Troll: 38. Of Tarots & Hospice Care

Chapter 38: Of Tarots & Hospice Care

Blaise Zabini
Zabini Manor, Great Britain

I flipped the three tarot cards with a hum of concentration. Fool. Magician. Lovers. In that order. This was the fourth time I’d shuffled the deck, and the fourth time I’d received the exact same spread. If I expanded the spread to include any two I'd the minor arcana, I always got the same there as well: ace, of both cups and wands.

I’d purchased this deck from Dervish & Banges way back in September. It was our first Hogsmeade weekend and I’d taken Heath with me. The deck was standard fare, with seventy-eight cards: twenty-two major arcana and fifty-six minor arcana. I hadn’t used it much, preferring my heirloom crystal ball, but perhaps there was more to this whole Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn thing than I’d first expected.

Then again, it could be that the tarot cards weren’t special, I was. Divination talent was funny like that. Enchanted objects could help, but as tea readings proved, you could get valid predictions from soggy leaves.

Whatever the case, this consistency was damn near impossible. Twenty draws spread across four shuffles, in this exact, repeating permutation? I was no astrophysicist, but I was fairly sure there were better odds of finding an inhabited planet than the nonsense Fate just tried to feed me.

I knew what it meant, of course. I couldn't call myself much of a diviner if I couldn't read tarots.

Within the standard spread, the Fool represented uncertainty and opportunity in equal measure. It implied that Fate herself had not made up her mind. Or maybe she was ambivalent, willing to let the dice fall where they may.

The Magician did not literally symbolize magic, contrary to popular belief among wizards. Instead, it symbolized creativity and resourcefulness, the mindset of an ideal wizard rather than his power.

Then there was the Lovers. The card could point to romantic love, but seeing how I had no such thing, that was unlikely. It could also mean relationships more broadly, and more worryingly, the choices inherent to them.

The two aces that I kept drawing were equally frustrating. The ace of any suite was the first card, and thus represented the beginning of a new cycle. The wand was all about action, motion, and ambition. The cup was emotion, intuition, and once again, relationships.

Together, it implied that the path before me was one filled with ambiguous choices. I would need to exercise creativity and resourcefulness, particularly when it came to navigating the relationships that I already had. Of course, it also implied a new cycle, the beginning of new ambitions and relationships, if I was willing to open my heart.

“Great, tell me something I don't know,” I muttered under my breath.

I wasn't frustrated because I didn't know what the reading meant. I was frustrated because it wasn't very helpful. I now understood the annoyance people had for seers. This was my own reading and I'd only managed to confirm that Fate… didn't care.

To be fair, that was rather important. I had no doubt that Violet's prophecy would rear its head eventually. But so long as she was the one to “last hit” the final boss, how we got to that point didn't matter. It felt good to once again receive confirmation that I had some wiggle room.

I heard the sitting room door open. In walked Lowell in all his ancient glory. He probably looked like a distinguished, English gentleman to anyone else, but the fact that he was mom's fiance made me lose any shred of respect I had for him.

“Lowell,” I greeted neutrally. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you too, Blaise,” he replied back. “Have you had breakfast already?”

“It’s ten. I take it mother is still sleeping?”

“She is. Are those tarot cards?”

“They are.”

“I was told you had a talent for divination. What have they told you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“That I am to make many uncertain choices, and that relationships are complicated.”

“That they are. You know, I used to be quite the ladies’ man myself back in the day,” he said as he sat down on a nearby armchair. “I wouldn't mind sharing a bit of life advice.”

I stared at him incredulously. My gaze flickered towards the bedroom, then back to him. “No, I think I can do without your ‘advice.’”

“Ah… Haha… Perhaps not then…” he trailed off awkwardly. He searched for something to continue the conversation. “Do you mind giving me a reading? I admit to finding myself curious.”

I paused, halfway through a bridge shuffle. Typically, I tried to have nothing to do with my mother's beaus, less guilt that way, but I did wonder sometimes.

