In the heart of the English countryside stood an elegant, sprawling manor nestled between dense woods and winding paths. The manor was old, regal—a place that held centuries of secrets behind its ivy-clad walls. Moonlight bathed the slate rooftops and frosted gardens in silver, and within one of the upper chambers, silence reigned—until a soft but persistent tapping echoed against the glass.
Inside the lavish bedroom, two figures lay entangled beneath silk sheets, their breathing steady in slumber. The tap came again, rhythmic and urgent. One of the men stirred. He was tall, dark-skinned, his body lean and strong. He blinked away sleep and sat up, glancing toward the window with a sigh.
Grumbling under his breath, he rose, stepping over the cool stone floor to unlatch the window. An owl, pale and sharp-eyed, waited there with a scroll tied to its leg. With a soft click of his tongue, he retrieved the message, and the bird disappeared into the night, wings slicing through the mist.
Josh—the man's name—unfurled the letter. As his eyes scanned the contents, his brow furrowed. He turned, walked back to the bed, and gently shook his partner awake.
"Cécil," he said softly, "you have a letter."
Cécil stirred beneath the duvet. He emerged slowly, his eyes heavy with sleep. Naked and unbothered, he stretched before sitting up, brushing a hand through his tousled, black hair.
"What is it now, Josh?" he murmured, voice gravelly with sleep.
Josh handed him the letter without a word. Cécil took it, and as he read, his face darkened, his lips curling with rage. His fingers clenched the parchment so tightly it crinkled under his grip.
Josh placed a calming hand on his arm. "Breathe, mon amour. You'll work yourself into another panic attack."
Cécil exhaled sharply, his shoulders trembling with fury. "They failed. Those filthy bastards. They couldn't even kill an eleven-year-old girl."
Josh remained quiet, watching him.
"I paid so much," Cécil hissed, eyes burning. "That woman promised me she'd get the girl out of Beauxbâtons discreetly—and when I told her to kill the brat, she refused. Said she doesn't 'do children.' Bloody moral code." He snorted. "Then I had to hire those two imbeciles, and they couldn't finish the job either."
Josh placed the letter aside and wrapped an arm around Cécil's tense shoulders. "It's unfortunate. But you know as well as I do—we'll find another way. Something clean, something untraceable."
"We don't have time," Cécil snapped, shaking him off. He stood, walking toward the mirror, eyes locked on his own reflection. "The Malfoys are circling. They've made it very clear they want her engaged to their little bastard. She's already been named the heir. Every major family is suddenly interested. Even the Americans are trying to forge an alliance through her. They want access to the U.K.'s magical economy, and the White family name is their ticket."
He spun back toward Josh, voice growing colder.
"If she gets engaged, if the marriage goes through… everything—the estates, the vaults, the family magic—it'll all fall under Malfoy control. My birthright. My name will be Trampled under theirs."
Josh stood slowly, crossing the room to stand beside him. "Then we stop it before it happens."
Cécil's laugh was bitter and hollow. "And how? She has the old man's blessing. Elijah stood on the Ministry floor and declared her the next head of the White family. In front of everyone. Everyone. That girl—born of who-knows-who, probably some filthy affair of Damien's slut of a wife—was handed what should have been mine."
Josh regarded him carefully. "But she passed the blood rite, didn't she? You told me that yourself."
"Pah," Cécil scoffed. "Damien probably forged it. He was too proud to admit his wife strayed. The test was likely a farce. The brat could be anyone's child."
Josh tilted his head. "And Elijah? He'd never allow you to challenge her publicly."
"No," Cécil admitted. "He suspects me. I know he does. But he has no proof. And he's too old, too tired to do anything real about it. He's dying, Josh. He's hiding it well, but I know. It's only a matter of time."
"And when he's gone…?"
"Then she'll be alone. No one left to protect her. That's when we strike. I'll declare the truth to the wizarding world. That she's illegitimate. A fraud. And once the scandal hits, no noble house will touch her. The Malfoys will withdraw. The Americans will vanish. And then—finally—what is mine will come to me."
then after some silence he asked Josh . "But the woman you hired—what if she talks? What if she exposes you and they trace everything back to us?"
"She won't," Josh assured, his voice calm. "I gave her the contract. She doesn't know it was for you. She thinks she was hired by a third party. And she won't risk revealing me, either. She's clever, but not suicidal."
A stillness settled over the room, thick as fog.
Then, slowly, Josh reached out, brushing a thumb over Cécil's cheek. The rage had softened in Cécil's eyes, replaced by something more controlled—something colder.
"Then it's settled," Josh whispered. "We wait. And when the time comes, we'll strike with precision."
Cécil's lips curled into a slow smile, dangerous and delighted. "Yes. And when I'm finished, there'll be no one left to challenge me."
Josh leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then to his lips. Cécil responded, wrapping his arms around his lover, the heat between them reigniting in the dark.
Outside, the owl flew silently across the sleeping countryside.
Inside, the sounds of moans were heard .
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The pronunciation of "Beauxbatons" is "Bo-ba-ton". The "x" and final "s" are silent in French, and the "eau" is pronounced like the "o" in "boat".