Westergaard jabbed Hans Westergaard's side, and he broke out from his reverie. Bianca had already retracted her hand.
"Good day, Young Master Westergaard." Her smile didn't reach her eyes, and Hans Westergaard had the gall to look downward instead of apologising.
How insolent of him.)
"What do you think of them, amorzinho?" Bianca turned to Blaise; her son, her only one, the only man she could ever love.
They stood near the pillar, just enough to see the spectacle but not enough to be seen by other wixen. It was perfect.
Blaise almost rolled his eyes, twirling his sparkling orange. "Does my opinion matter, Mama?"
Bianca gave him a lopsided grin. Her son could be dramatic if he wanted to; too bad he would go to Hogwarts next year. "Of course it does, mon cœur. Have I ever picked a husband that you did not like?"
Blaise pressed his lip tightly and replied in Emakhuwa. "They are all terrible, Mama. Honestly, the only good thing they had was their money."
"That was true," Bianca replied back in Emakhuwa, gazing at the dance floor. Axel Westergaard danced with a witch from France, if Bianca remembered correctly. Not a noble nor a pureblood, but enough money to get invited to the party. "All of them were terrible."
All of Lord Westergaard's sons were unmarried, and Eero was almost forty. It might be the reason Lord Westergaard sent the invitation to European wixen; British wixen were excluded, and Bianca had a rough guess why. She was invited because her nonna was a witch from the Italian nobility, and her third husband was from a prominent House in Montenegro.
"How about the youngest one? Hans?" Blaise suggested. "We talked twice, though he was more fit to be a wallflower than a wizard from a powerful family. His head was in the clouds."
Bianca considered Hans Westergaard, of course. What kind of witch was she if she did not consider all the possibilities?
The Lord Westergaard's nameday banquet lasted for a week, and she had been here for five days. She acquainted herself with all the sons but Hans Westergaard.
Hans Westergaard was clearly the black sheep of his family. Eero Westergaard had told her enough for the past five days about his family's treatment towards the youngest.
("He was close with the house-elves." Eero Westergaard scoffed when Hans Westergaard and Lars Westergaard left the garden. "I wonder if one of them was actually his parents. Lars kept that troll entertained; I never knew why."
"Did he really?"
Eero Westergaard shook his head as they continued their walk. "Lars has my mother's soft heart, I fear. Do you know one time, Axel, Bjorn and I pretended that troll was invisible for two years? Bjorn stepped on his head once when the troll tripped. It was a great day for all of us."
Lord and Lady Westergaard knew it happened. Eero Westergaard told her that when Hans Westergaard was five, Haakon Westergaard broke his arms, and he came crying to the Lord and Lady Westergaard.
They just sent Hans Westergaard to the house-elf.)
"Do you like him?" Her head tilted to the left.
Blaise shrugged his shoulders. "No one will miss him here, Mama."
That was true. It was also less of a hassle for Bianca. If Hans Westergaard died, no family of his would come to her manor to demand an answer.
"It is settled then." Bianca placed her hand on his cheeks. "You will have a new Papa, amorzinho."
Blaise let out a chuckle. "I shall wish for his luck, then."
As the music shifted and the flowers transformed into butterflies, Bianca stepped confidently onto the dance floor. Her diamond necklace from her sixth husband adorned her neck, and a smile graced her beautiful face.
Eero Westergaard stepped in front of her, but Bianca passed him and walked towards Hans Westergaard, who had downed his fifth glass of wine.
"Young Master Westergaard," Bianca called, and the man looked up. "Would you care for a dance?"
Notes:
I had been working on this story for months, and I kept rewriting it because it felt lacking. However, I can now say that this pairing has grown on me. LadyMaegor had my thanks for this *throwing kisses*.
Also, we had very little information about Mrs Zabini. We know she had seven dead husbands, and Blaise was her son. And that about summed it up, so I took the reins to give her more backstory.
The surname Zabini is of Italian and Portuguese origin, and according to Wiki, it was likely that Blaise was of Mozambican descent. So Bianca and Blaise were at least of Italian and Mozambican descent with a hint of French.
It was canon that Hans was abused by his own family, and the only brother he was close to was Lars. Though Lars might still be terrible to Hans, but not to the extent of his other brothers.
Hans, in this story, was before he set out for Arendelle in canon. He would often disassociate, fail to focus, and keep to himself. It was a way for him to cope.
