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Fudge couldn't wipe the smug grin from his face as he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin while his eyes danced over the headline printed in bold, unforgiving ink:
"Fae Inc. Closes All Assets in Great Britain Amid Allegations of Neglect and Consumer Endangerment."
Fresh off the press and already spreading like wildfire, it was everything he had hoped for. Every ounce of petty satisfaction swelled in his chest as he soaked in the triumph. Fudge had planned to break Thane by wrapping Fae Inc. in the slow, suffocating stranglehold of bureaucracy. One regulation here, another restriction there. Endless audits. Tightened distribution requirements. Revised safety classifications, with administrative red tape so thick that not even a severing spell could cut through it all.
But the cowardly upstart Fae had made the smart decision and quit while he was ahead.
Fudge snorted derisively, 'For all his swagger in court, I expected Lord Fae to claw and screech until the bitter end. But he folded... how delightfully anticlimactic.'
He reached for his tea, barely able to suppress the grin curling across his lips as he imagined the scramble now unfolding in noble estates across Britain. All of them think of ways to get on his good side and after his most recent demonstration of power, 'All thanks to you Fae, now everyone knows what happens when you try and walk over the great Cornelius-'
Before Fudge could complete his internal monologue, the office doors slammed open with a thunderous crack, splinters raining from the brass hinges as a gust of raw magical pressure stormed into the room. Lucius Malfoy swept in like a tempest, no trace of his usual polished veneer. His pale face was flushed with fury, aristocratic features twisted in barely restrained rage.
"Fudge! You oafish, blundering fool!" he bellowed, cane in hand, boots striking the polished floor with the finality of a judge's gavel.
Fudge jolted upright, nearly spilling his tea. "Lucius!? What is the meaning of this!?"
Behind him, Fudge's secretary stammered from the doorway, eyes wide with panic. "I—I'm so sorry, sir! I tried to stop him but—!"
"Silence."
Lucius didn't even turn to look. With a casual flick of his wand, he released a bolt of yellow light—a binding hex so fast it left the air hissing. The spell struck the young woman mid-sentence. She let out a muffled gasp as tattered, serpentine bandages unraveled from thin air, wrapping around her face and sealing her mouth shut. She collapsed in a heap by the door, dazed but alive.
"Lucius!" Fudge shouted again, backing up a step, heart thudding. "This is an outrage! You can't just barge in and curse people in my office! What is the meaning of this?!"
"This is the meaning of my visit!" he snarled. "Did it ever occur to you that perhaps—just perhaps—it might be prudent to inform me before launching your little audit scheme?"
The headline beneath the silver serpent head of Lucius's cane crinkled under pressure, but Fudge didn't so much as flinch. His ego, bloated and buoyed by recent events, refused to retreat—even under the suffocating weight of Lucius Malfoy's fury.
"I don't have to tell you anything, Malfoy," Fudge shot back, nostrils flaring. "The Ministry answers to no Lord, no matter how old their bloodline may be. Instead of throwing a tantrum, you should be thanking me! I handled your little problem. Now, you've got your majority in the Dark Court back."
Lucius didn't respond immediately. His silence was deafening, his stillness more terrifying than any outburst. His pale eyes locked onto Fudge like a predator studying something too stupid to know it's already bleeding.
When he did speak, it was in a voice lower than a whisper and colder than the grave.
"I never imagined that having the Minister of Magic as an ally would backfire so catastrophically."
Fudge blinked.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Lucius continued, each word sharp and deliberate like blades being laid on the table one by one.
"Yes," Fudge snapped, face flushing with outrage. "I destroyed Fae Inc. I stripped Thane of his little empire of enchantment and potions. I crushed his legacy beneath my bootheel. Something you" he jabbed a finger at Malfoy, "were clearly incapable of. Now he's just another cautionary tale. Another arrogant, idealistic child who flew too close to the sun and got burned. And I, Cornelius Fudge, am the one who lit the flame."
Lucius was silent again. Then, very slowly, he lifted his cane off the desk, straightened his shoulders, and gave a small, disbelieving laugh—humorless and razor-thin.
"You think this was a victory," he said, almost to himself. "You really believe you've won."
He took a step forward.
"You didn't destroy him, you liberated him. You severed every tether he had, the last shreds of oversight, of diplomacy, of restraint, of control!"
Fudge hesitated for a breath, eyes flicking toward the crumpled headline still under his hand. Then, as if to force conviction into himself, he straightened his spine and scoffed.
"What does it matter?" he snapped. "Fae's company is gone. He won't be showing his face anywhere anytime soon."
A beat of silence passed.
