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Last of The Fae Chapter 159: Conspiracy
🕑 Added 2025-04-29 02:08:08 +0000 UTCSeated at his desk, Fudge buried his head in his hands, trying—and failing—not to envision the public outcry that was sure to erupt once news of Fae Inc.'s withdrawal from the British market began to spread.
Lucius' scathing words still rang in his ears, having peeled away the comfortable layers of self-delusion Fudge had so carefully built around himself. For the first time, the full weight of the disaster he had engineered pressed down on him, threatening to suffocate.
A gnawing, desperate voice rattled through his mind.
They'll have to understand! I was only doing what was best for them! I saved Britain! I almost single-handedly brought this nation back together after the war—they have to see that! They have to!
Fudge's inner thoughts tumbled over one another, a chaotic mess born of a man standing on the brink of ruin. The life he had built, the image he had so carefully curated—the great savior of wizarding Britain—was crumbling, and there was nothing he could do to hold it together.
No, he told himself fiercely, I won't be remembered like this.
His fingers tightened in his thinning hair as another desperate idea formed.
They need to see that I was saving them. That Thane Fae is the real threat—the destabilizing force, the reckless upstart who would destroy our way of life with his unchecked magic. If they just knew... if they just saw it for themselves...
Fudge straightened up slightly, eyes bloodshot and wild.
Worst case, he thought feverishly, we'll just build our own. We'll create our own infrastructure, our own systems—ones loyal to Britain, to tradition. We don't need Fae.
Yet, even as he clung to that final thread of hope, a dark, poisonous certainty wormed its way into his mind, he and Fae could not coexist the young lord was hell-bent on destroying everything Fudge had built. It was either him or Thane.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Fudge's head snapped up, bloodshot eyes locking onto the open office door where his new advisor Theodore stood. The previous secretary had resigned under... unpleasant circumstances, paid handsomely to keep silent about how Lucius Malfoy had nearly killed her during his last visit.
"What?!" Fudge barked, voice cracking with pent-up rage. "Didn't I say I was not to be disturbed?!"
"Yes, sir," Theodore replied coolly, unflinching despite the minister's fury. "However, I thought you would want to be informed that the Greengrass family's private aircraft has been spotted entering British airspace. It is scheduled to land within the hour."
For a long second, Fudge froze completely, his mind a storm of racing, panicked thoughts. His eyes darted back and forth, calculating and discarding a dozen plans in the span of a breath.
"F-Fae is back in the country?" he stammered, voice unsteady.
"We cannot yet confirm his presence on board," the advisor replied evenly, "however, given the circumstances, it is highly likely—"
Theodore was cut off as Fudge shoved his chair back with a screech and shot to his feet, his face lit with manic energy.
"Doesn't matter!" Fudge shouted. "Assemble an Auror task force immediately! There are reports that Lord Fae may be an unregistered Animagus!"
He slammed his hands down onto the desk, making the article proclaiming Fae Inc.'s 'demise' flutter to the floor like an ironic afterthought, "It is the ministry's duty to investigate and see that one of our oldest tenants is upheld!"
Theodore nodded, "Of course, I'll get on it right away."
"Good," Fudge grunted his mind already thinking of how his public opinion would skyrocket after bringing Fae to heel, "Now leave me I need to prepare."
"Of course, sir," Theodore said smoothly, dipping his head in a gesture of obedience before slipping out of the office and closing the heavy door firmly behind him.
He paused for a brief moment, lingering just beyond the threshold, ears tuned to the muffled sounds within. Only the Minister’s incoherent mutterings reached him—rambling bursts of paranoia and self-aggrandizement, nothing new or noteworthy.
Satisfied, Theodore allowed himself a quiet, derisive sniff before straightening his spine and gliding down the corridor at a measured pace. His hand slid inside his robes, deft and practiced, producing a slim dusky glass vial capped with an ornate silver stopper.
Without breaking stride, Theodore raised his wand to his temple, murmuring a spell under his breath. The wand tip caught, then slowly drew out a single gleaming strand of silver memory—thick and glistening like liquid mercury. He captured the strand carefully, guiding it down into the waiting vial where it curled and pulsed faintly against the glass.
As soon as the stopper clicked into place, Theodore tucked the vial away and continued on his path, face composed, expression unreadable.
Making his way to a tall window at the end of the corridor, Theodore cast a quick glance up and down the empty hall before unlatching the pane and swinging it open to the cool night air.
The darkness outside seemed thick and unbroken—until a fragment of the midnight sky detached itself and dove downward. The shape resolved into an owl, feathers so black they seemed to absorb the light around them, its luminous yellow eyes cutting through the gloom.
The owl landed without a sound on the windowsill, perching with eerie stillness as if it had been carved from shadow itself.
Wasting no time, Theodore slipped a small treat from his pocket and offered it to the bird, which snapped it up without so much as a flutter. With precise, practiced movements, he secured the glass vial to the leather harness strapped to the owl’s chest.
"Take this back to the roost—at once," Theodore murmured, his voice low but firm. "You know the way."
The owl let out a muted hoot, a sound barely louder than a breath, before leaping off the sill and vanishing into the night like a ghost swallowed by the darkness.
Closing the window swiftly and checking to ensure no one had seen, Theodore straightened his robes and turned on his heel, his face once again the picture of dutiful professionalism. He still had the Minister’s orders to execute, and appearances to maintain.
---
Lucius’ methodical quillwork paused mid-stroke as a faint but unmistakable chime echoed from above, a delicate sound like silver on glass. He set the quill down carefully, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"A report already," he mused aloud, his voice rich with satisfaction. "What a treat."
Without haste but with clear purpose, Lucius rose from his desk and ascended the spiraling staircase tucked neatly into the corner of his private study. Each step was silent, measured, until he emerged into a small, domed owl roost lined with smooth dark stone and thin slats that allowed the night air to whisper through.
At the center of the roost, perched proudly atop the main post, was a midnight-black owl. The creature’s luminous yellow eyes locked onto Lucius, and it let out a sharp screech as it tugged insistently at the silver bell attached to its harness.
Lucius approached his expression one of cold approval. Without hesitation, the owl extended a leg, presenting the small vial secured tightly to its side.
Unfastening the vial, Lucius held it up to the moonlight filtering in through the slats. A thin, twisting strand of memory floated within, silver and shimmering like spun mist.
A wicked grin curled Lucius’ lips as he turned the vial slowly between his fingers.
"Let's have a look, shall we?" he whispered, his voice almost reverent at the prospect of what secrets it might unveil.
---
"Do you know why you're getting a reward, Mirabel?"
"B-because-ah-I was a g-good I-I did my job...L-LIKE you wanted!"
Mirabel's hips bucked as Thane's fingers worked their magic and she melted into a puddle against his chest, "S-sir I-I don't k-know how much longer...o-oh god I-I c-can't breathe!"
Thane pumped his fingers in and out of Mirabel enjoying the slow process of eroding away her professionalism and revealing her naked desires.
They hadn't even stopped when the Jet landed nearly ten minutes ago, "That's it, be a good girl and-"
Thane paused midsentence along with his fingers as he sensed a mass of concealed aura signatures moving towards him in quick succession.
"P-please Sir mercy...I-I need it...I need you!" Mirabel whined confused as to why Thane was so hesitant to give her release.
"I'm sorry but I'll have to give you your reward later," Thane muttered as a dark shadow passed over his face, "I'm afraid we have guests."
