Harry found Daphne standing by the floor to ceiling windows. She was silhouetted against the glittering lights of Paris, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the illuminated Eiffel Tower in the distance. Her posture was tense, her shoulders rigid. She must have a lot going on in her mind.
Harry crossed the room silently and came to stand beside her, wordlessly holding out the mug of tea.
Daphne glanced at him, surprise flickering across her features as she accepted the offering. "Thanks," she said softly.
They stood in silence for a moment, both staring out at the city lights. Daphne raised the mug to her lips and took a careful sip. Her eyes widened slightly.
"This is really good," she said, genuine appreciation in her voice. "The flavor is incredible. What is it?"
"Bella's special blend," Harry replied with a small smile. "She makes it for me whenever I need to decompress."
"Mmm." Daphne took another sip, seeming to savor it this time. They lapsed back into silence, though it felt more comfortable now. Just two people sharing tea and watching Paris glow in the darkness.
Finally, Daphne spoke. "We should discuss the matter we both know needs discussing."
"We should," Harry agreed.
Daphne glanced at him sideways, her blue eyes assessing him. "I can have a fair guess as to what you want from me."
"Is that so?"
"I might have left the wizarding world behind years ago," Daphne said carefully, "but I'm still a Slytherin. I wouldn't have survived this long by being a dense idiot."
She paused, taking another sip of tea.
"No, I can't imagine you would've," Harry smiled.
"All my life, I was expected to become the wife of someone my father would choose for me. Part of a family alliance, securing connections and power for the Greengrass name. I was raised with those expectations ingrained into every aspect of my upbringing."
Harry nodded, not feeling the need to say anything. He had a fair idea what such an upbringing would've been like.
"When Tori and I fled, I thought that life was behind me. No more arranged marriages, no more being traded like property between pureblood families. I thought we would be free." She let out a bitter chuckle. "I guess freedom was too much to ask for."
"You don't have to think of it like that," Harry said with a small smile.
Daphne turned to him fully now. "What else am I supposed to think of it as? You must have gone through a lot of effort to find us. You helped cure Astoria's blood curse. It's obvious that you want something in return. And that something is for me to become your wife. I'm the daughter of House Greengrass. Even though my family is gone and we left the wizarding world, having me as your wife would come with benefits in the eyes of the public. The symbolism alone would be valuable."
"You're not wrong," Harry agreed. "But you don't have all the answers. I can tell."
"What I don't understand is why you'd want me specifically," Daphne continued, her voice gaining strength. "If you just wanted a pretty pureblood face as your arm candy, there are dozens of witches who would jump at the chance to marry the Boy Who Lived. Why go through all this trouble to find two fugitives? There has to be some reason."
Harry calmly regarded her, sipping his tea as Daphne stared at him expectantly. He made her wait for a few more seconds before he lowered the mug and turned to face her fully. "I'll admit, I hadn't taken your intelligence and perception into account when initially settling on you as a candidate. But now that I've seen it firsthand, I'm even more convinced that you're the best choice I could have made."
Daphne's hand tightened slightly on her mug at hearing the confirmation spoken aloud. His compliment did register with her, but she focused on the more important matter at hand. Her jaw clenched, but she remained silent, clearly waiting for him to elaborate.
"This was Narcissa's idea originally," Harry continued, deciding brutal honesty was the best approach. "She's one of my subordinates. With her, I have an arrangement similar to what I have with Bella, though their roles differ somewhat. Narcissa saw the political advantages of marrying you specifically and gave me the idea."
"So she is one of your servants in this Master-subordinate relationship," Daphne said, though it wasn't really a question.
Harry nodded. "She is. And she was right about the advantages. Having you as my wife would be a massive boost to my political image. A pureblood Slytherin who fled Britain during the war, returning home as my wife? It's the perfect narrative. It shows unity, reconciliation, and that old divisions can be healed. It demonstrates that I'm not just the Gryffindor hero but someone who can bridge the gaps between houses and factions."
