"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! VICTOR KRUM HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH PUTTING BULGARIA BACK IN THE GAME! BUT IT'S STILL A CLOSE MATCH, AND IRELAND DOESN'T SEEM DEFEATED IN THE SLIGHTEST!!"
Ludo Bagman's voice rang out across the enchanted stadium, amplified by magic and sheer enthusiasm. The crowd erupted like a thunderclap—waves of cheers, whoops, and magical fireworks exploding overhead in bursts of gold and green.
Amid the chaos, Fred and George Weasley jumped to their feet with thunderous applause and matching grins that practically lit up their section of the Top Box. Their celebratory clapping, however, was loud enough to nearly drown out the rest of the stadium.
"They seem rather pleased with that catch," Daphne said wryly, nestled against Thane's side, her head resting on his shoulder. Her tone was casual, but her eyes tracked the twins with curiosity. "I could've sworn they were rooting for Ireland."
Thane's lips curled into an amused smirk as he followed her gaze. "Oh, they are. Loyal Ireland fans through and through. But they also placed a rather... ambitious wager with Bagman."
Daphne arched a brow. "Ambitious how?"
"They bet their combined life savings that Krum would catch the Snitch—and that Ireland would still win the match," Thane explained, his voice tinged with both amusement and faint admiration. "High risk, high reward. They even threw in one of their wands as collateral. Though between you and me, I'm fairly certain it's a decoy."
Daphne chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling as she watched the twins slap each other on the back. "How very... Gryffindor of them."
Thane inclined his head slightly. "Gryffindor or not, you have to admire the nerve. And the timing. Not many people would gamble everything on an outcome that requires both teams to win and lose in the same breath."
"And what do you think their chances are?" Daphne asked, shifting her gaze to Thane, her voice a murmur meant only for him.
Thane glanced down at her, his eyes dancing with quiet mischief. "How should I know? I don't see the future, and I know next to nothing about Quidditch."
"But?" she prompted, picking up on the glint behind his expression.
"But," Thane continued, a smile spreading across his face, "if I were a betting man, I'd say Krum snatching the Snitch is a safe bet—assuming he's even half as good as people claim."
Daphne returned his smile, her posture relaxing further as she leaned into him. "Honestly, I'm still surprised you never played. With your reflexes, your agility... you'd be unstoppable on a broom."
Thane let out a low hum of amusement. "Why confine myself to a broom," he murmured, "when I can fly through the air on my own?"
He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, the gesture tender despite the thundering match around them. "Besides, I had other priorities back then. And let's just say Slytherin House wasn't exactly lining up to nominate me for Quidditch tryouts... not when half of them were still deciding whether I was an ally or a threat."
Daphne gave a small huff of agreement. "Their loss. You would've made one hell of a Seeker."
"Perhaps," Thane said quietly, his eyes once more scanning the pitch, "but I was always more interested in playing a longer more consequential game."
"Oh really? And tell me," Daphne asked, her voice laced with amusement and a familiar, teasing drawl, "what exactly is it that you're trying to win?"
Thane didn't hesitate. "An eternal kingdom," he said with a smirk, "with you at my side as Queen. A long and glorious line of children to inherit our legacy, should I grow bored of sitting on the throne myself."
His words painted a vivid, tantalizing picture—one so rich with promise that Daphne found herself momentarily swept away in the sheer audacity of it. The way he spoke of destiny, of empire, of her—like it was all inevitable, preordained by the stars themselves—made her pulse quicken despite her better judgment.
"That does sound rather nice," she admitted, her tone turning wry. "Though reality, as you know, isn't often so... picturesque."
"Oh?" Thane arched a brow, glancing down at her with mock offense, the glint in his eyes betraying his amusement. "Is that doubt I hear, my dearest fiancée?"
Daphne rolled her eyes, but there was affection behind the gesture. "Of course not. I wholeheartedly believe in the future you envision for us—our family, our legacy. I truly do."
She paused then, her smile softening into something more serious, more intimate. She turned to face him fully, her gaze locking with his. And in that moment, her eyes—cool and discerning as moonlight—seemed to strip away the layers of ambition and grandeur to speak directly to the man behind the myth.
"But I also know you, Thane."
Her voice, though gentle, carried weight. It wasn't chastising, nor pleading. It was honest—compassionate without vulnerability, steady without coldness. It was the voice of someone who had learned to hold truth and love in the same breath.
"You're not a conqueror by nature," Daphne said. "You're a builder. A dreamer. You want to reshape the world, not shatter it. You imagine transitions so seamless that no one stumbles. And you don't want to crush the people who are just trying to survive—to win their own small games in life. But what you're asking for—what you're doing—it threatens the entire world order. A system built not over decades, but centuries."
She took a breath, eyes never leaving his. "The people who benefit most from that system... they'll never yield willingly. And they won't fight you alone. They'll gather armies—armies made up of the very people you want to protect. The innocent. The unaware. The desperate."
Her words were like stones dropped into a still lake—quiet, but far-reaching. Around them, the atmosphere remained festive. Friends and allies laughed, toasted, and celebrated under floating lanterns and music. But to Thane, it all faded into the background as Daphne's voice reached him, alone, grounding him in a sobering vision of what might come.
He didn't speak right away.
"I know," Thane said finally, his voice quieter now, though no less resolute. "And I've made plans for that eventuality. I've prepared for war, even if I hope I never have to unleash it."
A pause. Then, more softly, more to himself than to her: "But I do hope. With every piece of myself, I hope it never comes to that."
Daphne's expression shifted—first to understanding, then to something far deeper. Her gaze softened, and in her silence, there was a kind of reverence.
"I know you do," she whispered. "And that's why I love you."
Her hand slid into his.
"You have every justification to do this by force. You could burn the world to ash and rebuild it in your image, and no one could stop you. But you don't. You won't. Because the truth is… you don't just want a better world. You want to build one that's beautiful—for everyone. Simply because you can."
For a moment, Thane felt something rare—a flicker of vulnerability, not out of fear or doubt, but the heavy weight of someone who dared to hold the whole world in his hands… and still worry it might slip through his fingers.
He lifted Daphne's hand and kissed it gently, not with the performative grace of a Lord, but with the quiet sincerity of a man who had found his anchor.
"Then help me build it," he murmured.
"I already am," she replied.