On the upper deck of the yacht, Valentina was pressed against Marco in a shadowed alcove, their mouths locked together in a heated kiss. The bartender's hands roamed freely over her body while she tangled her fingers in his dark hair, rubbing herself furiously against him.
Suddenly, she felt something hot against her chest.
She pulled back from Marco, breathing hard. "One moment, amore," she murmured, pulling out the pendant from between her tits. What she saw made her blood run cold.
"What is it, Tina?" Marco asked, his words slightly slurred from champagne and arousal.
"Nothing important," Valentina said softly, before she pressed a small needle into his neck. "Just business."
Marco's eyes rolled back and he slumped forward, unconscious. Valentina caught him and lowered him gently to the deck before hurrying away.
She found Nadia by the stern rail, apparently admiring the view of the coastline. "We have a problem," she said quietly.
Nadia turned, and the vapid party girl persona she'd been wearing all day vanished completely. "How bad?"
"Code black. Isabelle's blown and Potter's still alive. She's fleeing."
They shared a look of concern. This was the scenario they'd hoped never to encounter—their target not only surviving the assassination attempt but potentially turning hunter instead of prey. Their eyes darted around, taking in the crowd, mostly naked and passed out but a few stirred, completely delirious.
"The wards?" Nadia asked.
"Still holding for now, but..."
They were already moving toward the stairs leading to the lower decks when Isabelle burst through the door, wild-eyed with panic, her dress sloppily hanging over her body.
"He's alive!" she gasped. "The Manticore venom did nothing. Nothing!"
Before either sister could respond, Harry appeared in the doorway behind her. He'd taken the time to put on his pants but remained shirtless, moving like an apex predator in its element. His green eyes seemed to glow in the dim lighting as he stared at them.
"Ladies," he said pleasantly.
All three women raised their wands, but Harry was faster. The anti-travel wards around the yacht shattered like glass, and the sheer magical backlash sent both sisters and Isabelle staggering backward. Immediately, new wards went up, stronger and more terrifying than whatever Isabelle had put up.
The three women collided against the walls of the yacht, barely standing and looking even more terrified.
"That's better," Harry said, rolling his shoulders.
They slowly caught their footing, the magical backlash having affected them more than either would've thought. Hands shaking, they brought their wands up and pointed at him.
"Come on, you really want to do it this way?" Harry asked with a sigh.
"Bombarda!" Nadia shouted. A powerful blast careened toward Harry who clicked his tongue in annoyance. He gave his wand a flick and a massive swirling vortex emerged out of thin air, absorbing the blast completely.
They stared at him in shock for a moment before Valentina whirled around, grabbing her sister's hand.
"You idiot! You would've killed all these other people in here too! We're assassins, not bullheaded idiots! We don't do things like this! Only the target, no unnecessary casualties!"
"You think now's the time to think about that crap!?" Nadia retorted vehemently. "You think the Widow will give a fuck about a bunch of dead muggles or a destroyed ship? She wants Potter dead. That's all she cares about!"
"Could you not speak about me as if I'm not here?" Harry called out amusedly, and they all whirled around toward him once again. "Now, I've not seen from you, Valentina, but your spellwork shows you three are assassins, not fighters. I mean, your spells are not that powerful, and even the way you hold your wands shows that you're not used to battling in person. Stealth is where your strengths are, am I right?"
As if to prove his point, he gestured casually, and all three wands flew from their owners' grips to hover in the air beside him. Their eyes widened as Harry stalked forward, and they kept stepping back until they were pressed against the rail, trapped between Harry and the dark water. The wind had picked up, and their hair whipped about wildly as they stared at him.
"Now then, it would be terribly unfair to subject all these innocent party-goers to what's about to happen," he continued. "They're just here to have a good time, and I'd hate to interrupt their pretty sleep or traumatize them after they've had so much fun. I think we should take our little discussion somewhere more private."
Without any visible spell-casting, invisible bonds wrapped around all three women, holding them fast. Harry stepped forward until he was close enough to touch.
"Don't worry," he said with a smile that was anything but reassuring as he gently caressed Isabelle's cheek. The woman seemed to unconsciously lean into his touch before she flinched. Harry smirked. "You're going to enjoy this. I promise."
The wards around the yacht dissolved and the world twisted around them. The last thing any of the other party-goers would remember was a brief flash of light from the stern, easily dismissed as fireworks or someone's camera flash.