He paused, making sure she was following. Daphne's expression remained carefully neutral, but he could see the calculations happening behind her eyes.
"Beyond the political benefits, there are practical considerations," Harry continued. "I need someone intelligent enough to navigate high society functions and political events. Someone who understands the old families and their ways but isn't beholden to their outdated prejudices. Someone who can present the right image publicly while understanding the reality of my private arrangements."
"The other women," Daphne said flatly. "Like Bellatrix and Narcissa."
"Yes. I won't lie to you about this, Daphne. My life includes multiple women in various capacities. Some are subordinates who serve me completely, including sexually. Others are companions, partners in specific endeavors. I won't be giving that up, and I won't be hiding it from you."
Daphne's knuckles had gone white around the mug. "You want me to be your wife, the public face of your image, while you maintain your collection of women on the side."
"I want you to be my wife and understand the full reality of what that means," Harry corrected. "You'll have status, power, and protection. Anything you or Astoria could want will be yours. But it comes with accepting that I'm not the traditional faithful husband."
"How generous," Daphne said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Harry met her eyes steadily. "I could lie to you. I could promise I'd only be involved with you and then carry on affairs behind your back like most of the pureblood marriages you grew up around. But that's not who I am, Daphne. What I am is what you see, and this is what I'm offering. You deserve to know exactly what you'd be agreeing to."
For a long moment, Daphne said nothing. She stood rigid by the window, her eyes now trained firmly on the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Harry could tell that she was fighting some internal battle, weighing options and consequences with the same calculating mind that had kept her and her sister alive and hidden for years.
Finally, she began speaking, her voice low and controlled.
"Ever since we left the wizarding world, I've been hoping we wouldn't have to return. That we could build something new, something free from all the politics and blood status nonsense that defined our lives before." She took a shaky breath. "But that world never really left us alone, did it? We had to hide from people pursuing us. Ministry officials, bounty hunters, even just nosy wizards who could've recognized us or our names. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to constantly look over your shoulder? To change your appearance every few months, to never stay in one place too long? Fearing that you could be caught any day? Can you imagine the number of sleepless nights we've had to endure?"
Harry gave her a small smile. He could easily imagine such a life. He'd been on the run himself, the memory of those months during the Horcrux hunt still fresh in his mind. It had destroyed everything in his life, and taken away all the relationships he'd once held close to his heart. Or perhaps it had changed everything for the better.
He remained silent though, letting her speak.
"And through it all, the blood curse hung over us like a specter. No matter how far we ran, no matter how well we hid, it was always there. Killing Astoria slowly, day by day, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it." Her voice cracked slightly. "I watched my sister suffer for years. Watched the light fade from her eyes a little more each month. Watched her pretend to be strong when I knew she was terrified."
Daphne's hands were trembling now. She set the mug down completely, gripping the windowsill instead.
"I've spent every day since we fled trying to find a cure. I tracked down every healer, every curse breaker, every dark arts specialist who might have answers. I sold family heirlooms for consultation fees. I was prepared to do anything, sacrifice anything, if it meant saving her."
She turned to face Harry fully now, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears but her expression resolute.
"I was prepared to die for her," Daphne said quietly. "If some ritual required a sacrifice, if some cure needed my life in exchange for hers, I would have done it without hesitation. Do you understand? I was ready to give up everything, including my own existence, to save my sister."
Harry nodded slowly, recognizing the truth in her words.
"So when you ask what price you're demanding..." Daphne's laugh was hollow. "Becoming your wife? Accepting your other women? Returning to the wizarding world as your political asset? That's nothing compared to what I was prepared to pay. It's not even close."
She stepped forward, closing some of the distance between them. Her chin lifted, and Harry saw the full force of her Slytherin upbringing in her posture. This was Lady Daphne Greengrass, daughter of an ancient pureblood house, and she was making a deal.