On another note, this was the opening chapter for another collection series I'm doing. Feel free to request a story you'd like to see (of the HP Universe, of course)
Tell me what you think and enjoy!
Chapter 2: Newt and Merope
Notes:
Request from LadyMaegor about Newt Scamander. And Merope. And I thought, why not both?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was a cold December night when Newt first met her inside the dark alleyway in London, wearing a thin dress with a protruding stomach too noticeable to ignore.
"You are a wizard," she accused him. Thin hands protected her stomach, mouth curled into a snarl. "Do you come here to take me to Azkaban?"
It was unlike him, willing himself into the bustling streets of London in such a carefree manner. Bunty insisted he enjoyed his last days in London before he left for the United States. London was not that far from Dorset, and he didn't even bother to bring his suitcase.
He planned to stroll the city for one hour, max. After that, he would return to his home and pack his things.
Newt tried to make the most of his remaining days, but instead, he found a wounded and pregnant witch without a wand in hand; a shivering body, chapped lips, and clear signs of malnutrition.
It would have been bad if she left like this, so Newt draped his coat onto her body. "You are pregnant,"
The witch looked at him, her hair askew and eyes staring in opposite directions, but Newt thought he had never seen a more defeated-looking person before.
Leta came to mind, but even she wasn't like this. Newt bit his inner cheeks. "Please bear with me, but you need urgent treatment."
Newt apparated them to Dorset.
The witch was so small and light in his arms that Newt almost feared she would pass away as soon as he picked her up.
But she survived.
Bunty helped him, of course she was, ever the helpful; Newt was glad she was here, he wouldn't know much about how to console the witch.
The witch was relocated to the guest bedroom, and Bunty called her grandmother, a retired healer who would treat the witch rather than ask questions.
"It was almost her due," Bunty's grandmother told him after she had given the witch a potion to let her sleep. "You might want to consider placing her somewhere, Mister Scamander."
She was right. Newt would board the boat in two weeks, and he couldn't have Bunty care for the witch and her job as his assistant.
"I will keep that in mind; thank you."
It had been the third day since the witch occupied the guest bedroom, and Newt bit his nail again.
He hadn't done this for years, but he was stressed; the witch hadn't talked at all. She was scared, always looking for the exit whenever Bunty or he brought her food.
She hadn't left the room, but she was eating just fine. It took at least one of Newt's problems.
"Your fingers bleeding," the witch pointed out when Newt brought her food. It was the first thing she said in days.
He blinked; once, twice, thrice. "Oh, yes. Bunty told me the same thing."
Newt had been picking his fingers lately, and it hadn't healed right.
"Why did you help me?" the witch asked, hands gripping the sheet so tight it crumpled.
Because you remind me of a stray cat, he wanted to say. "Do I really need a reason to help someone in need?"
"A sane person would." She unclasped the chain from her neck and retrieved a locket from inside her dress. "I don't have anything left to give you, just this one."
His heart ached. What kind of life had she lived to be like this? What kind of person left a pregnant woman on the street with nothing and no one to defend her?
"You don't have to worry about that," he quickly said. Too quickly. "Bunty and I are here if you need anything."
Newt was woken up by the loud clanking from the kitchen.
He knew no thief could break in, but he went with a wand in his hand anyway.
The witch was in the kitchen, kneeling on the floor with her head resting on a chair. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the rail, and her breathing was shallow. Newt was worried she might give birth right there on the floor.
"I'm okay," the witch told him, but she wasn't okay. Beads of sweat filled her forehead. "The baby just kicked."
Newt wondered if his mother was this miserable when she had him or Theseus. He ought to send her something.
Just to be sure, Newt called Bunty's grandmother again the next day.
"It was just fake contractions," she explained, sighing. "Her due date should be around New Year's."
New Year was three weeks away, and his ticket was a week away.
The witch kept having fake contractions, and Newt couldn't, in his heart, leave her alone.
"I'm sorry, Frank," Newt told the thunderbird, touching his beak. "We have to postpone our trip, yeah? The witch needed all the help she could get."
Frank let out a confused gawk, but eventually, he just shook his head and flew.
Newt wrote to Dumbledore. He had to postpone his trip because something very urgent happened, and it needed his immediate attention.
Newt also wrote to his mother, asking what she had done when she was pregnant and, if possible, books about pregnancy.