When their vision cleared, the four figures were gone as if they'd never been there at all.
-Break-
Harry landed smoothly on his feet, still shirtless and apparently unbothered by the journey.
The three women weren't so lucky. They tumbled forward in a heap, limbs tangled together as they crashed onto the polished floor with a collective grunt of pain. Their invisible bonds had vanished during the apparition, but the disorientation from side-along travel left them sprawled like ragdolls.
"Tsk, tsk," Harry said, shaking his head. "That's no way for professional assassins to make an entrance."
With a casual wave of his hand, invisible force lifted all three women upright, setting them on their feet with their backs pressed together in a tight triangle. They swayed slightly, still dizzy, but remained standing whether they wanted to or not.
Harry crossed the room and draped himself across an oversized leather couch positioned near the bed. The city lights behind him cast his face in shadow, making his green eyes seem even more luminous. Another gesture and the three women rotated smoothly to face him, their bodies moving without their consent like mannequins on a turntable.
He regarded them with one eyebrow raised, his posture relaxed but somehow still predatory. The silence stretched out for several long seconds.
"You know," Harry finally said, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, "the Widow seems to be reaching well beyond her station these days. What's the phrase? Overstepping her bounds? Getting too big for her lingerie? Sorry, I'm taking liberty with the sayings here."
The three women exchanged nervous glances but said nothing. Harry didn't seem to expect a response. He was staring past them now, lost in thought.
"I mean, I did expect some kind of retaliation after I sent that last lackey running back to her," he continued conversationally. "Poor bastard could barely walk straight after our little chat. I imagine he delivered my message quite clearly, though. The Widow must've been furious." Harry smiled at the memory. "But this? Three assassins on a yacht full of innocents? That's either desperation or sheer arrogance. I'm trying to figure out which."
"It's not personal," Valentina blurted out suddenly. The words seemed to escape her mouth before she could stop them. "We were just following orders. It's just a job."
"Just a job," Nadia echoed quickly, nodding. "Nothing against you specifically, Mr. Potter. You understand, right?"
Isabelle remained silent, but her eyes were pleading, all her confidence and sultriness from before gone, vanished in a puff of smoke.
Harry's gaze snapped back to them, and he studied their faces for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "You know what? I believe you. I do."
The women stared at him for a moment, wondering if they'd misheard. When he simply smiled, they seemed to breathe a little easier, hope flickering in their expressions.
"Contrary to what you might think," Harry said, his voice gentler now, "I hold no animosity toward you three. Not really."
"Really?" Isabelle asked, the word coming out as barely more than a whisper. She looked genuinely surprised.
"Really," Harry confirmed. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I know how this works. It's just a job for you, like you said. You didn't wake up one morning and decide 'Hey, I want to kill Harry Potter today.' Someone paid you. Someone gave you orders. Someone who has enough leverage over you that refusing wasn't an option."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"I might not know your individual backstories," he continued, "but I can guess they're not pleasant. Organizations like the Widow's don't recruit from happy, well-adjusted families. They find people who are desperate, who have nowhere else to go, who've been backed into corners so tight that murder for money starts to look like a reasonable career path."
Valentina's jaw tightened. Nadia looked away. And Isabelle closed her eyes. Harry had struck close to home, clearly.
"They prey on the helpless," Harry said quietly. "They take people who have no other choice and they give them a new life. Train them, house them, feed them, give them purpose. And slowly, gradually, those new assassins start to actually like their new lives. The money's good, the work is straightforward, and they're surrounded by people who understand them in ways civilians never could. So they stay. They never want to leave. And the cycle continues, feeding on the next generation of desperate souls."
A heavy silence settled over them. None of the women contradicted him.
"I also know," Harry said, his tone matter-of-fact now, "that you're probably not remorseful about the lives you've taken so far. Most of your targets were likely people who deserved what they got. Corrupt politicians, abusive crime lords, people who'd done terrible things and gotten away with it. Am I wrong?"
They said nothing, but their faces confirmed it.
"And I know you won't change your lives," Harry added. "You're not going to wake up tomorrow with a sudden attack of conscience and quit the assassination business. This is who you are now. This is what you do. And honestly? I don't care enough to try to reform you. That would be a waste of my time and energy."
Hope bloomed fully in their expressions now. Valentina's shoulders relaxed. Nadia's breathing steadied. Isabelle's eyes widened with relief.