"I agree to your terms," she said clearly. "I'll become your wife. I'll return to the wizarding world and play whatever role you need me to play. I'll accept your other women and whatever arrangements you've made with them. I'll be the perfect political asset you want."
Harry studied her face, searching for any sign of hesitation or resentment. What he found instead was determination mixed with relief, and underneath it all, something that might have been hope.
"Just to be clear," he said slowly, "you understand this isn't a temporary arrangement? This is a real marriage, Daphne. Magically binding and permanent. You'll be taking my name, standing at my side as my wife for the rest of our lives."
"I understand."
"And you're sure? I won't hold you to this if you need time to think."
Daphne's smile was sad but genuine. "I've been making impossible choices for years, Pot—Harry. I know how to recognize when I'm getting the better end of a deal. You're offering me and my sister protection, status, resources, and most importantly, Astoria's life and health. In exchange, you want me as your wife despite the complicated nature of your personal life. From where I'm standing and what I was prepared for, that's almost generous."
Harry set his own mug down on a nearby table and moved closer to her. He reached out and gently took her hand, the same gesture he'd made earlier. Daphne's fingers were cold, but they curled around his readily enough.
"Then we have an agreement," he said quietly. "You'll be my wife, and I'll make sure both you and Astoria want for nothing. Your sister will have access to the best treatment on her road to recovery. You'll both have protection from anyone who might seek to harm you. And you'll never have to run or hide again."
"When?" Daphne asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Not immediately. Astoria needs time to recover fully, and you both need time to adjust to coming back into the wizarding world. We'll announce our engagement publicly in a few months, let people get used to the idea. The actual wedding can be six months to a year from now, depending on what makes the most political sense."
Daphne nodded slowly, processing the timeline. "And until then?"
"Until then, you and Astoria will be completely independent while still under my protection. You can revive your family ventures if you'd like. Or we can look into something else. Whatever interests you. We'll work together on your reintroduction to society, make sure you're prepared for the scrutiny that'll come. And we'll get to know each other properly. We're going to be married, after all. We should probably be more than strangers."
"That seems reasonable," Daphne agreed. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she asked, "What about your other women? Will I need to meet them? Establish some sort of hierarchy?"
Harry couldn't help but smile at the clinical way she approached the question. "Eventually, yes. But that can wait until you're more settled. Bella, Cissa, and Pansy already know about this arrangement, obviously. The others will be informed as needed."
"How many others are there?" Daphne asked, then immediately shook her head. "Actually, don't answer that. I don't think I want to know yet."
"Fair enough." Harry squeezed her hand gently before releasing it. "Why don't you get some rest? It's been an exhausting day, and you should be there when Astoria wakes up. We can discuss the details more tomorrow."
Daphne glanced toward the couch where her sister still slept peacefully. The relief on her face was palpable, and the knowledge that Astoria would actually wake up, healthy and curse-free, was clearly overwhelming.
"Thank you," she said again, and she meant it with all that she was worth. "I know I've already said it, but I need you to understand. You saved her life. That's not something I'll ever forget."
"I know," Harry said simply. "Now go. Be with your sister."
Daphne moved toward the couch, then paused and looked back at him. "Harry? Earlier, you said you'd rather I didn't see this as debt. That I should think of it as the start of something special in my life."
"I did say that."
"Did you mean it? Or were those just pretty words to make me feel better about the arrangement?"
"I meant it. I'm not asking you to love me, Daphne. I'm not even asking you to want this marriage in the traditional sense. But I am hoping that over time, you'll find value in what we're building together. That it becomes something more than just a political arrangement."
Daphne stared at him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across her face. Then she nodded once and turned back to her sister, settling into the armchair beside the couch.
Harry watched her for a few seconds longer before he quietly left the suite. It had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. Maybe he should've given Daphne more credit than he'd done earlier. She was intelligent, mature, and pragmatic enough to recognize the pros and cons of a situation, and with a mind like that, she was going to be a powerful asset.
There were no two ways about it.