What drove a man like Lowell Spencer-Moon? Surely he was aware of Valencia's toxic reputation. Surely he wasn't delusional enough to think he was truly an exception.

“Very well. I don’t mind.”

“Excellent. How does this work?”

“We’ll do a standard three card spread. Before we begin, would you like this reading to focus on your past, who you are at present, or the future?”

“Hmm, I think I’m quite content with my past,” he said with a smile. “There’s no use mulling about with things that have already happened. Show me what life has in store for me.”

“The future then,” I nodded. I cut the deck and dealt three cards face down. “That isn’t how tarot readings work, however. I can’t pinpoint a specific event. Rather, tarots provide general guidance about the choices before you.”

“That sounds rather ambiguous, so about what I remember from divination class in Hogwarts.”

“Yup. Professor McGonagall says divination is ‘wooly.’ And she’s not wrong. Even seers aren’t immune from that. Well, disclaimers are out of the way, so let’s begin.”

I flipped the three cards over one by one.

The first revealed a wheel. On either side were two sphinxes, each carrying a sword in hand. A pair of eagles flew around each mythical beast, a scroll clutched in their talons. The card also sported serpents and jackals, Apep and Anubis.

“The first is the Wheel of Fortune. It is not so much a declaration of what is to come as it is a simple statement of fact: The wheel turns. The cycle repeats. All good fortune will crumble and fade. All tragedies will be washed away with the fullness of time.”

“In other words, the things in my life will soon disappear, both good and bad. Is that it?”

I shook my head. “Not necessarily. It is simply a reminder of the cycle of life and karma, no more and no less. There is a certain fatalistic interpretation, that you should simply accept the turning of the wheel, but I don’t necessarily agree. Isn’t it up to you to preserve your fortune?”

“I suppose you’re right. What does the next card say?”

“Let’s see.” I flipped it over and laughed. The face of an angel greeted me. Wings, a trumpet in hand, blowing a song over the people below. “Judgment.”

“Why do you laugh?” he asked, leaning forward. “That looks to be a rather ominous name for a card. Am I to be judged?”

“No. Rather, you are the judge. Judgment indicates a time of awakening and self-reflection. It can mean that in the context of spiritual growth, but not always.”

“I think I’m a little old to find god, muggle or otherwise.”

“Fate wouldn’t want your worship anyway. No, it is simply advising you to self-reflect, as there will come a significant milestone in your life, a crossroads in which you must choose a path. Your choice will have irreversible consequences.”

I studied him closely. I had no say in the cards I drew. It was as if Fate herself was warning him of his impending death. Maybe he had a different significant event on the horizon, it wasn’t like I knew him especially well, but I doubted it. His marriage would be the equivalent of him signing his death warrant.

And yet, despite the clear warning, he did not shy away from my gaze. I saw nothing but contentment in his eyes. There was no bitterness, no fear, no resentment. Nor was there a single shred of the expected arrogance, the delusional entitlement that whispered, “I’m special. I’m the exception.”

I snorted knowingly. “You know, Lowell, I have a feeling I know what this last card will be.”

“Oh? Have you been rigging the cards?”

“No, I’m a seer, not a card shark. I’m not dextrous enough to do that even if I wanted to.”

“I see. The future must be clear to you then.”

“The future is as it always was, a murky mess, a city shrouded in fog. No, what is clear to me now is you, Lowell.”

“Is that so?”

“It is so,” I nodded. I flipped the final card over but spoke without looking down. “The Hanged Man. I don’t need to tell you what it means, do I?”

“Death, I suppose?” he said knowingly.

“It can mean that, but that’d be too simplistic. It would be more appropriate to say that it is the death of possibility. It is a release, an end to one chapter of your life. It is acceptance. It is surrender.”

He smiled. “Does that bother you?”

“Should it?” I asked curiously.

“You strike me as an ambitious young man.”

“That’s a nonanswer if there ever was one. But no, I won’t let your choice in creative suicide bother me.”