"So you're not going to do anything to us?" Valentina asked carefully, as if afraid that speaking the words might shatter the possibility.
"I'm not," Harry said simply. "I don't want to waste my efforts killing you. You're not worth it. You're just tools, and I don't hold grudges against tools."
All three women released sighs that seemed to come from their very souls. The terror that had been gripping them since Harry had appeared out of that room on the yacht finally began to loosen its hold. Nadia actually slumped slightly, and Isabelle's eyes glistened with tears of relief.
"However," Harry said, and the single word made them all freeze again. "You should still pay for what you did."
The fear came rushing back instantly. Their eyes went wide, their bodies tensing as if preparing for pain or death or something worse.
"Wait, please—" Nadia started.
"I said I wouldn't do anything to you," Harry interrupted, raising a hand. "And I won't. But I didn't say anything about someone other than me."
Before any of them could ask what he meant by that, the door to the suite opened.
A woman entered, and all three assassins turned to look. She was stunning, with long dark hair that cascaded past her shoulders, sharp aristocratic features, and a figure that would make goddesses jealous. She wore a revealing black dress that somehow managed to be both elegant and provocative. Her dark eyes swept over the three bound women with curiosity and amusement.
"Bella," Harry said warmly, and the woman's face lit up. "Perfect timing."
Bellatrix gracefully crossed the room toward him. Harry stood from the couch as she approached, and she pressed herself against him naturally, like she belonged there. Harry pulled her close, wrapping one arm around her waist, and buried his face in her hair, breathing in deeply.
"Master," Bella murmured, her voice filled with genuine affection.
Harry pulled back just enough to lean close to her ear, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head. He began whispering, his words too quiet for the three assassins to hear. As he spoke, Bella's expression shifted through several emotions—surprise, understanding, and then something predatory that made all three women take an involuntary step back despite their magical restraints.
Bella's hands had tightened on Harry's shoulders as he spoke, her fingers digging into his bare skin. But as he continued, she gradually relaxed, and by the time he pulled back, she was smiling.
She stepped away from him and gave a respectful bow, deep enough to show true deference. "As you wish, Master. I understand perfectly."
Harry gave her a warm and approving smile. Then he turned to face the three assassins one last time. They were staring at him with expressions that had shifted from relief back to something resembling terror, though this fear seemed different—more uncertain, more confused.
"What you're going to pay won't be painful. Well, not unless you want it to be, I suppose. Bella will explain the rest," Harry said cheerfully. He gave them a casual wave, almost friendly. "Good luck, ladies. I have a feeling you're going to need it."
And with a soft crack, he was gone.
The silence in the suite was absolute for about three heartbeats. Then Valentina found her voice.
"What did he tell you?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "What's going to happen to us?"
Bellatrix turned to face them fully, and her smile widened. It wasn't a comforting expression. She began walking toward them slowly, her heels clicking on the polished floor with each measured step.
"Oh, don't look so worried," Bella purred. "Master was very clear in his instructions. He doesn't want you hurt. He doesn't want you killed. He just wants you... educated."
"Educated?" Nadia repeated warily.
"Mmm," Bella hummed, circling them now like a shark around prey. "You see, my Master is very particular about debts. You three tried to kill him. Failed spectacularly, I might add, but you did try. And while he bears you no personal ill will, he can't simply let that go unpunished. It would set a poor precedent."
She stopped in front of Isabelle, reaching out to trail one finger along the younger woman's jaw. Isabelle shivered but couldn't pull away.
"But Master is also pragmatic," Bella continued. "Killing you would be wasteful. Torturing you would be tedious. So instead, he's devised something much more... creative."
"What?" Valentina demanded. "Just tell us!"
Bellatrix laughed, and it sent shivers down their spines. "Oh, where's the fun in that? But since Master wants you to understand your situation clearly, I suppose I should explain." She stepped back, addressing all three of them now. "For the next month, you three belong to me. You'll serve whatever purpose I deem fit. Companionship, assistance, entertainment... whatever strikes my fancy. And at the end of that month, you'll be free to return to your lives, your organization, your Widow, if you choose. No harm, no lasting damage. Just one month of... let's call it personal service."
The three women stared at her in disbelief.
"That's it?" Isabelle asked. "We just... serve you for a month?"
"That's it," Bella confirmed. "Though I should mention that Master's definition of 'not painful' is rather flexible. I won't permanently harm you, but that doesn't mean the next thirty days will be comfortable. It all depends on how cooperative you are. And how much you... entertain me."