Theseus barged into his home when the witch was having another contraction in the kitchen again.
Bunty was left to fetch her grandmother, and Newt sat behind the witch, letting her squeeze his hand as he instructed her breathing.
Theseus looked between him and the witch, mouth hanging open as he pointed to the witch's stomach.
"I have so many questions."
When Bunty and her grandmother arrived, Newt carried the witch to her room.
Theseus was looming like a bad omen when Newt walked downstairs to the basement.
"We met a month ago, and you didn't bother to tell me you have a girlfriend, and she was pregnant?" Theseus crossed his arms, left foot tapping impatiently on the floor.
"It wasn't mine," Newt rolled up his sleeves. Theseus raised his brow. "I met her weeks ago; she was on the street, and I took her in."
His brother sighed, rubbing his temple. "She was a human, Newt, not a stray cat you found."
"I know she was a human, Thesus," Newt turned. Theseus' face was a mix of concern and annoyance. "I took her in because I have a heart."
"Are you sure you didn't take her in because she reminds you of the cat from that time?"
Years ago, when Newt was six, he and Theseus found a heavily pregnant stray cat on an abandoned building near his childhood home. Newt wanted to bring it home, but his mother was not that keen on cats, so he just gave the cat food and some water.
On the next day, Newt found the stray cat was already dead, its body mangled, with its kitten scattered around.
"She was not," Newt assured Theseus.
Only Newt wasn't so sure it was for Theseus or himself.
The witch told Newt her name one day after she had one of her contractions again, on New Year's Eve.
"My name is Merope," She squeezed his hand again, her breath sharp. "Merope Riddle."
"I'm Newt," He almost whispered, thumb drawing a circle on her hand. "Newt Scamander."
Merope was having labour that very day, and it took her two hours to deliver a healthy babe. The babe gave a vociferous cry with the first breath he took.
He and Bunty quickly opened the door when they heard the cry.
"It's a boy." Bunty's grandmother cheered as she wrapped the babe with a blanket he and Bunty had brought days ago. "He's hale and hearty."
Something stirred inside Newt's heart; it felt—funny. He had never felt this before, not even when he helped the niffles give birth.
Bunty was crying when she saw Merope crying for the first time. "What do you wish to name him?"
Bunty's grandmother placed the babe on Merope's arm, and she smiled; soft, unguarded, alive. "Tom Riddle—No. Tom Gaunt. His name shall be Tom Gaunt."
Gaunt—it was a name he knew well; all of the Wizarding Britain knew the name. One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin.
Theseus told him about the last two male descendants of the House of Gaunt; both of them were sentenced to Azkaban. Newt hadn't heard of a daughter.
It might be different Gaunt, Newt's mind supplied. It could be a muggle's surname—something, anything.
But then Merope hissed to her son, and all of them froze.
And something started to pool on his stomach.
It felt ominous.
And Newt didn't know what to do.
Notes:
Merope was one of the saddest characters, in my opinion. She grew up receiving abuse (emotionally and physically) from her father and brother. Her only respite was when they were thrown into Azkaban.
Yes, what she did to Tom Riddle Sr. was bad, but if you grew up in an environment like Merope, you might think it was the only way to escape everything.
She was isolated almost all of her life, and when Tom Riddle Sr. left her, it was the last straw that made her give up on living. So it was fun to think, what if Merope didn't die and instead met someone who actually cared about her?
Bunty, her grandmother, and Newt cared for her, even though they didn't know her name until she gave birth, simply because they were human and compassionate.
Also, Newt left Britain around December 1926, and Merope died in December 1926. It was a fun thing to think about the butterfly effect later on.
Tell me what you think and enjoy!
Chapter Text
The lake was cold, and he was shivering.
The lake was dark, and he was terrified.
Regulus had been afraid of the dark for as long as he could remember.
No one knew about that but Sirius.
Oh, Sirius—he wondered what happened to his brother. Sirius might still be out there hating Regulus for doing what he had to.
Their family had broken apart; Bella was lost in her own spiralling madness, Andy was gone, and Cissy was enduring her third miscarriage. Aunt and uncle had died, father was ill, and mother had become increasingly paranoid.
All that remained was Regulus, desperately clinging to the fraying tether of the glory that was promised to his House.
It should have been Sirius's duty; he was the older, the heir, the future of their House. It should have been Sirius's duty. Regulus was only a spare.