“Creative suicide? Yes, I suppose that’s what this is,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “I am old, young Blaise.”

“You are in your seventies. Many wizards live decades more.”

“They do, as is their right. But as for me, I find myself tiring. I wish to exit the stage on my terms, if you will.”

I nodded. It made sense. I could see it in his eyes. He knew exactly what kind of woman Valencia Zabini was, and he accepted it wholeheartedly.

“Can I ask why? You have time, you’re just choosing to get off this ride.”

“I am tired. Did you know? My cousin was the minister of magic when Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald.”

“I did.”

“He died shortly after his term ended. He was the last in his family because most died during the war. He was ill during the end of his term, but refused to retire early, saying he wanted to pin the Order of Merlin on Albus’ chest before he left.”

“He did, so I guess he got what he wanted,” I said solemnly. I could guess the rest of the story. “Your own immediate family?”

“Much the same. Leonard and I are survived by a distant grandnephew and his family. His daughter is in your year, I believe.”

“Lily Moon.”

“Yes, that’s her name.”

“Pretty sure she hates me.”

“Oh?”

“There was a prediction I made that she didn’t like. So that’s it? You’re alone. You’ve lived a full life. Now, it’s time to go so you’ve found a woman who’ll keep you company in your final moments?”

“That’s right,” he said with a small smile. “Loneliness is the most fearsome thing in the world, Blaise. Your mother… She is…”

“A monster,” I finished for him. “A huntress. A predator. She’s a cold, heartless bitch whose conception of morality can be best described as ‘What is it?’”

He let out a quiet bark of laughter. “Hah. Perhaps. And yet, I find myself with a desire for company, no matter how false.”

“If it’s any consolation, she genuinely loves marriage.”

“Oh?”

“Really, she does. She keeps memorabilia of all her ‘special days,’” I said, shrugging. I put my cards away, in no more mood to experiment. “I wouldn’t say it’s genuine love, but you will be remembered.”

“That is all a man can ask for,” he replied. He must have seen something in my eyes. “You don’t seem to approve.”

“I said your decision didn’t bother me. That was understanding, not approval. I think this is the coward’s way out. I think it’s unambitious. I think you are precisely the kind of man I do not wish to be.”

“Oh, to be young again… I’ve seen two wizarding wars, Blaise. Two dark lords and their reigns of terror. I’ve lost everyone dear to me, left with distant relatives who barely share my name. Is it so wrong to want out?”

“No, not wrong. If every man has the right to life, then surely he also has the right to forfeit his life as he chooses. I understand, but I don’t like it. Your decision disgusts me.”

“Yet, it is my decision,” he replied with a wan smile.

“It is your life, and so your decision to make,” I agreed.

“You are a very wise young man, but young nonetheless.”

“And you’re a very complicated man,” I said, standing. I’d labeled him as a fool. I could admit, in the quiet of my mind, that I’d been hasty. “If at all possible, I think it’s best we don’t associate with one another.”

“As you please, Blaise.”

“For what it’s worth, I hope you have a happy wedding and marriage, ‘til death do you part.”

X

I stepped deep with my right foot, lowering myself into a textbook lunge. The foil in my hand lanced out, hitting nothing but air.

The fencing studio I found did not practice historical European martial arts. Such places were rare and this was the best I could do within my immediate surroundings. Here, people sparred for “touches” in competitions, and never with the intent to harm.

That was just the way it was. I still planned to learn swordsmanship on a more practical level, but I’d have to settle for this, at least this winter. I was hoping that one of my seniors here knew someone. There were good odds; niche hobbies like this tended to form fairly tight-knit communities.

Truthfully, I was grateful enough to get my body moving in the right direction. I tried to prepare myself by working out at Hogwarts, but I found that fencing, which emphasized swift shuffles and deep lunges, used muscle groups I was unused to. 

I left the studio with my inner thighs and calves burning. The thought of a four mile hike back home made me want to curl up and die so I ended up calling the knight bus for myself. 