The way she said that last part made all three women shift in their places, the meaning dawning on them.
"And if we refuse?" Nadia asked, though her voice held no real defiance. She already knew the answer.
Bellatrix's expression hardened. "Then Master will be disappointed. And trust me, darlings, you don't want to disappoint him. He gave you mercy when he could have simply ended you on that yacht. Refuse, and I'll drag you back to him, and he might not be quite so generous the second time."
She let that threat hang in the air for a moment before her smile returned, softer now.
"But I don't think you'll refuse," Bella said confidently. "You're survivors. That's what makes you good assassins. You know when you're beaten, and you know when to accept the better deal. One month of uncertainty versus permanent death? That's not really a difficult choice, is it?"
Valentina looked at her sister, then at Isabelle. They were all exhausted, frightened, and completely out of options. Slowly, Valentina nodded.
"We accept," she said quietly.
"Excellent," Bella clapped her hands together, genuinely pleased. "Then let's begin your education, shall we? First lesson: when you're in my presence, you address me as Mistress. Understood?"
"Yes... Mistress," all three said in unison.
Bellatrix's smile was radiant. "Oh, we're going to have such fun together. Now, let's discuss the rules..."
-Break-
The next few days passed in a blur of preparation and reconnaissance.
Harry studied maps of the Monaco circuit, purchased appropriate tickets, and even bought some casual racing merchandise to blend in with the crowd. He researched the Rascasse corner specifically and found it was indeed known for being one of the more dramatic spots on the track, where crashes and overtakes were common.
Saturday morning arrived with perfect weather for racing. The Mediterranean sun was bright but not oppressive, and a light breeze kept the temperature comfortable. Harry dressed in khakis, a polo shirt, and a Ferrari cap he'd bought from a street vendor. He looked every inch the casual motorsport fan.
The principality of Monaco was electric with excitement. Every hotel was booked, every restaurant packed, and the streets filled with people wearing team colors and carrying race programs. Luxury cars that would turn heads anywhere else barely warranted a second glance here, where Lamborghinis and Ferraris were practically common transport.
Harry made his way through the crowds toward the Rascasse corner. The atmosphere was intoxicating in its own way, completely different from the glamorous party scene he'd experienced in Cannes. This was raw excitement, the kind that came from eighteen of the world's best drivers racing wheel-to-wheel through narrow city streets at speeds that defied common sense.
Section B turned out to be a covered grandstand with excellent sightlines to both the corner itself and the harbor beyond. Harry found his seat and settled in to wait, scanning the crowd for any sign of his quarry. The grandstand was filling up quickly with an international mix of racing fans. He heard conversations in at least a dozen languages as people claimed their spots for the race.
It happened twenty minutes before the start. Harry heard excited chatter coming from the entrance to his section. Two young women were making their way down the aisle, and something about their voices made him look up.
The first thing he noticed was their hair. Both were blonde, but where one had long, straight locks that caught the light like spun gold, the other had shorter, more tousled waves that framed her face. The taller of the two moved with unconscious grace, her blue eyes scanning the crowd with subtle wariness even as she smiled. She wore designer jeans and a white blouse that managed to be both elegant and casual.
Her companion was clearly younger and practically vibrating with excitement. She bounced on her toes as they walked, her blue sundress swirling around her legs, chattering animatedly about everything she saw. Where her sister maintained careful composure, this one was all unbridled enthusiasm.
"Daph, look at all this!" the younger blonde exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the crowd and the track beyond. "I can't believe we're actually here!"
"Keep your voice down, Tori," the taller one replied fondly, placing a gentle hand on her sister's arm. "We don't need to announce our presence to everyone."
Harry kept his reaction under control. Daphne and Astoria Greengrass. After days of searching, here they were, practically falling into his lap. He'd indeed given Bella her fair reward for what she'd found out for him.
The sisters found seats about three rows down and to Harry's left, close enough that he could hear their conversation if he focused. As they settled in, Harry studied them more carefully. Both had clearly adapted well to muggle life. Their clothes were fashionable but not flashy, their behavior perfectly natural. If he hadn't known better, he would have assumed they were just another pair of wealthy European socialites enjoying a day at the races.
"I still can't believe you're so excited for something like this," Daphne said as she checked her race program.
