Canonically, we don't know much about Blaise's mother, only that she is a very beautiful and famous woman in the wizarding world. She had seven husbands, all of whom "died," leaving her very wealthy. That's why Slughorn invited Blaise to the Slug Club.
It's worth noting that Slughorn didn't want to associate with Death Eaters, which is why he didn't invite Draco or Theo. I believe, then, that Mrs. Zabini never got involved with a Death Eater, and none of her husbands were Death Eaters.
I've seen many in the fandom compare Blaise's mother to Evelyn Hugo. After all, both were women of far above-average beauty and had seven husbands, not for love, but because the marriage would be advantageous to them. Evelyn's career peaked in the 1950s and 1970s, and I believe Blaise's mother was part of the Marauders Era, which is precisely the 1970s (1971-1978, to be precise).
Despite the similarities, I believe it's just a huge coincidence, as Blaise's mother is mentioned in Half-Blood Prince, and the book was released in 2005. While the novel, The 7 Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, was released in 2017. Harry Potter 6, both the book and the film, were released long before Evelyn Hugo, so J.K. couldn't have been inspired by it.
I don't know much about Taylor Jenkins Reid (author of The 7 Husbands of Evelyn Hugo) other than that she's written many bestsellers and is a very successful writer. However, Evelyn Hugo is the only book of hers I've read, so I don't know where she draws inspiration from. It seems unlikely, however, since Blaise Zabini's mother is mentioned once in all seven books, and Taylor has confirmed that the women she inspired to create the character Evelyn Hugo were Elizabeth Taylor, Ava Gadner, Rita Hayworth, Marlyn Monroe, and Audrey Hepburn.
Regardless, I like the canon idea of Mrs. Zabini being the Evelyn Hugo of the wizarding world, and for me, it is canon. I like to think she had a Celia St. James in her life, perhaps Narcissa Black (since, in my opinion, no woman could genuinely love Lucius Malfoy, and their marriage was arranged).
Author's note: as promised here is the second part of this three part series. I am sorry it took longer to post, but I wanted por my Patreon subscriber have exclusive access to it. I hope you like it!
Golden boy
Meeting her || Part 1
word count: 3.4K
DISCLAIMER: The following chapter contains mentions of sex. Read at your own discration
Harry's kiss carried an intensity that threatened to sweep her off her feet. His hands firmly anchored on her hips to prevent any faltering. Initially resistant, Y/N found herself yielding to the wave of desire that surged between them, her conscience overruled and momentarily silenced.
Her hands, once resolute in maintaining distance, betrayed her surrender as they instinctively rose to explore the terrain beneath his shirt. The sculpted contours of his body, a testament to his disciplined routine at the club, hinted at strength and lean athleticism.
With an achingly deliberate pace, Harry's hands ventured beneath her coveralls, the contrast of her soft skin against his fingertips intensifying his desire. As he drew closer, the contours of their bodies collided, and she felt the undeniable evidence of his arousal against her abdomen. Normally reserved about such matters, the unveiling of his physique encouraged her, prompting her to guide them toward the couch.
Harry positioned himself between her legs, a commanding presence as he pinned her beneath him. His skilled hands deftly undid the front of her overalls, revealing the gentle curvature of her breasts. A brief moment of admiration passed as Harry absorbed the sight before him, his intense gaze leaving Y/N feeling both exposed and nervous.
Aware of her blush, Harry, without warning, leaned down and took her right breast into his mouth. Y/N watched, her fingers entwining with the strands of his hair, as the soft, whispered moans escaped her lips, filling the room with an intimate symphony of desire.
"Let me see those eyes," he murmured to her, his words accompanied by the rustle of his shirt sliding off his body. The urgency in Harry's actions betrayed a sense of haste, as if he needed to fast-track through the moment. It wasn't just for his own gratification; it was as if he feared awakening, as if this reality were too surreal and fragile to withstand the scrutiny of a waking dream. “There they are”.
Y/N helped him take off her overalls off her body and shyly watched him take off his joggers and boxers. She had lovers before, but never like Harry. They had been painters or artist just like her. She had never been with an athlete. His body seemed to be sculpted. He barely had fat on him. Y/N felt self-conscious as she sat on her couch only wearing a white thong and mid length socks.
Consumed by desire, he sought her by the waist, swiftly repositioning them until he lay on his back. On the opposite side of the couch, Y/N perched, an air of nervousness clinging to her. His intense gaze seemed to sear through her skin, leaving an indelible mark on the charged atmosphere between them.
“Don’t be shy, lovie” He took her hand and helped her to take off the rest of her clothes. Y/N straddled him, placing one of each of her legs on either side of him. She felt the heat that his skin emanated without even having to touch him.