Back home, I found my mother waiting for me. She was dressed down, as much as a woman like her ever was.

“Blaise, my little warrior, what is this I hear about fencing lessons?” she asked.

I shrugged nonchalantly. “You gave me the idea, mother. I liked your cane so much that I figured I may as well put it to good use. I’m thinking about having the shaft fitted with a hidden blade.”

“Oh? Spellblades are so… I don’t even know how many centuries ago they were last in fashion.”

“I believe that depends on which part of the world you’re looking at, mother. There are wizards today who integrate various martial arts into their spellcasting.”

“Yes, but must you learn from muggles?” she said with an exaggerated pout.

“Unless you know of a competent swordmaster who wouldn’t mind taking on a student, yes,” I replied dryly.

“Those are rather hard to come by, yes.”

“It’s fine. Muggles have nothing else to rely on but their own bodies, so it stands to reason that they know how to train the body. I’ll just have to work on blending spellwork with my swordsmanship on my own.”

“Very well, Blaise. So long as they are useful.”

“Of course, mother.”

“Speaking of useful muggles, come with me, Blaise. I’ve got something to teach you.”

So saying, she headed deeper inside the manor. Rather than our sitting or dining room, she led me into one of several guest rooms. I didn’t know who could be our guest and had a feeling I wouldn’t like the answer.

X

I was right.

Our guest rooms were relatively plain, with inoffensive decor that suggested a lack of personality rather than any true flair. They were kept clean by Pooky each day with a snap of her fingers. I thought they reminded me of eighteenth century hostels in those period dramas.

Now, I found one of them had a man on the bed, his wrists tied to the bedpost. He was gagged and his eyes widened with recognition as we walked in. It would have been suggestive, but he still had his clothes on, thankfully. Judging by our previous conversation and the absence of a wand on the bedside table, I gathered that this was a muggle.

“Mother? Why is there a strange man tied to the bed?” I asked compulsively. I had to. I knew I wouldn’t like the answer, but it was one of those things that had to be done, like taxes.

She smiled beatifically. It was a smile that would have made angels weep with envy. “Why, for practice, of course. Occlumency and legilimency are two sides of the same coin. I would be failing you as your mother and teacher if I didn’t give you the opportunity to explore the other side.”

“You… kidnapped a muggle… so I can practice legilimency?”

“Yes, among other things. Your occlumency is as well-developed as anyone your age is likely to have. However, you don’t know legilimency and so your defense suffers for it. Wouldn’t you know how to better defend your mind if you learn how attacks are made?”

“That is true…” I hated that she was making sense. “Won’t he be missed, mother? Muggles do keep track of one another.”

“What kind of amateur do you take me for?” she asked with mock offense. “He was drinking alone at a bar. I barely had to confound him before he followed me home like an obedient, little puppy.”

“No one will question a man walking home with a woman from a bar.”

“They won’t. A few, temporary muggle repelling charms along the way took care of the rest. Don’t you worry, my son. He won’t remember this, either.”

“You’re not going to kill him off?” I asked with some surprise.

“And deprive you of the chance to learn the memory charm? You know what they say, dear: Waste not, want not.”

I looked at him. The man had been listening the entire time. He probably thought we were a pair of nutjobs with a weird, mother-son incest kink.

This was wrong. I knew I’d have to fight, maybe even kill, again. That was why I was so insistent on exercise and fencing lessons. Hell, I’d killed Carmen Espinoza, my step-aunt, but that was unambiguously in self-defense. 

There was nothing morally justifiable about this. The mind was the last sanctuary a person had, and mom was asking me to mindrape someone for practice. As far as I knew, he didn’t deserve this. He was just some guy who thought he’d get lucky this evening, only to end up with me. Hell, even if he’d been a mass murderer, he wouldn’t deserve becoming a wizard’s plaything.

Then, I caught my mother’s eye. There was her usual playfulness, a mix of seductive grace and predatory hunger, but there was something else as well. It took me a moment to place: Expectation.