-Break-
In the hallway, Bellatrix was waiting for him. She pushed off the wall she'd been leaning against and fell into step beside him.
"Well?" she asked.
"She agreed."
"Of course she did. I told you she would." Bellatrix said with a satisfied smile. "Cissy will be pleased. She's been anxious to meet the future Lady Potter."
"I'm sure she has," Harry said dryly. "But I think we should give Daphne a few days to adjust before throwing her into the deep end of our unconventional dynamics."
"Spoilsport," Bellatrix teased. "What about the sister? What role will she play in all this?"
"I've thought about it, and I've decided that Astoria is off limits," Harry said firmly. "She's to be family now, nothing more. She gets to recover and live whatever life she chooses, free from any obligations or expectations."
Bellatrix nodded approvingly. "Good. The girl's been through enough. And it'll make Daphne more comfortable if she knows her sister is truly protected rather than being used as leverage. But…"
"But what?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.
"But what if she does choose you too?" Bellatrix asked coyly. "Let's face it, Master. You saved her life. If her sister is feeling so much gratitude for you, imagine what she'd feel."
Harry hummed thoughtfully. Bellatrix did make sense. "We'll see if something like that happens."
They walked in silence for a moment before Bellatrix spoke again. "You know, Master, I never thought I'd see the day when you took a wife. Especially not a pureblood Slytherin who probably spent half her time at Hogwarts thinking you were an overhyped Gryffindor."
Harry laughed. "People change, Bella. She's changed. I've changed. Maybe that's what makes this arrangement work."
"Maybe," Bellatrix agreed, looking thoughtful for a moment before she grinned wickedly. "Or maybe you just have a thing for complicated women who require careful handling."
"That too," Harry admitted with a smirk.
They reached the end of the hallway where a portkey waited to take Harry to his destination. He grabbed hold of it, looking back at Bellatrix who gave him a loving smile.
"She'll be good for you, Master. I can tell. She has spine and intelligence. Plus, she's not going to bore you, which is more than can be said for most of the simpering witches who throw themselves at you."
"High praise coming from you," Harry chuckled.
"I'm practical above all else," Bellatrix said with a shrug. "And practically speaking, Daphne Greengrass is an excellent choice. Cissy was right about that."
Harry nodded as the portkey activated, and he felt the familiar pull of magical transportation. As the world blurred around him, his last thought was of Daphne sitting vigil over her sister, finally able to relax after all these years of constant fear.
He'd made her a promise, and he intended to keep it. Astoria would live. Daphne would have the life she deserved. And in return, he'd have a wife who understood the complexities of power and wasn't naive about the world they lived in.
It was, all things considered, a fair exchange.
And if somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry acknowledged that part of him was genuinely interested in getting to know Daphne beyond the political arrangement, well, that was nobody's business but his own.
The future stretched out ahead of them, complicated and uncertain but full of possibilities. Harry had built an empire through careful planning and strategic moves. Adding Daphne Greengrass to that empire might just be his smartest decision yet.
Time would tell.
-Break-
Back in the suite, Daphne sat curled in the armchair, her eyes never leaving Astoria's peaceful face. Her sister was breathing easily, her color already better than it had been in months. The grey undertones were gone, replaced by the healthy flush of someone who wasn't actively dying.
She'd agreed to marry Harry Potter. The reality of that decision was still sinking in, settling into her bones like a weight she'd have to carry for the rest of her life.
But as she watched Astoria sleep, truly restful sleep without pain or fear, Daphne couldn't bring herself to regret it. She'd meant what she said. The price Harry asked was nothing compared to what she'd been prepared to pay.
And maybe, just maybe, he'd been right about it being the start of something special. She didn't love him, she barely knew him really, but there was something about the way he'd held her while she broke down. Something about the gentleness in his touch contrasted with the obvious power he wielded.
He was dangerous, that much was clear. But he was also honest, and that counted for something.
Daphne reached out and took Astoria's hand, holding it gently. "I hope I made the right choice, Tori," she whispered. "I hope you'll forgive me if I didn't."