"I-I've never been on top," Y/N confessed, her hips intentionally held aloft, avoiding the union with his. Submissive by nature, she had always yielded to the desires of others, a perpetual people pleaser. Her own wishes consistently took a back seat.
Harry found himself momentarily speechless. He had assumed artists, particularly of her caliber, were unafraid of embracing their sexuality. He had encountered many who were forthright in sharing their intimate experiences. Y/N, however, stood as an exception. Her admission of inexperience fueled his desire for her, creating a magnetic pull that seemed to intensify in the wake of her vulnerability.
They became one. She watched how he disappeared into her as their hips slammed against one another. Harry dig his fingers into her hips as he helped her find a rhythm that they both enjoyed.
“Teach me how to make you feel good.” Harry grunted. His words had enough power to send her shockwaves through her lower abdomen. She felt intoxicated and dazed as he continued to have his way with her.
“Kiss me” She demanded, so Harry reached up to the back of her neck as his hips followed her rhythm and lowered her head enough for their lips to touch and for her to moan into his mouth.
“Christ” He cried out from the sensation, pulling down her hips harder. Harry knew that he would leave bruises on her hips, but her moaning, the soft sounds she made or the way that her round breast bounced by his face, teasing and enticing him was all too much for him.
They were covered on each other’s sweat by the time that Harry finally released himself inside of her. His sight faded to black, and he could only see specks of white until his sight returned seconds later. Harry reaching his orgasm didn’t stop Y/N from continue working her thighs muscles.
Harry watched her as she continued to use him. Her chest and cheeks were flushed, and her hair was sticking to her forehead, but to Harry she looked like a Goddess. It didn’t take long for her to had arch her hips, her legs to go wobbly and for her to join Harry in bliss.
As the night deepened, Y/N stirred from her slumber, finding herself awake before Harry. The lateness of the hour was evident in the silence that enveloped them, a stark contrast to the usual symphony of city sounds. Her body rested atop his, a connection forged in the shared intimacy of the night.
With utmost care, Y/N gingerly lifted her body from his, each movement calculated to avoid disrupting his peaceful sleep. The room held the remnants of their shared moments — a delicate interplay of shadows and moonlight accentuating the contours of their entwined figures. Y/N allowed her gaze to linger on the tranquil sight of Harry, his features softened by the hushed glow of the room. In this quiet moment, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the echoes of their shared vulnerability in the intimate hours they had spent together.
Navigating her apartment with careful steps, Y/N made her way towards the bedroom in search of a robe or some clothing. The silence within her living space mirrored the weight of the guilt settling on her shoulders. As she locked herself in the bathroom, the walls seemed to close in around her, amplifying the echoes of her inner turmoil.
Inside the confined space, anxiety surged through her, transforming the room into a cavern of self-reflection. The magnitude of disbelief struck her; she couldn't fathom how they had ended up entangled in the depths of intimacy. Each breath felt heavy, carrying the weight of unexpected choices made in the heat of the moment. Guilt overshadowed the shared passion, leaving her to grapple with the consequences of a night that had taken an unexpected turn.
While Y/N and Emma weren't particularly close, Y/N couldn't shake the conviction that, regardless of their differences, Emma didn't deserve to be cheated on. Wrapping her body in a robe, Y/N gathered her thoughts before rejoining the living room. There, Harry sat on the couch, shirtless, occupied with tying his sneakers. The air held a palpable tension, a silent acknowledgment of choices made and the complexities that now enveloped their connection.
A surge of anxiety morphed into a fiery anger within her. The disbelief was overwhelming; he had been preparing to depart without uttering a single word to her. The weight of naivety and a tinge of foolishness settled in. He, it seemed, wasn't any different from the other men she had encountered—a bitter revelation that stung with a sense of betrayal. The emotions collided within her, creating a storm of frustration, disappointment, and a profound sense of disillusionment.
"So, this is all I am to you? Just a quick fuck, huh?" Her laughter dripped with sarcasm, cutting through the air to announce her presence in the room.
"You locked yourself in the bathroom. I thought you didn't want me here anymore," he responded, confusion clouding his features. The weight of guilt bore down on Harry, not only for betraying Emma but also for involving Y/N in the tangled web of their choices. The room crackled with tension.
"I'm not a bad person, Harry," she spoke with remorse, her voice choked with emotion. "But what we just did makes me one." Y/N fought back tears, the weight of guilt pressing down on her. "This can't happen again," she asserted, tears streaming down her face as she sought to externalize the overwhelming remorse within her. "It's not fair to any of us.”