Astoria's face lit up. "This is completely different from anything though! The noise, the speed, the danger of it all. And they're not flying, Daph. They're racing on the ground like regular people do, but faster than should be humanly possible."
The flying bit was whispered under her breath. Harry was impressed by how smoothly they avoided any direct wizarding references while still maintaining their natural conversation.
Daphne's protective instincts were clearly strong, but she was indulging her sister's excitement rather than trying to dampen it.
"Just promise me you won't get too worked up," Daphne said quietly. "You know how excitement affects you."
A shadow crossed Astoria's face, and her hand moved unconsciously to her chest. "I'll be fine. The medicines have been working better lately."
"That's not what I meant and you know it."
Astoria squeezed her sister's hand. "I promise I'll be careful. But Daph, I need this. I need to feel alive while I still can."
The pain in her voice was unmistakable, and Harry felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. Whatever the blood curse was doing to her, it was clearly taking its toll on both sisters.
The conversation was interrupted by the roar of engines as the formation lap began. Eighteen Formula 1 cars screamed past their section in a blur of color and sound that made normal conversation impossible. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Astoria jumped to her feet with pure joy.
For the next hour and a half, Harry found himself genuinely caught up in the race. The Monaco Grand Prix was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The cars were so close he could see the drivers' helmets, and the sound was overwhelming in the best possible way. Several times drivers took the Rascasse corner so aggressively that Harry thought they'd surely crash, only to somehow maintain control through pure skill and reflexes.
Astoria was in her element, cheering loudly at every overtake attempt, meagre as the opportunities might be, and groaning dramatically when her favorite drivers fell back in the pack. Daphne was more reserved but no less engaged, offering knowledgeable commentary that showed she'd done her homework before attending.
Harry couldn't help but smile at their joy. These weren't the cold, calculating purebloods he'd expected. They were just two sisters trying to make the best of a difficult situation, finding moments of happiness wherever they could.
As the race wound down to its conclusion, Harry began planning his approach. He couldn't just walk up to them directly; that would put them on the defensive immediately. He needed to seem casual, accidental even.
The checkered flag fell to thunderous applause, and the crowd began the slow process of filtering out of the grandstands. Harry hung back, watching as the Greengrass sisters gathered their belongings and joined the exodus. He followed at a discrete distance, staying far enough back to avoid notice but close enough to track their movements.
They moved through the crowd with ease, clearly familiar with large public events. Daphne kept one hand on her sister's arm, guiding them through the throng of people while maintaining pleasant smiles for anyone who made eye contact.
They were good at this, Harry realized. Better than good. They'd completely reinvented themselves as muggles.
As they approached the main exit, Harry noticed something that made him freeze. Daphne had gone completely rigid, her face pale. Her eyes were fixed on something ahead of them, and her grip on Astoria's arm had tightened noticeably.
Following her gaze, Harry realized she'd spotted him. Their eyes met across the crowd, and recognition flashed between them instantly. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Daphne's training kicked in, and she smoothly turned away, leaning down to whisper something urgent in her sister's ear.
Astoria's reaction was immediate and concerning. She began shaking almost imperceptibly, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid. Daphne wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, murmuring reassurances while scanning the crowd for the quickest exit route.
They were trying to blend in with the departing fans, but Harry could see the tension in their movements. Astoria was getting worse, her trembling more pronounced, and Daphne's concern was becoming harder to hide.
As they passed a restroom sign, Daphne made a quick decision and steered her sister toward the facilities. Harry gave them a few moments before following, positioning himself outside where he could monitor the situation without being obvious about it.
Several minutes passed. Then he heard it—a sound that made him furrow his brows and strain his ears to listen properly. Someone was retching violently, the wet, desperate sounds of someone losing a fight with their own body. It went on far too long, accompanied by what sounded like quiet sobbing.
Harry's resolve hardened. Whatever was happening to Astoria Greengrass, it was serious. And if Pansy was right about Daphne's devotion to her sister, this might be his only chance to help them both.
The sounds from the restroom eventually quieted, replaced by hushed voices and the sound of running water. Harry positioned himself casually against the wall opposite the entrance, checking his phone as if waiting for someone.
When the sisters finally emerged, they looked shaken but composed. Daphne had her arm around Astoria's waist, supporting her sister's weight while maintaining the appearance of casual affection. Astoria's face was pale but no longer had that grey undertone that had been creeping in during the race.