But even as she said it, she knew her sister would understand. Astoria had always understood. That was the blessing and curse of being sisters who'd only had each other for so long.
Outside the windows, Paris glittered in the darkness, beautiful and indifferent to the life changing decisions being made in its shadow. Daphne watched the lights and waited for morning, when her sister would wake to a world where she wasn't dying anymore.
Everything else, she'd figure out as it came.
-Break-
The wine glass shattered against the marble floor, red liquid spreading across white stone like blood at a crime scene.
"Nothing?" Lady Zabini's voice was soft, almost conversational. That made it infinitely more dangerous than if she'd screamed. "You're telling me that three of my best operatives have simply vanished into thin air?"
The man before her, a wiry wizard with nervous hands and sweat beading on his upper lip, nodded jerkily. "Yes, my lady. Every tracking charm we placed on them has gone dark. The emergency portkeys they carried haven't been activated. The communication mirrors are completely silent."
She turned away from him, moving toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Tuscan countryside. The villa was her favorite of the properties she owned, isolated enough for privacy but close enough to civilization for convenience. The setting sun painted the rolling hills in shades of amber and gold, and she'd always found the view soothing after a particularly messy job.
Today it did nothing for her mood.
"What about the muggle methods?" she asked, still staring out at the landscape.
"All three stopped responding at exactly the same time. Their last known location was that yacht off the French Riviera where they were attending that party."
The Widow closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, her reflection in the window showed a woman in perfect control. Her dark hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, not a strand out of place. Her black silk dress fit her like a second skin, expensive and understated in the way only true wealth could achieve. She looked every inch the wealthy widow she pretended to be in polite society.
No one looking at her would guess she'd personally killed sixty nine people over the course of her career.
"So Potter has them," she said flatly.
"We can't be certain—"
"Don't insult my intelligence, Marco." She turned to face him, and he flinched despite himself. "They went after Potter. Potter survived, clearly. And now they're gone. The conclusion is obvious even to a child."
Marco swallowed hard. "What would you like us to do, my lady?"
"First, stop sweating all over my Persian rug. It's worth more than your annual salary." She walked past him toward the sideboard where several bottles of very expensive alcohol waited. She poured herself two fingers of cognac, not bothering to offer him any. "Second, tell me everything about Potter's movements over the past week. Where he's been, who he's seen, what properties he owns. I want a complete dossier on my desk within the hour."
"Of course, Lady Zabini." Marco started backing toward the door.
"And Marco?" She took a sip of her drink, savoring the burn. "If you bring me incomplete information, you'll join the girls wherever they've gone. Am I clear?"
"Crystal, my lady."
He practically fled the room. Lady Zabini listened to his footsteps echoing down the hallway until they faded entirely, then she returned to the window with her drink.
Three of her best assassins. Gone.
She'd trained Isabelle herself, taught the girl everything she knew about seduction and poison. Like her, Valentina and Nadia had come to her as children, orphaned by a feud that had wiped out their entire family. She'd given them purpose, direction, and most importantly, the skills to ensure no one would ever hurt them again.
They weren't just her operatives. They were her tools, honed and sharpened and perfectly suited to their purpose. And someone had taken them from her.
Her grip tightened on the glass. Harry bloody Potter.
The man who'd destroyed her son's life and sent Blaise to rot in Azkaban over a stupid teenage indiscretion. So what if he'd slept with the golden boy's girlfriend? Ginny Weasley had been willing enough, from what Blaise had told her. But Potter couldn't let it go. Couldn't accept that his precious little redhead had wanted someone else.
No, he'd manufactured evidence against her son. Had him arrested and tried and sentenced before anyone could properly investigate. And when Lady Zabini had tried to use her considerable influence to free her son, she'd found every door suddenly closed to her.
Potter had made sure of that too.
