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Last of The Fae Chapter 140: British Ministry of Magic Auror Department Pt. 4
🕑 Added 2025-03-23 16:39:29 +0000 UTC"They're arresting and charging you for obstruction and endangerment?!" Daphne's voice rang out in disbelief, her expression tight with fury. Her image flickered slightly—still crystal clear despite the minor static—displayed on the palm-sized enchanted mirror Thane held loosely in one hand. The indignation burning behind her ice-blue eyes made the tempered glass seem almost too fragile to contain her fury. "This is absolutely absurd."
Thane leaned back in his seat with a sigh, the cuffs still clamped tightly around his wrists clicking softly against the edge of the table as he turned his head toward the heavily reinforced steel door of the holding cell.
"It's absurd, yes," he muttered, voice calm and even, as always, "but are you really surprised?" He arched an eyebrow at her flickering image. "I've been making too many waves. It was only a matter of time before someone tried to drag me under."
"I'll get Mother on this immediately," Daphne snapped, her tone steel-edged as she grabbed a quill from offscreen. "She'll have the badge of whatever incompetent twit dared to sign off on your arrest mounted on the family wall like a hunting trophy."
Despite the situation, Thane couldn't help but smile. That fire in her voice—the same fire that could burn through centuries of pureblood protocol and hypocrisy—was one of the things he adored most about her. "And this," he said softly, "is why I love you."
"Save the flattery," she retorted, though her lips quirked at the corners.
"I'm afraid this time, I'm going to keep everything strictly above board," Thane said, raising a hand as if to physically stop her from getting ahead of herself. "If we play this right, let the narrative take root and keep our hands clean, then not only will the charges vanish, but the ministry itself will be forced to offer us concessions just to save face. Everything we've been pushing for could be handed to us without resistance."
Daphne sighed, clearly displeased but not unconvinced. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and leaned forward in her seat. "This has to be Fudge's doing," she muttered, voice low and dangerous. "Madam Bones isn't this petty… or this stupid."
"We are in complete agreement," Thane replied dryly. "I knew I should've invited that overstuffed walrus to the engagement party. He's probably still sulking over missing out on the truffle-roasted veal and imported firewhiskey."
"If we can spare the jokes—just for now," Daphne said pointedly, though he could see the slight twitch of her lips. "We need to prepare a proper defense. What exactly did they say when they questioned you?"
Thane shrugged as casually as if discussing the weather. "There wasn't much to it. They're claiming I acted recklessly, interfered with official ministry business, and risked the lives of the students aboard. But it's a flimsy accusation. All I have to do is establish that I acted in self-defense—on behalf of myself and the other students. There was no announcement, no identification—just a sudden assault of soul-sucking wraiths bursting onto the train. From my perspective, it was an unprovoked attack. I intervened. I neutralized the threat. There are dozens of witnesses who'll confirm how terrified they were when the train was suddenly boarded by dementors."
"If only it were that simple," Daphne said with a frustrated exhale, scratching down notes on a fresh sheet of parchment. "Fudge will muddy the waters. He's a coward, but not a fool—he knows how to use confusion to his advantage. He'll stir up enough noise to keep the truth hidden long enough to damage your reputation, maybe even try to isolate you politically before the Wizengamot has a chance to weigh in."
"Then we beat him at his own game," Thane said with a smirk. "We move faster. Let's lean into public support. Call Rita Skeeter. Get an article out before they can shape the narrative. Frame the ministry's actions as overreach, a politically motivated stunt that endangered students. Bonus points if Rita throws in some speculation about Fudge's 'mysterious absence' and how he failed to inform parents about the use of dementors."
"And what do I get," Daphne asked archly, tapping her quill against her chin, "for running damage control, spinning your story, and keeping you from rotting away in a holding cell?"
Thane's smile deepened. "My eternal gratitude and admiration, obviously."
"Mmm, I was hoping for something a little more... tangible," Daphne replied, arching one elegant brow.
"Well then," Thane said, eyes gleaming, "as soon as I'm acquitted of all charges, we can start working on those green-eyed children you want so badly."
Daphne finally laughed, a soft melodic sound though its normally heartwarming quality was lost due to the shoddy enchantment of the two-way mirror.