"This isn't on you, Y/N," he explained, his words laced with a mix of regret and self-reflection. "I'm her boyfriend. I was the one who was supposed to be loyal to her." His admission hung in the air, emphasizing the role he played in the choices that led them to this point. “I understand if you never want to see me again.”
As Harry made his way toward the front door of her apartment, Y/N felt compelled to step closer, as if she could somehow halt the inevitable. However, her feet remained rooted, and her voice seemed to elude her. As he slightly opened the door, he turned to look at her.
"I just want you to know that I don't regret anything," he uttered, his words hanging in the air as he shut the door behind him. The finality of the action left Y/N standing alone in the room, grappling with the weight of those parting words and the aftermath of a night that had irreversibly altered the dynamics between them.
Night after night, Y/N found herself tossing and turning in the clutches of restlessness. The thought of reaching out to him tugged at the edges of her consciousness, yet every attempt to formulate the right words felt elusive. In those fleeting moments when she mustered the courage, a wave of self-doubt would wash over her, causing her to retreat once more. The cycle persisted for almost two weeks and her insomnia only made her crankier.
Finally, Y/N redirected her energy toward a new project. Engaging in sculpting for her latest project, she found herself immersed in the creative process, fueled by a restless determination. With minimal sleep, the clock striking three in the morning, she embarked on this new venture.
It was only a few hours later, after her coffee had cooled, and she went to the kitchen to warm it up, that she noticed she was sculpting a human. She began with the feet and had just started on the ankles.
As Y/N continued her sculpting journey, she found herself captivated by the evolving form taking shape beneath her skilled hands. The subtle contours of the feet transitioned seamlessly into the delicate curves of the ankles. The tactile connection with the clay became a meditative dance, each knead and mold bringing the human figure to life.
Lost in the creative process, she explored the distinctions of expression and emotion, her fingers working with an intuitive grace. The cold coffee on the table went unnoticed as she delved into the intricacies of her art.
A few days later, Y/N joined her father and brother for brunch. They had intentionally passed through Manchester to check up on her and insisted on a get-together.
"I love you, but you look terrible," her brother remarked as she took a seat in front of them. Y/N shrugged at her older brother and nonchalantly put her sunglasses back on, masking the evidence of turmoil beneath her eyes.
"Are you getting enough sleep?" Phillip, her father, inquired with concern for his youngest and only daughter. "You could always move back in with your mother and me if this becomes too much for you, honey." He reached for her hand, already settled on the table, and gently caressed the top.
Y/N and her brother, Archie, burst into laughter, leaving their father bewildered as he tried to grasp what was so amusing.
"Dad, she'd rather die than move in with you and mum," Archie revealed, a mischievous grin playing on his face. "I would too. You guys still love each other way too much. It's too much PDA for my taste."
"I thought you both would appreciate that we haven't ended up in divorce like most couples on earth," Phillip debated, a playful tone in his voice. "Ungrateful little fucks," he added, eliciting laughter from all three of them.
"How's Mum? Why didn't she come up with you?"
"You know how she is. She hates leaving the house and worries too much when we're away," Phillip explained. "How was the art show?"
"It went very smoothly. Most of the pieces were sold," she replied. "I think by the end of the year, I might be able to open the first permanent gallery."
"I still don't understand why you wouldn't let me fund it. So, you can dedicate yourself to just painting and not worry about down payments." Her family was very comfortable; Phillip held a high position in a large investment company. Y/N shook her head and put down her menu.
"You still don't get it, Dad. I need to do it on my own. I want to achieve it for my own selfish reasons."
"Fine, fine," he raised his hands, "just trying to help."
"I understand, and thank you," she smiled. "How about you, Archie? How's working for Dad? Is he everything you wished for?"
"He's the worst," Archie huffed just as the waitress approached them to take their orders. "But honestly, I've enjoyed it."
"I'm so happy that both of you are here. I really needed it," Y/N revealed. She had been going crazy in the apartment, and since she didn't have many friends, she hadn't gone out much.
"What are you working on currently?" Phillip asked her, genuinely curious about her new piece.
"A sculpture," she nervously shared.
"I would love to go see it," Phillip added.
"It's not going as I hoped for—" But before she could continue, making up excuses to keep her dad and brother out of her house, she was interrupted by none other than Emma. Surprisingly, it was the first time she was genuinely happy to see her.
"Y/N! I didn't know you came to places like this." Y/N nodded and awkwardly waved but remained quiet, anticipating Emma's usual backhanded compliments. "I haven't seen you in quite a long time. You've been distant."
"This is my dad, Phillip, and my brother, Archie. This is Emma," Y/N introduced them without forgetting her manners. "She's an old friend from college," she added.
Archie and Phillip greeted her with polite smiles.