She expected me to appreciate this, not unlike a cat who came home with a dead pigeon. And like a cat, she gave no fucks about whether this was right or wrong. All that mattered was that she’d acquired a gift for me, the first in many years, and she wanted to know what I’d make of it.

It was a test, I realized, and perhaps one I brought upon myself. I framed my fencing lessons and my association with Violet within the rhetoric of pragmatism: I did these things because they were useful to me. And now, she wanted to see what I would do when the “useful option” was clearly the immoral one.

I considered how she might react. Truthfully, I didn’t know. She wasn’t a hateful person. Sociopathic, yes. Hateful, no. She didn’t have any grudge against muggles, merely seeing them as lesser creatures with a stigma that wasn’t worth tainting herself with.

That said, what would she do when she found out that her “little warrior” was a muggle-lover?

It wouldn’t be pretty. She’d likely decide that my new hobbies have “tainted” me, softening the killer instinct she wanted in her son. She might even try to make me more like her, whether that be by having me torture more muggles or even removing Violet as a negative influence.

It wasn’t as though I could kill her off, either. She was my magical and lawful guardian. Contrary to popular belief, Magical Britain was not without its laws. An orphan had few resources and fewer freedoms.

Worse than this realization was the realization that I… didn’t disagree with her.

She was completely correct. The best way to advance my occlumency was to learn legilimency. And the best way to do that was to practice on a human mind with no magical protections, which was to say, a muggle. 

Hell, I knew before even starting that I possessed a great deal of natural talent in legilimency. Though my emphasis had been in divination, my wand was uniquely suited for all sorts of subtle magics, this one included. And I couldn’t deny that truly mastering the mind arts would greatly improve my chances going forward.

I couldn’t convince her to let him go. In the first place, just letting him go was already impossible. He’d at minimum need to be mind wiped anyway.

A part of me understood that I was just rationalizing this choice to myself, but I couldn’t stop. This experience would serve me well. Maybe not now, but soon enough.

I took a deep breath and drew my wand. “You know, mother, you’ve got the right idea. I always did wonder how things felt from the other side”

“I knew you’d see things my way,” she said, giving me a peck on the cheek. “Now, let’s get started…”

Author’s Note

Some people saw Lowell’s motives coming. He knows Valencia is a monster. But she’s also a great conversationalist with an even better set of tits. For a man who’s decided he’s ready to exit stage left, that’s all that matters.

No, I’m not suggesting that all of Blaise’s stepdads were suicidal, or that Valencia’s murders are just creative hospice care. She’s still a sociopath who gets off on killing people. But with Lowell being the one I’ve introduced into this story proper, I felt he deserved a bit more fleshing out.

Blaise isn’t a typical shonen hero. I wouldn’t say he’s a bad person, but he’s got a very clear list of priorities, starting with himself, of course. If he thinks he can stop a bad thing from happening, he will, but if he thinks it’s too much effort, then… he may as well get something from it.

Animal Fact: A while back, I said that orcas were sometimes hunted by whalers. They were unpopular due to their difficulty and smaller size, but when opportunity struck, meat was meat.

That said, there was a pod of orcas in Eden, New South Wales, Australia that cooperated with whalers. The local pod would shepherd baleen whales towards shore, then swim miles out to the villages, alerting the hunters.

They would even pen the whales in and drive them to the surface so the hunters could harpoon them. Some of those orcas would even help drag the kills to shore. Don’t believe me? There is a skeleton of an orca named Old Tom at the Eden Killer Whale Museum with worn teeth from biting ropes.

In return for their help, the orcas would eat the lips and tongues of the baleen whales while the whales were docked. They would also feed on the birds and fish that gathered in the wake of the hunt.

The people of the Yuin tribe (local aborigines) have a spiritual connection to the orcas that anthropologists say date back to the last Ice Age. They have oral records of their ancestors hunting where the sea is today. Some claim that the orcas are their ancestors returned and many of the local pod were named after former Yuin members.