Then—
"Oh really?" Lucius's voice cut through the air like a blade. "Then explain why I've just received reports that Thane Fae is currently in Brazil, negotiating exclusive mineral rights with their Minister—and has volunteered to deal with the dragon roost currently paralyzing their most profitable mining region! And do you know how he's able to do that? Because apparently, he's the only Animagus in record history able to transform into a magical beast?! Guess what beast he transformed into?! You guessed it a Dragon!!"
The cane slammed down again—this time so hard it cracked the marble tile.
"But do you know that the worst has yet to come? You overplayed your hand, Fudge," Lucius growled. "If you had taken even a moment—just one bloody moment—to look beyond your own bloated reflection in the mirror, you would've realized what you were actually doing. You didn't just go after Thane Fae."
Lucius advanced on him now, voice rising like a storm.
"You attacked every alchemist who relied on his ingredients. Every healer who saved a life with his potions. Every scholar who believes he's the second coming of Merlin. Every bloody banker, tradesman, corner witch, and wandmaker who stopped clutching their coin purse because they got a bank sigil or wondered what would happen if their store got robbed because they sank all their galleons into a cornerstone!"
Fudge's throat bobbed, suddenly parched. He tried to speak—but Lucius wasn't done.
"You want to know what makes Thane Fae so dangerous?" he hissed, voice now low and lethal. "It's not just his bloodline. It's not even his intellect. It's that his inventions made life easier. And people—especially peasants, voters, shopkeepers, the 'little people' you pretend to serve—they love anything that makes life easier."
Lucius's voice sharpened into a snarl.
"But now? Now, thanks to you, things are going to get hard again. Tedious. Fragile. Expensive. And when things get hard, people stop counting their blessings. They look for someone to blame. They'll remember how Fae made their potions stronger, their shopping faster, their coin stretch longer—and they'll remember you as the man who took it all away."
He stepped back, gaze piercing.
"Because when people are robbed of convenience, they don't riot for justice—they riot for the memory of comfort. Fae gave them hope, Cornelius. Now you've made yourself the villain who stole it."
But what Lucius wasn't telling Fudge—what he would never tell him—was just how much that spectacular blunder had cost him personally.
Yes, Lucius had always intended to dismantle Fae Inc., but not like this. Not through brute force and public spectacle. No, his plan had been far more elegant. Subtle. Foolproof.
He had spent years laying the groundwork, orchestrating every movement from behind the curtain. With Fudge as his malleable pawn, Lucius intended to slowly unravel Fae's pristine public image, eroding it piece by piece. An audit here. A quiet whisper to the press there. Accusations of unsafe ingredients. Rumors of arcane experimentation. Stories planted in the Prophet questioning whether someone so young, so brilliant, might be dabbling in the forbidden. All designed to sow doubt. To break the enchantment Thane Fae had cast over the common folk.
Once public opinion turned, the rest would follow like dominoes. The Greengrasses, political creatures to their bones, would distance themselves. Evaline would be forced to call off the engagement—grudgingly, perhaps, but decisively. Fae would lose the legitimacy he gained from marrying into one of the oldest pureblood houses. And with him cast aside, there would be only one acceptable candidate left.
Draco.
Lucius's son would rise in Thane's place—clever, ambitious, and ready to demonstrate his capability. The trial had been designed as his stage. But alas, Lucius had underestimated how much polish Draco still lacked. A failure of his own making, perhaps. He'd been too lenient, too indulgent in the boy's youth.
Still, there was another path.
Daphne Greengrass might have been promised to Fae, but Astoria remained unspoken for—and far more manageable. She was younger. Sicker. A child burdened by the Greengrass family curse, a secret Evaline believed well-guarded. But Lucius had his ways. His agents. His eyes in all places. He knew of the frailty in her blood.
The plan had been to marry Draco to Astoria under the pretense of uniting the Houses. She would die—tragically, of course—and the sole heir of the Greengrass name would be raised not by Evaline, but by her son and his line. A new scion. A pliable one. Molded by Lucius.
Two decades. That was all he needed. Twenty years, and Lucius Malfoy would have reigned supreme over the Dark Court, his hand in every alliance, every trade pact, every wand raised in power. Unassailable. Eternal.
And now?
Now the entire web was unraveling because Fudge—the whimpering, jowly, craven little man-child—had thrown a tantrum and blown the whole game to pieces. Lucius had known the Minister was volatile, but he'd underestimated just how short-sighted, how dreadfully stupid the man could be when left unsupervised for even a moment.
All his careful maneuvering, set ablaze in one foolish display of bureaucratic might.
With one final snarl of disgust, Lucius turned on his heel and stormed toward the exit, his cloak swirling behind him like a curtain falling on a farce. He didn't spare a single glance for the secretary still sprawled on the floor, her body now entirely wrapped in cursed bandages that twitched with every shallow breath.
But just before he disappeared into the corridor, he threw one final parting shot over his shoulder.
"You may want to lift that hex soon, Minister, before she suffocates."
And then he was gone.