Last of The Fae Chapter 139: British Ministry of Magic Auror Department Pt. 3

Minister Fudge and Madam Bones stood silently in the observation room, their eyes locked on the scrying mirror that displayed a live view of the holding cell. Inside, Lord Thane Fae sat handcuffed at a plain metal table, entirely composed. The young lord didn’t fidget, didn’t glance around nervously, didn’t even tap his fingers. He simply sat there—perfectly still, as if the room itself was merely an extension of his will.

"What is he doing?" Fudge whispered, his voice tight and strained as he leaned closer to the image, squinting suspiciously. He spoke as though Thane might vanish the moment he blinked—or worse, do something impossible.

"You do know he can’t hear us, right?" Madam Bones asked dryly, arms crossed, her tone cutting through the minister’s tension like a blade through parchment.

Fudge shot her a glare—sharp and defensive—but Bones didn’t so much as blink. She held his gaze with the unflinching calm of a woman who had faced down death eaters and worse.

Scowling at her impassiveness, Fudge turned his attention back to the scrying mirror, his lip twitching with agitation. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I know that,” he snapped, though his voice lacked conviction. “I just… I was wondering why he hasn’t done anything. You said he hasn’t spoken at all since your people arrested him?”

Madam Bones nodded once, curt and precise. “Not a single word. He hasn’t asked for legal counsel, hasn’t made demands, hasn’t questioned the charges. Just sat down and locked himself in that silence like it’s armor.”

“Which could be a calculated move to avoid self-incrimination,” she continued, tapping a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “But he hasn't even asked for a lawyer or to send out a notice. I can't figure out what his angle is." 

“He's hiding something” Fudge interrupted quickly, eyes narrowing. A bead of sweat rolled down his thick neck, tracing a path through the valleys of his triple chin. He dabbed at it with a handkerchief but didn’t take his eyes off the mirror.

“And remind me again,” he asked, voice unusually high-pitched, “why exactly was he arrested?”

“The official charge is obstruction,” Bones said crisply, her eyes still locked on Thane’s unmoving form. “But after a thorough round of interviews and witness statements from students on the train, here’s what we know: a few dementors were released to sweep the train for security purposes. But then a powerful aura was released from inside the train which drove all of the wraiths mad and they swarmed. Multiple witnesses say Thane stepped into the corridor and allowed his aura to spill out deliberately.”

Fudge swallowed hard.

“Following that, several students claim they saw him cast a corporeal Patronus—wandlessly,” she added with emphasis, “and that it proceeded to attack the dementors. The surviving wraiths scattered. And yes, according to reports, most of the dementors were destroyed before they could escape.”

Fudge’s skin took on a waxy pallor. His jowls trembled slightly as he pulled at his collar.

But then—something shifted.

A glint appeared in the man’s watery, mud-colored eyes. His mouth twisted slowly into what could only be described as a calculating smirk.

“S-so… what you’re telling me,” he said carefully, his voice slick and oiled with political venom, “is that Lord Thane Fae, in a moment of unchecked hubris, interfered with a sensitive Ministry operation, endangered the lives of dozens of students, and may have compromised the containment of one of the most dangerous fugitives in recent history?”

Amelia Bones turned slowly to look at him, one brow raised in measured judgment.

“Cornelius,” she said flatly. “You cannot possibly be suggesting—”

But she stopped herself with a sigh, seeing the gears turning behind his dull expression, grinding toward a plan that stank of desperation and ego.

Fudge placed a hand on his chest as if invoking some grand moral imperative. “We must uphold the law, Amelia,” he said solemnly, puffing up his chest in a way he clearly believed made him look noble. “Such recklessness cannot be swept under the rug. The people—our people—need to see that the Ministry is in control. That we don’t let titles or names excuse behavior that puts lives at risk. The Houses aren’t the ones running this government.”

Bones’ eyes narrowed to slits. “And you’re confident that this is the battle you want to pick? That he is the example you want to make?”

Fudge nodded enthusiastically, his eyes glowing, “If we can show the public that not even Thane Fae, with all his silver-tongued charm and noble privilege, can talk his way out of this—then the others will fall in line."

---

Thane glanced up as the heavy door creaked open, his expression calm, composed—bordering on bored. His emerald eyes fixed on the approaching figure with practiced disinterest, though he noted every twitch in the man’s face, every shift in his posture.

It was the same Auror who had arrested him.

The man stepped into the interrogation room with an air of barely contained frustration, his robes slightly disheveled and dark circles forming under his eyes. Thane tilted his head, voice level and polite, but carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of disdain.

“Was there an issue processing my information?” he asked smoothly. “Forgive me, I’m not intimately familiar with the standard procedures of incarceration, but I was under the impression that it doesn’t typically take over an hour to enter a name into a ledger.”

The Auror grunted, dragging the chair opposite Thane with an unnecessary scrape of metal against tile. He sat heavily, folding his arms, not even attempting to mask his irritation.

“There was no issue, Lord Fae,” he bit out, the honorific sounding more like a slur than a title. “But unlike some people, we’ve been a bit preoccupied cleaning up the disaster you left in your wake back on the Express. You’ll have to forgive us for not treating you like a bloody VIP.”

Thane arched an eyebrow, his tone untouched by the Auror’s hostility. “You mean the disaster I contained, after your Ministry's soul-devouring pets went rogue and nearly assaulted a train full of students?”

The Auror’s nostrils flared, his jaw tightening.

“The only reason they ‘went rogue,’ as you so dramatically put it, was because of the stunt you pulled with your aura. Before that, there was no threat to anyone on board. You escalated the situation.”

“And from my perspective,” Thane replied, leaning forward slightly, his voice sharpening, “the train was under siege. A swarm of wraith-like creatures burst onto the carriage without so much as a knock or warning. No announcement, no Ministry badge, not even a loudspeaker declaration. Just cold, silence, and a tidal wave of despair. Forgive me for reacting like a rational person would under the assumption of imminent death.”

“There was a notice!” the Auror snapped, slamming a hand down on the table. “It was circulated to all students prior to the start of term. Hogwarts is cooperating with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to allow Dementors on school grounds—for security, in light of recent events!”

“You mean the alleged escape of Sirius Black,” Thane said coolly, his eyes glittering with disinterest. “A known lunatic, supposedly one of the most dangerous men alive. You sent out the Dementors to sniff around the train—what? In hopes he’d be foolish enough to take a seat in the Hufflepuff cart and hand out snacks?”

The Auror’s lips curled. “Laugh all you want, but your little display of arrogance may have given Black the opening he needed. We have no idea how close we came to apprehending him before your magic threw everything into chaos.”

Thane gave a soft exhale that might have been a laugh—though there was no humor in it.

“I highly doubt that a man capable of escaping Azkaban would be caught by a glorified scare tactic deployed in broad daylight. And I sincerely doubt he’d choose a crowded train full of children to exact his revenge—assuming that’s even his goal.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other with practiced ease, the steel cuffs around his wrists glinting under the overhead light.

“But enough of this little charade,” Thane said, his voice dropping an octave—quiet, but powerful. “Tell Madam Bones that I’m done playing along with this farce. Theatrics are fine for showmanship, but this is dragging.”

The air in the room shifted.

Thane’s tone no longer held the polite detachment of an accused nobleman.

It held the weight of someone accustomed to command.

“I missed the Sorting Ceremony,” he said softly, though there was a razor hidden behind the calm. “And I have no intention of letting this sideshow stretch out into a month-long drama for the Prophet to drool over.”

He locked eyes with the Auror.

“So whatever move she intends to make—tell her to make it. Let’s finish this game.”