"What are you doing later?" Emma asked. "I was just going to pick up some food before heading to the stadium to see Harry play. Are you guys fans of Manchester?" Y/N's body instantly went rigid at the mention of his name.
"Fuck yeah!" Archie enthusiastically jumped at the opportunity. "I mean—we would love to," he corrected himself after clearing his throat. Phillip turned to Y/N and shrugged with a smile. She wanted to scream and stop them from going. She didn't want to be dragged along. Y/N needed an excuse to miss the game.
"We don't have further plans. I think it could be fun," Emma smiled, feeling accomplished to have convinced them. She knew who Phillip was and how much he was worth. He was a big fish, and she loved the attention. Emma just had to win over Y/N's father. She wanted to be close to her family, just for the perks. "Honey?"
"Y-yeah," Y/N agreed, even though she felt like crying and sensed her heart was about to explode. What was she going to say to Harry? Would she even talk to him? Would Emma notice?
They were in box seats, which surprised Y/N. Emma had never invited her to sit in the box; they usually sat with the rest of the crowd. After all, not many people knew who Emma was or could easily recognize her.
The weather was great when the match started. As usual, Harry was in the initial team. Y/N noticed that he had allowed his hair to grow longer than usual, and he had a slight mustache. Despite the rougher appearance, she still considered him the most gorgeous man she had come across. The top of his hair was tied with a hair tie, causing a slight pang of jealousy, wondering if it was Emma's.
After half-time, the game took a turn for the worse, and the weather didn't help. It started pouring rain and became windy, but the game wasn't postponed. Something had set off the players from the other team, and yellow cards started getting pulled out.
Manchester was losing, and it felt like the team couldn't advance without getting pushed or kicked to the floor. It wasn't until the last twenty minutes of the match that a penalty shot was called after a player committed a foul on Harry.
"Oh god," Y/N whispered as she watched the players stand back and the referee place the football on the floor for Harry to kick.
"Since when do you like football?" Archie asked, noticing his sister's nervousness.
"I don't know," Y/N shrugged. "It's entertaining," she brushed him off, carefully watching Harry talk to the captain of the team while covering his mouth.
"If he misses, he is going to be hated for quite a few months," Archie said to Emma, who stood on the other side of him.
"That's his problem," Emma brushed off, showing a lack of concern. "He signed up to be a football player, not me." Y/N couldn't believe the bitterness of her statement. Harry was her boyfriend, and the least she could do was stand beside him.
The referee's whistle interrupted her thoughts, and seconds later, Harry kicked the ball with the arch of his left foot.
He missed.
The goalkeeper caught it.
Instantly, the crowd went mad, booing at Harry. Y/N felt helpless, wanting to scream for them to stop. She could see the disappointment on his face as he wiped the rain off his face while his team patted his back in solidarity.
"Oh well! They lost," Emma added. "I'm sorry I brought you to his worst game ever," she said to Phillip. Y/N rolled her eyes as she looked at Harry continue to play for the remaining match. "Would you like to meet him?"
"I have to get back to the studio," Y/N excused herself. "But if you two want to stay, that's fine."
"No, honey. We came to see you and spend time with you," Phillip said for both of them. "I appreciate your generosity, Emma. However, we want to spend time with Y/N. We leave tomorrow morning, and we still have a few things planned with her."
"That's fine," Emma coldly responded and looked back at the match. Y/N could tell that it had bothered her.
After the game, they ventured out for some shopping. Y/N confessed to her father that she didn't actually have to go to the studio but preferred spending time with him instead of hanging out with wet and sweaty men. Phillip laughed warmly, embracing her. He made sure to stock her fridge and handed her extra money for anything she might want or need.
Following the shopping spree, they enjoyed dinner at a fancy restaurant near their hotel. A driver later took Y/N back to her apartment after heartfelt goodbyes and hugs.
"I love you. Send me a picture of that sculpture. I'm sure it's great," were Phillip's parting words as he let go of her.
Returning alone to her apartment felt strange. Y/N had shared an incredible time with her family, making the solitude of her apartment even more palpable. Nevertheless, that didn't deter her from delving back into sculpting until two in the morning.
After a skincare routine, a bath, and a late-night snack at three in the morning, Y/N found herself tucked into bed. She closed her eyes, allowing the silence around her to usher her into a deep slumber. However, her peaceful state was abruptly disrupted by three knocks on her door. After much hesitation and grabbing the box cutter she used for opening mailed packages, she finally opened the door.
"I had to bribe your doorman to let me in with tickets," was the first thing out of his mouth.
I love how Potterheads or the entire HP Fandom in general copes with the death of Fred Weasley is to pair him up with anybody and everybody in fanfics.
