Harry Potter: The Last Heiress of The White Family

Deep in a forgotten forest, far from the reach of civilization, a lonely cottage stood half-swallowed by the gnarled arms of ancient trees. The sky above was thick with mist, casting a pale light over the overgrown path leading to the cabin. All was quiet until a sharp crack echoed through the woods like the snap of a bone.

A tall figure emerged from the shadows, his black cloak brushing the forest floor as he strode toward the cottage with purpose. He reached the weathered door and pushed it open without hesitation.

Inside, the cabin was pitch dark, silent but for the creaking of wooden floorboards beneath his boots. The air was stale, filled with dust and the scent of old ash.

Suddenly, a wand pressed against the back of his neck.

"Don't. Fucking. Move," came a voice—low, gravelly, edged with violence. "One twitch, and I'll curse you with my death spell."

The tall man didn't flinch. He exhaled slowly, unimpressed.

"If you weren't my partner," he said coldly, "I'd have killed you long ago for these childish theatrics. Put the wand down."

Behind him, a shorter man burst into laughter and lowered his wand.

"Oh, come on! You used to be fun. First time I pulled that trick on you, you pissed yourself, mate," he said with a crooked grin, stepping into the flickering light of a single floating candle.

The tall man turned to face him, expression like stone.

"What is it this time? You asked me to come all the way to this cursed hole. I was in the middle of fun… enjoying a Muggle girl—frozen stiff, just how I like them. Then your bloody emergency owl interrupted my fun. This had better be worth it… or I'm digging up your mum to finish what the worms started."

The short man cackled. "Ha! If my mum were still alive, she'd probably shag you herself. Lot of men lost their ass virginity to her—legendary woman, really. But enough reminiscing. This is business. Big pay."

He led the tall man toward a worn table in the center of the room. On it lay a folded copy of the Daily Prophet. With a flick of his wand, the paper smoothed itself out. A photograph on the front page caught the taller man's eye—an image of a young girl in a pale silver gown, speaking to an elegantly dressed woman at a ballroom.

"So?" the tall man asked, squinting down at the photo. "Who's this little beauty, then? What's the job?"

The shorter man leaned in, a glint in his eye. "That, my dear friend, is our target. The heiress of the White family. Someone wants her gone and they're paying a mountain of Galleons to make it happen."

The tall man stared at the image for a long moment. Then he licked his lips.

"A shame. Such a pretty thing. What kind of monster wants to waste something that exquisite?"

"You still haven't changed partner ," the short man said, smirking. "But you'll be pleased to know we don't actually kill her."

The tall man raised a brow. "Then how do we get paid?"

"Our client's in England," the short one said. "But the girl's in France. All we have to do is make it look like she's dead. They'll never know."

"And what do we do with her afterward?" the tall man asked, his tone sharpening with interest.

The short man smiled, slow and malicious. "We sell her of course after we had our fun with her . Our old buyer's still in the game. The rich Arab—you remember? He's been hunting for something rare. Young. High-blooded. Even if she's not… untouched, he'll pay handsomely for the name alone."

The taller man's eyes gleamed with something dark. "We'll be swimming in gold. Even without her virginity, she's worth a fortune. "

"Exactly!"The short man said. "First, we make contact with our man in France. He'll be key. The girl's living in that heavily-guarded Beauxbatons school. We'll need an inside hand to make the job smooth."

The tall man said "But getting her out of Beauxbatons? That school's not a bloody playground."

"That's where our contact comes in," the short man said, pulling out a scrap of parchment. "He's on the inside. Knows the security, the schedules, even the secret passages. We give him a cut, he gives us the opening."

The tall man grunted. "Fine. But don't expect me to split too much. And this better be clean—if we make one wrong move, the whole thing collapses."

"Relax. Beauxbatons isn't guarded by a Dumbledore," the short man said with a smirk. "They're all about poetry and perfume over there. No one's expecting monsters like us."

The tall man chuckled darkly. "Then I can't wait to meet our little princess. Let's make this quick. I want my hands on her before the year's ends ."

Their gazes dropped once more to the image of the girl—Eira White smiling in the photo .