Last of The Fae

Author Notes: Heads up, I won't be able to post a chapter tomorrow

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"See? I told you it wouldn't be tacky," Thane whispered out of the corner of his mouth, his victorious grin unwavering as the guests stared in wonder at the sparkling Basilisk skeleton.

Daphne huffed, crossing her arms, though the amusement in her voice betrayed her mock annoyance.

"I still would have preferred the tree sprouting up from the ground and growing food in real-time," she murmured, stealing a glance at Thane from beneath her lashes.

With a low chuckle, Thane reached down, gently taking her hand in his own, his thumb tracing over her knuckles.

"Well then," he murmured, voice warm, "we'll just have to save the tree idea for our wedding."

A slow, radiant smile blossomed across Daphne's face, her eyes glinting with soft affection. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her voice a whisper of fond amusement.

"Only if you insist, my love."

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What began as a formal affair, steeped in pomp and ceremony, gradually unraveled into a true celebration.

Laughter, conversation, and music filled the grand hall, weaving together a festive atmosphere. Plates were cleared and refilled, glasses clinked, and the melody of enchanted instruments drifted through the air. The weight of tradition and nobility was slowly overshadowed by genuine camaraderie, as guests loosened their postures and fell into easy conversation.

But beneath the surface of merriment, the evening was a battlefield of political maneuvering, a silent war fought through smiles, measured words, and strategic alliances.

This was no ordinary engagement celebration—it was a monumental gathering, attended by both the Light and Dark Courts, as well as Ministry officials, noble families, and corporate heads.

A gathering of so many political and aristocratic backgrounds was an anomaly, a rare event that typically only occurred once every decade.

And yet, beyond the spectacle, one truth lingered unspoken but understood—House Greengrass had just made one of the boldest political moves in recent history.

By publicly aligning themselves with House Fae, and more importantly, Fae Inc., they had thrown their considerable influence behind Thane's growing empire.

It was a catalyst for change, and change always came with winners and losers.

The lords, ladies, and Ministry officials in attendance were not merely there to celebrate a union of houses—they were calculating their next moves, weighing the balance of power, and deciding which side of history they would stand on.

For some, it was an opportunity. For others, a threat.

And for many, it was a problem to solve.

Thane quickly found himself at the center of a small but growing crowd—some approached to express their thanks and congratulations, while others sought openings, looking for the slightest opportunity to probe, negotiate, or manipulate.

A noblewoman, her expression poised yet keenly observant, swirled a fluted glass of bright amber champagne between her fingers before speaking.

"So, Lord Thane," she began, her tone casual but laced with expectation.

"I haven't heard any news regarding your company's research into Basilisk Venom since its initial announcement. Should we be expecting any updates?"

Thane turned his gaze toward the woman, quickly identifying her as Lady Abbott. Her straw-blonde hair and slightly elongated features bore a striking resemblance to her daughter, Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff in his year at Hogwarts.

With a performative sigh, Thane let a carefully measured pause settle over the conversation before responding.

"While I can't say much, I will say this—Fae Inc. has successfully completed its first trials of an experimental draught of full restoration, capable of healing any physical wound."

A ripple of stunned silence passed through the gathered nobles.

"Full restoration?" Lady Abbott echoed, her brows lifting in disbelief.

The murmur of hushed conversations spread through the small crowd, intrigued yet skeptical.

"That almost sounds too good to be true," she added, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass.

Thane offered a disarming smile, his voice confident but tempered with calculated restraint.

"Indeed, it does. The effects are nothing short of miraculous. However, we cannot release the draught to market just yet," he admitted smoothly.

The skepticism thickened in the air, and he could already see the sharp glances exchanged between the assembled lords and ladies. He continued before anyone could interrupt.

"While substantial, the amount of poison I managed to process from Salazar's Basilisk is not limitless. To release the draught in its current state would be… ethically irresponsible. It would create far too many issues to even consider—inflated prices, monopolization, black-market dealings, and power struggles over supply."

A few heads nodded in grudging understanding, though others remained calculating, their expressions unreadable.

"But the public announcement swore that Fae Inc. would revolutionize the magical healing industry," another voice interjected, this one crisp and seasoned with authority.

Thane turned toward the speaker—an elderly woman draped in heavy furs, her posture regal and unmoving.

"While Basilisk Venom's healing properties are only one of many prospective developments within Fae Inc.," Thane explained, his tone patient but firm, "there is, in fact, a simple solution to ensure an ample supply for all."

A tense pause followed.

Then, realization dawned across the faces of those gathered.

A sharp intake of breath. A flicker of both intrigue and apprehension in their eyes.

A thin man with slicked-back black hair and a pencil-thin mustache, whom Thane recognized as Lord Parkinson, finally voiced what they were all thinking.

"You can't possibly be suggesting that the Ministry repeal the ban on Experimental Breeding," Parkinson said, his tone skeptical, if not slightly scandalized.

Thane didn't miss the undercurrent of interest beneath the protest.

"Not an entire repeal, Lord Parkinson," Thane corrected smoothly, allowing a reassuring lilt to soften his words.

His emerald eyes gleamed, sharp yet measured, as he delivered the next part with practiced ease.

"Fae Inc. is more than willing to cooperate with the Ministry in crafting a highly regulated program—one designed to create a more docile species, capable of producing venom in controlled conditions. A partnership that would not only advance healing magic but ensure safety, oversight, and ethical application."

A new silence settled over the conversation, this one filled with unspoken calculations and shifting alliances.

Thane allowed it to linger, knowing full well that he had just introduced a conversation far bigger than a single engagement celebration—a conversation that could reshape another long-standing order of magical law.

That was when a cold voice, slick and dripping with suspicion, slithered into the conversation.

"And would you be personally involved in this regulated program, Lord Fae?"

The small crowd instinctively parted, revealing a tall man with long platinum hair and a face carved from marble—Lucius Malfoy.

Thane's smile remained, though any warmth behind it vanished instantly.

"Ideally, I would, Lord Malfoy," Thane replied, his tone polite but edged, "I've been reading up on the practices and theories of Magical Zoologists from the past, and I believe there is real potential in exploring these opportunities for experimentation—particularly with certain species."

Lucius's cold gaze didn't waver.

"Have you put any of these historical methods into practical tests?" Malfoy asked, his tone frigid and uninviting. "Or are you merely postulating?"

Thane tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question.

"Unfortunately, I've had to limit the scope of my experimentation to herbology solely," he admitted, still smiling, "though I daresay the results speak for themselves."

With a small, deliberate motion, Thane gestured around them—to the towering, living manor, to the biomes thriving beneath its roots, to the evidence of his capabilities woven into the very walls they stood under.

Lucius's frown deepened, his lips parting slightly, clearly preparing for another retort.

Before he could, however, the crowd suddenly shifted, parting once more as Daphne Greengrass emerged, her elegant stride unwavering.

She walked with purpose, her emerald gown catching the light as she made her way to Thane's side, placing a firm yet graceful hand on his arm.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice sweet, yet unmistakably firm, "but I'm afraid my fiancé has something to take care of at the moment."

Thane barely had a moment to respond before her fingers squeezed his arm gently, the silent message clear.

We're leaving. Now.

He didn't hesitate.

"Ah, yes, of course—how could I forget?" Thane said smoothly, stepping back with perfectly practiced ease.

As he and Daphne swapped places, Thane felt the weight of the conversation lift from his shoulders.

Stepping away from the circle of political vultures, he exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.

A single thought passed through his mind as he glanced at Daphne's poised, unshakable expression.

'God, I love that woman.'