The acolytes' announcement sent shockwaves through the British wizarding world. Most wizards scraped by on odd jobs or apprenticeships after graduation, barely making ends meet without dipping into the poverty line. But now, that fragile existence was upended.
The proclamation hit like a Bludger to the gut. "Room and board included? Plus dedicated instructors? Is this legit?"
"Of course it's real! The acolytes wouldn't post fakes. Pass the training, and you're in with them!"
"Merlin's beard! The acolytes pay better than anyone in Britain. Join up, and you're set for life!"
"Even if you wash out, they issue certificates based on your performance. That'll land you work anywhere!"
"Argus is the conscience of the wizarding world!"
Cheers erupted across the community. To everyday wizards, the acolytes became a beacon of hope. Throngs poured in—not just fresh Hogwarts graduates, but even rough types from Knockturn Alley, eager to go straight and snag steady work.
Who'd pick a life of peril over stability if given the chance?
Argus had lowballed his offer's draw. By morning, two to three hundred wizards lined up to register. The dorms overflowed, forcing Vinda to dispatch casters for Undetectable Extension Charms to cram everyone in.
The contracts? No sweat for folks who'd hustled just to eat. They skimmed—or skipped—and signed. What did they have to lose? They trusted the acolytes' rep, and the boy hailed as pure-blood Britain's moral compass.
With fresh recruits flooding in, the acolytes' operation revved into overdrive. While Vinda scouted Hogwarts grads over two days, Abernathy picked trainers and curated the curriculum.
These battle-hardened wizards, who'd weathered years of sneers in the magical underbelly, attacked their studies with ferocious drive. If they'd poured this effort into school, they'd have topped the class. They knew they couldn't match innate talent, but this was their shot to rewrite their fate—the last gasp in a tough life.
No one squandered it.
Only when every first-day registrant settled into acolyte-provided quarters did the wizarding world buy in. The acolytes meant business.
The next day, jobless wizards swarmed like Neverbirds. Knockturn Alley saw a mass redemption wave, easing the Ministry's headaches with so many reformed troublemakers.
"Don't shove! Line up single file for registration!"
"Name, age, graduation year, and OWL results—let's hear it!"
"We'll slot you into departments based on your background."
The acolytes' Diagon Alley storefront was mobbed, gridlocking the street. Even Yuletide crowds paled in comparison. To avert chaos, Argus dispatched enforcers early to keep the peace.
"Argus, this is insane," Vinda fretted. "Four hundred yesterday, and today? Easily over a thousand. We don't need this many!"
He flashed a grin. "No need to cull them yet. So what if numbers spike?"
"The ad said only exam-passers stay. More applicants just ramps up competition. We cherry-pick the best."
"Dropouts get performance certificates. Contracts mandate repaying training costs within three years if they bail."
"We break even, top to bottom."
Vinda blinked, impressed. "You saw this coming?"
"Dead obvious. Check annual Hogwarts outputs or Ministry wand-surrender stats—wizards ditching magic for Muggle life. If wizarding was a cakewalk, why bolt?"
"But surging headcount means pulling more acolytes for training and expanding dorms. At this scale, we're exposed."
The acolytes teetered on a knife's edge; a sudden influx could draw prying eyes.
"Batch the rotations," Argus suggested, eyes scanning Diagon Alley's shops. "Or train dedicated instructors."
He murmured, "It won't be long. Those pure-blood families won't sit idle while we shatter their order. Retaliation's brewing."
"Prep defenses now? Or loop in Fudge?"
"Prep, but skip Fudge—he'll only stir once we're clear. Have Allen run extra Auror patrols from the Ministry."
"Free muscle's free. If spotted, blame the crowd: Knockturn Alley stragglers mixed in. Extra sweeps are just for safety."
Argus recalled his first-year pact with Dumbledore: the headmaster would shield the shop from direct hits, nothing more. Bugging the old fox now? Futile.
"Get it done," he said. "I want to see what big fish we hook this time."