Staring at the piece of unadorned glass Thane frowned, 'I wonder what the demand would be if I could improve these. Would it be possible to make it so that more than one mirror could be paired to another?'
"Thane you're getting that look in your eyes, let's focus on your impending trial instead of the newest magical theory that's caught your fancy," Daphne chided trying to keep Thane's mind from wandering off.
“But I—” Thane started, only to fall silent as Daphne fixed him with a razor-sharp glare that could cut through wards.
“Alright, alright,” he relented with an exaggerated sigh, raising one hand in mock surrender. “But while you’re doing that, could you contact Balor and have him take a closer look at the supply chain for two-way mirrors? I think I may have just stumbled across Fae Inc.’s next breakthrough product.”
Daphne arched an eyebrow but said nothing, clearly torn between amusement and exasperation.
“It’s pointless, isn’t it?” she muttered after a pause, her tone resigned. “You’re going to be thinking about this nonstop, even while on trial for multiple charges.”
Thane, already deep in thought, didn’t respond directly. His fingers drummed against the table, eyes distant and unfocused.
“If I paired interwoven scrying formations with a dynamic rune lattice tied to a shifting mechanism, I could probably create independent frequencies per mirror pair... almost like an identification lock.” His voice dropped into that dreamy cadence reserved for theoretical rambling. “But to make it commercially viable, I’d need a user-friendly interface. Something intuitive but secure... perhaps glyph-triggered.”
“THANE!”
The mirror in his hand vibrated from the force of her shout, and Thane blinked as if waking from a trance.
“Stop playing around,” Daphne snapped, her voice sharp and commanding, “or I’m going to tell Rose that you’re not taking this seriously. And you know exactly how worked up she gets when she thinks you’re being reckless.”
At that, Thane visibly deflated, the mental image of Rose pacing anxiously and chewing through half the manor’s rug flashing through his mind. He held up both hands in surrender.
“Alright, alright,” he said, voice tinged with amusement but also respect. “Let’s go over some strategy—if only to ease your mind.”
Daphne narrowed her eyes but nodded. “Thank you. Now, for your opening statement, you need to establish intent and justification without sounding defensive. Focus on the lack of clear identification from the dementors and the duty you felt to protect your peers.”
Meanwhile…
In a dingy, half-forgotten corner of Knockturn Alley, Minister Cornelius Fudge shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sniffing as the overpowering stench of sour ale, wet wood, and cheap tobacco invaded his nostrils. The tavern’s flickering lanterns cast erratic shadows across the cramped space, creating deep pockets of darkness that cloaked most of the bar’s shady patrons. Their murmured conversations and low laughter were nearly drowned out by the occasional clang of tankards slamming against stained wooden tables.
Fudge resisted the urge to gag. The foul taste of Polyjuice Potion still clung to the back of his throat like mold, bitter and cloying. There were easier, more comfortable ways to disguise oneself—but none as secure. No glamor charm or transfiguration spell matched the reliability of Polyjuice when it came to total anonymity.
And anonymity was paramount tonight.
The last thing Fudge needed was any of this being traced back to him.
He cast another glance around the room, his paranoia at war with his impatience. Just as he was beginning to suspect a no-show, a man slipped into the chair across from him without a sound—so seamlessly that Fudge nearly missed his entrance altogether.
“Hello, Minister,” the man greeted coolly. His voice was like glass—smooth, cold, and sharp around the edges. Despite the other’s mundane, transfigured appearance, Fudge recognized that voice. He would recognize it in his sleep.
“Don’t use that title here,” Fudge hissed, leaning in with narrowed eyes. “You don’t know who might be listening.”
The other man’s expression remained unreadable. “And yet you came anyway.”
Fudge scoffed under his breath. “Why the hell did you choose this rat-infested den? This place hasn’t seen a sanitation spell in a decade.”
“Because if the details of this conversation were ever made public,” the man said calmly, lacing his fingers together, “it would mean the end of both our careers. Possibly our lives. Better to meet in a place no one decent would ever dare visit.”
Fudge gritted his teeth but couldn’t deny the logic. He took a deep breath and nodded, adjusting the shabby hood of his disguise.
“Very well,” he said, tone low and brittle. “What did you want to discuss."
The other man's eye glimmered and he smiled, "I know you have Thane Fae in custody."