They made it perhaps twenty feet before Harry spoke.
"It seems Pansy was right that I'd find you in the area," he said quietly, his voice carrying just far enough to reach them. "Although this is a bit farther from the Riviera than I expected."
Both sisters froze mid-step. Slowly, they turned to face him, moving closer together in unconscious solidarity.
Up close, Harry could see the family resemblance more clearly. They both had the same aristocratic bone structure and intelligent eyes, though Daphne's were blue while Astoria's were grey. There was steel in Daphne's spine despite her fear, and protective fury in the way she positioned herself slightly in front of her younger sister.
"Harry Potter," Daphne said, her voice carefully neutral. "We've left that world behind. We don't want to do anything with you or anyone else there."
"Fled and hidden, you mean," Harry corrected with a smile. Daphne's lips pursed as she stared at him.
"I had hoped we'd managed to hide more thoroughly than this."
"You did a good job," Harry acknowledged. "It took considerable effort to track you down."
Astoria's hand found her sister's, squeezing tightly. "What do you want from us?" she asked, her voice shakier than she probably intended. "We haven't done anything wrong."
"I'm not here to arrest you or cause trouble," Harry said quickly, noting how they both tensed at the implication. "I just want to talk."
Daphne's laugh was bitter. "Talk? You're Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the man who saved the wizarding world. What could you possibly want to talk to us about? We didn't even speak once during our six years at Hogwarts."
"You're absolutely right," Harry agreed. "We were complete strangers, which is exactly why I understand your confusion. But there are things we need to discuss, and this isn't the place for that conversation."
"We don't care," Daphne said firmly. "Whatever business the wizarding world might have with us, we're not interested. We've built new lives here."
Harry's eyes flicked meaningfully to Astoria, whose face had grown paler during their exchange. "You tried, but have you really left it behind?" he asked softly. "Or has it simply followed you in ways you can't escape?"
Astoria's sharp intake of breath told him his guess was correct. Daphne's protective instincts flared immediately.
"I don't know what you're implying—"
"The blood curse," Harry interrupted gently. "It's getting worse, isn't it?"
The sisters exchanged a look of pure panic. Astoria swayed slightly on her feet, and Daphne's arm tightened around her.
"How could you possibly—" Daphne began, then stopped herself. "Ah yes, you mentioned Parkinson. In any case, it doesn't matter. Whatever you think you know, we're handling it."
"Are you?" Harry asked. "Because from what I just witnessed, it seems like you're fighting a losing battle. And that's not a fight you have to face alone. You could have help, if only you choose to listen."
His words cut off any rebuttal that would've come out of Daphne's mouth. Harry could see the internal struggle playing out on her face—the desperate hope warring with learned caution, the love for her sister battling against the fear of trusting someone from their old world.
"This conversation needs to happen somewhere private," Harry continued. "Somewhere we won't be overheard or interrupted. You both know that."
Astoria tugged on her sister's hand. "Daph," she whispered. "Maybe we should listen to what he has to say."
"Tori, we agreed—"
"We agreed to stay away from that world because it had nothing good to offer us," Astoria interrupted, her voice gaining strength. "But if there's even a chance..."
She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. The hope in her eyes was heartbreaking and infectious.
Daphne looked between her sister and Harry, clearly torn. Finally, she sighed heavily. "If we agree to this conversation, what assurances do we have that you're not leading us into a trap?"
"None," Harry said honestly. "Except my word that I'm here to help, not harm. Although not without a price, but we can talk about it later. Also, the fact that if I wanted to hurt you, I could have done it already without all this talking."
It was a brutal truth, but an effective one. Both sisters recognized the reality of their situation—they were two runaway witches facing one of the most powerful wizards alive. If Harry had malicious intentions, they wouldn't stand a chance regardless.
After a long moment, Daphne nodded reluctantly. "Somewhere private then. But if this is some kind of trick—"
"It's not," Harry assured her. He stepped forward and extended both hands palm up. "Take my hands. We'll be at our destination in moments."
The sisters hesitated, looking at his outstretched hands like they might bite them. Finally, Astoria reached out first, her fingers trembling as they made contact with Harry's. Daphne followed a second later, her grip tight and controlled.
"Hold on," Harry warned.
The world twisted around them with barely a whisper of sound, and the chaos of post-race Monaco disappeared in favor of somewhere much more private where they could have the conversation that would change all of their lives.
TBC.
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