Title: Arsenic and Old Leather (Part 1/3)
Author: Lucia de’Medici
Summary: Once upon a time, great families dominated the Renaissance world in Italy – known simply as Borgia, Medici and sometimes Zabini, their brood overran and spilled into the Muggle bloodlines – mixing and causing new alliances to arise in the breaking light of an underground empire. This is the tale of one such suppression in the struggle for power.
Pairing: Blaise/Hermione
Rating: R
Warnings: Poisoning, murder, conspiracy and muggle-born/pureblood politics.
Author’s Notes: Somewhere in Solidarity-verse, a long time ago where the Harry Potter reality overlaps on the events of the past. Loosely related to the major fic, and defiantly AU – the dialogue and mannerisms have been adjusted to suit the period.

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Arsenic and Old Leather
Act I: Scene I
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Hermione hiked her skirts up in a manner which was most improper for a woman of her breeding, as she fled down the vast marbled halls of the ancient villa. She cast a glance over her shoulder quickly, gathering the thick velvet and cotton in her fists once again – and made haste.

There wasn’t much time.

The heavy antiquarian jewellery and pearls twined in her hair, combined with the weight of the dress, made her progress through the vast halls of the manor maddeningly slow. Where the herringbone lacing pulled tightly to her ribs, she felt the strain of taking breath without needing to see for herself the flush that crept from her pressed breasts and up her throat. She knew before anything else, she’d be dead if she succumbed to her shortness of breath and swooned right then and there in the causeway.

Beyond the arches of the cloister that opened upon the sprawling Tuscan landscape, the noon light illuminated the straining, tangled flora of the garden, causing them to seem larger and more vibrant than natural as they twined around each other and struggled for the largest patch of sunlight that striped through the trellis overhead.

It was this place; she shuddered fearfully, as she forced her slippered feet onwards to the north chambers – beautiful on the outside but terribly decayed beneath the veil cast for mortal eyes. She could taste it on the air; it rose heavenwards and then descended swiftly, burrowing into the soil, to be recuperated by the fruits and grains they served at their lavish tables.

Fearsome.

And those beautiful, lethal blooms of the garden – she whimpered – how many had been drained and slipped to unwilling guests? How many had fallen into their cups of wine before the antipasti was served?

“Far more than you could imagine, carina.”

His voice, like thick chocolate melting in the May heat, startled her so much that she leapt backwards – colliding with the low stone wall that divided the flags lining the walkway around the garden portico and the main corridor.

“Signore Zabini!” she gasped, ignoring the foreboding flutter as her heart rate struggled to pace itself.

The young devil smiled languidly, and with a luxuriant bow, he refused her the courtesy of lowering his sapphire eyes.

The courtesan stiffened, dropping her shoulders and raising her chin defiantly to meet the nobleman’s stare. The only begotten son of the Zabini line drew to his full height, clasping one hand over the hilt of his sword, and passing his other arm over his doublet in the manner which exuded the tempered mannerisms of the Florentine aristocracy.

She restrained a shudder despite the appearance of his lithe form and fluid grace, as he approached her calmly, casting off the greyed shadows and coming into the sunlight to admire her at barely a respectful distance. 

“They are fine, are they not?” he murmured, gesturing to the gardens without drawing away his gaze. “Such rarities many men can only dream of –”

“Of that I am certain,” she replied crisply, smoothing her skirts and folding her hands demurely before her.

“Ah,” he replied with a smile, “and thus the blossom bears its thorns. How perfectly eloquent, signora.” He bowed again politely, though the mocking phrase was not lost to her ears.

Twisting her hands together to restrain herself from slapping him, Hermione merely graced him with a strained smile, dipping her head to the side and bending her knees in a curtsy as if to dismiss the rogue and carry onwards.

As expected, it would not be quite so effortless.

“Were the revelries not to your suiting, Hermione?” he pressed, stepping along side her when she made to move.

Hermione sucked in a breath, and immediately reached for her fan to distract her twisting fingers from his proximity.

“Not at all, sir, I wished for a breath of air before returning.”

“And perhaps to admire our magnificent courtyards?” He smiled thinly, narrowing his eyes. Hermione sucked in a breath in the attempt to muffle a yelp, as the Zabini heir grasped her arm and steered her towards the portico.

“Surely you jest,” he hissed into her ear, drawing her against his side. “Father told me your curiosity yields not at all, not even to the most obliging hosts. What excuse is there for this rudeness, signora? Such contempt at my family’s hospitality!” he spat.

The fan dropped from her fingers as she tried to wrest her elbow from his grasp, her struggling merely made him chuckle as he looped an arm around her corseted waist and drew her flush against him.

“Release me!” she hissed, raising her hands against his chest and trying to push him away. The nobleman, however, stood nearly two hands taller than she, and though his frame was lithe, his arms were well-muscled from labouring in his family’s vineyards.

It was a useless endeavour, Hermione thought, and her vision swam with spots as she neared a breathless swoon in his menacing embrace.

“I think not, carina – your English sentimentalities have no place in this empire,” he said slyly, while directing her closer to the nearest line of drooping blooms that tumbled over the garden wall. “As such, perhaps it is time you discover that which you are so adamantly searching for.”

“Please,” she whimpered, wilting against his firm chest.

Blaise Zabini merely smiled and raised his hand to cup her chin, as if she were a lover and he her gracious consort. The gesture was ill-intended however, and despite the tingles left by his thumb as the pad caressed her lower lip, he turned her face gently to the garden to watch in amazed horror as a bee flew to the nearest flower in its sleepy, heavy grace.

“Once you look,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear and lifting the fallen curls that slipped from her chignon, “you can never unsee.”

The bee landed, the black and yellow striped creature ambling into the cup of the full, red blossom with its hindquarters wiggling languidly.

A moment passed, Hermione frozen in the devil’s embrace as one large, callused palm caressed the smooth fabric cinched tightly at her waist, and the other rubbed a sensuous circle at her cheek, where her face fell against his palm.

“You can only stop looking,” he murmured, and pressed a chaste kiss to her temple.

The bee backed out of the heavy flower, pausing once to right itself and rise into the air as its little wings lifted its body in arduous flight.

Hermione could feel the lips of her captor stretch into a tight grin against her temple as she watched the insect rise. To her horror, it had flown no more than a yard before it stuttered mid-air, its wings slowing in their frantic beating, and its heavy body fell to the earth inaudibly.

“Morto,” Blaise whispered into her hair, and paused to breathe in the orange blossom perfume of her skin. “Such delicate and unassuming creatures, are they not carina?” he coaxed.

Unwillingly, Hermione shivered against him and pressed her lips shut to the rising bile in her throat.

“No different than the meddlesome mugellos who invade our homeland and our sanctuaries with their filthy blood, their barbaric customs and their need to conquer all things they cannot possibly possess,” he hissed, his hold tightening around her slight frame.

Hermione gasped as the swoon returned tenfold. His embrace too tight, she felt herself sagging against him – a moan passing her lips before she fainted dead away.

--- To Be Consummated... er... continued ---