She'd visited Blaise in Azkaban three weeks ago. Her beautiful boy, her only child, had been a hollow shell of himself. The dementors had taken their toll despite Potter's supposed reforms of the prison. Blaise could barely string two sentences together anymore. He didn't recognize her half the time.
That was when she'd decided Harry Potter needed to die.
Not quickly. Not cleanly. She'd wanted him to suffer first, to feel the same helplessness and despair her son felt every day in that wretched prison. The plan had been perfect. Isabelle would seduce him, poison him, and make it look like an accident. An unfortunate tragedy that would barely make the papers beyond a sensational headline or two.
Instead, Potter had apparently survived and captured all three of her operatives.
Lady Zabini drained her glass and set it down with more force than necessary. She wouldn't abandon them. That wasn't how she operated. Everyone who worked for her knew that if they were loyal, she would move heaven and earth to protect them. It was part of why her organization functioned so smoothly. People knew their value.
But retrieving them from Potter would require more finesse than a direct assault. The man was infuriatingly powerful, and she'd clearly underestimated him. That wouldn't happen again.
She needed leverage. Something Potter actually cared about enough to trade for.
Her mind worked through possibilities as she paced the length of the room. Money wouldn't work. Potter had a bloody fortune from the Black family vaults alone. Threats were useless against someone who'd faced Voldemort and lived. Political pressure was a laughable thought.
But everyone had a weakness. Everyone had something they'd sacrifice for.
For her, it was Blaise. For Potter...
She stopped mid-stride as the thought formed in her mind.
Ginny Weasley.
The girl who'd betrayed him, who'd driven him to whatever darkness had allowed him to fabricate charges against Blaise. Potter claimed he was over her, that he'd moved on with his life. But the Black Widow had made a career out of reading people, and she knew obsession when she saw it.
Potter's revenge against Blaise had been too thorough, too vicious, too personal. That wasn't the response of someone who'd simply been hurt and moved on. That was the response of someone still bleeding from the wound.
She crossed to her desk and pulled out a leather-bound journal, flipping through pages filled with her neat handwriting. Notes on targets, on contacts, on useful information accumulated over decades of work. She found the section on the Weasley family and read through it carefully.
Ginny Weasley had worked as a Quidditch correspondent for the Daily Prophet. Still single, according to the latest information. She lived alone in a flat in London, visited her family regularly, and by all accounts had tried very hard to put her past with Potter behind her.
Perfect.
Lady Zabini pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and began writing. She'd need to be careful with this. The Weasley girl would be suspicious of any approach, especially if it seemed connected to Potter in any way. But there were methods. There were always methods.
A kidnapping would be too crude, too obvious. Potter would respond with overwhelming force and she'd gain nothing. No, this needed to be subtle. She needed Weasley to come to her willingly, or at least to be in a position where Lady Zabini could control the situation without obvious coercion.
She tapped her quill against her lips, thinking.
The Prophet was always looking for exclusive stories, especially about war heroes. What if someone approached Weasley with information about Potter's recent activities? Something scandalous enough to be worth investigating but not so scandalous it would send her running to the Aurors. Something that would make her dig deeper, ask questions, go places she shouldn't go.
Something that would lead her right into the Widow's claws.
The plan began to take shape in her mind. She'd need a credible source, someone Weasley would trust or at least believe. Perhaps a supposed informant from Potter's past, someone claiming to have information about his war-time activities. The girl had always been curious, always been determined to prove herself as more than just Potter's ex-girlfriend.
That determination could be exploited.
Lady Zabini continued writing, her strokes becoming more confident as the details fell into place. She'd have to move quickly. Potter would be expecting retaliation, would be on guard against direct attacks. But he wouldn't expect her to target the Weasley girl, not when their relationship had ended years ago.
That was his mistake.
She finished her notes and set the quill aside, reading over what she'd written with a critical eye. It would work. It had to work. The alternative was accepting that Potter had won, that he'd taken her operatives and there was nothing she could do about it.
And that was unacceptable.
TBC.
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