("Why would you be afraid of the dark, Reg?" his brother asked when they were young. "There was nothing in the dark, you silly."
Young enough to know they were different, but old enough to never need comfort from house-elves anymore.
Sirius was always the bravest one between them. Regulus should have known he would end up in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin.
"I don't know," he whispered. "I just—afraid. Alone, in the dark, with no one and nothing to watch me."
Sirius turned to him, silvery-grey eyes staring into his. More often than not, Sirius would sleep in Regulus' bed, holding him close until morning.
"You won't ever be alone," Sirius flicked his forehead. "You only need to follow me, I will always protect you."
"You're a liar, Siri."
Sirius scoffed. "I'm not. Sirius is the brightest star in the sky, so I will always protect you from the darkness. I'm your big brother; it was my duty to keep you safe.")
(But Sirius was a liar.
He left Regulus as soon as he had the chance.)
(It used to be Sirius and Regulus, Siri and Reg before it turned to Coward and Traitor.)
It hurt Regulus. Of course it had. Sirius used to be his big brother, the one he looked up to before he turned into James Potter's Pads.
("He was the coward and the traitor." Barty spat, his hand holding his wand so tightly that Regulus was almost sure it would snap. "Always needs his friends close at all times to even dare to come close to you."
"Just give me two days, and I will hex his hair off. Like, every hair in his body." Pandora huffed as she sat down under the tree on the black lake. "Let's see how he liked it when people mocked him."
"You told me you didn't work on any new spells." Regulus crossed his arms, but he was smiling. It was nice to have people who had his back no matter what.
"In our defence," Evan added. "It wasn't a new spell. Dora had been preparing this for months. Well, I was the one who told her what spell to make, though."
"In her defence," Barty rolled his eyes dramatically. "That Ravenclaw boy really bothered her."
"It's just self-defence. Xenophilius was a good guy, but I wouldn't have him unless all of you are dead or gone missing." Pandora shrugged her shoulders before turning to Regulus. "Also, I'm dead serious. I will hex your brother to oblivion, Reggy. I'm not joking."
"He hurt us if he hurt you." Barty snarled.
"Calm down, lover boy," Evan patted Barty's arm, and he relaxed his shoulders. "We can't have you thrown into Azkaban without a plan, okay?"
Regulus laughed, hard.
He might have lost a brother, but he gained new family; two brothers and a sister.
Regulus won't trade them for the world.)
The lake was cold and dark. The inferi gnawed on his legs, tearing them apart, and Regulus was afraid.
Regulus wanted to sleep on Pandora's lap again while listening to her plans to go to Athens, hearing Barty rambling about his dream house in Norway, and Evan teasing about their rooms there.
Regulus wanted to be there when Pandora had her first child—a daughter, she would always say. Pandora would name her Lunaryan, a little piece taken from all of their names. Barty, Evan, and Regulus would be her godfathers.
He wanted to be there when Lunaryan was born, when she took her first steps, when she said her first words. Lunaryan would be the most beloved child that Wizarding Britain had ever seen.
Regulus wanted to live.
But his soul had left his body long before inferi bit his throat and chewed it like a delicacy.
And so Regulus lay on the bottom of the lake, in the dark and alone, like he always feared.
(Sirius would then wake up with a gasp in the middle of the night, far away from the cave, not knowing what had happened.
There was a dull ache beneath his ribs—it sharpened as Sirius remembered a babble of a babe a year younger than him, who always followed him like a shadow.
His heart tightened painfully, leaving him gasping for breath. Sirius had to beat it to calm down.
But it didn't work.
There would always be a burning wound in his soul, perfectly the size of an eighteen-year-old boy who had always been afraid of the dark, and the worst of all was that Sirius would never know why the pain refused to go away.)
Notes:
Do you think when the inferi dragged Regulus into the lake, they ate him and left him there, just like that? I do, at least once a week.
The inferi was almost like a zombie, so I think they might bite into their victim to feel some sort of human-ness to it. Also, did Voldemort create the inferi one by one, or did he enchant the lake to turn those who drowned into one? If yes, well, let's cry.
Also, technically, Cygnus and Druella died around the 1990s, but I killed them to fit the narratives. Ehe. Also, Orion died around the same year Regulus did, but no one knew who died first.
Tell me what you think and enjoy!<3
LadyMaegor on Chapter 1 Thu 10 Jul 2025 12:17PM UTC
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