"Damn it! Rita Skeeter again!"
"How the hell did she get in there?!"
The head of the Selwyn family slammed his teacup to the floor. Porcelain shattered with a sharp crack, adding to the scattered debris already littering the room—evidence of his mounting rage.
"Chieftain," a worried middle-aged clansman urged, "the arrests from last time already cost us over a hundred thousand Galleons, and we've lost several members. If we don't act fast, we'll be finished!"
Chief Selwyn's eyes gleamed with cold fury. "What's to fear from a pack of mudblood scum? Anyone who sticks their neck out gets it chopped off—no exceptions!"
Across Britain's pure-blood circles, similar outrage simmered. Some dismissed the uproar as beneath them; others moved with calculated caution. The Malfoys and their allies had already ordered shops shuttered and stockpiles relocated, steering clear of the storm.
Lucius Malfoy knew these agitators wouldn't spare old ties to the acolytes. Pure-blood status was all that mattered now. Kill on sight. Worse, their past alliances with the acolytes and other families could paint them as traitors in the eyes of the mob—fueling even deeper hatred.
"Once the acolytes clear the air after this blows over," Lucius mused, a calculating glint in his eye, "most pure-blood houses will be crippled. That's when the Malfoys seize the reins."
...
In the Minister's office at the Ministry of Magic, Cornelius Fudge beamed, rubbing his hands together. "I never saw this coming! They've dragged that sly old fox Barty Crouch right into the muck."
"He was untouchable in the wizarding world once," Fudge chuckled. "Now? Let's see how many in the Ministry or out there still take him seriously. Director of the International Magical Cooperation Department? Not for long!"
"Congratulations, Minister," Umbridge simpered, her toad-like smile wide. "You're on the verge of total control."
She envisioned Crouch's downfall paving her path to that plum position—one of the Ministry's most influential posts. From there, even Fudge's chair might be within reach.
Fudge shot her a withering glance before turning to his trusted aide, Alan Mitchell. "Keep tabs on Crouch and those pure-blood families. This is our shot. If they twitch, we haul them in—no matter who's pulling strings."
His voice rose with ambition. Topple Crouch and the old-blood elite, and his grip on the Ministry—and the wider wizarding world—would be ironclad. Only Amelia Bones in Law Enforcement might pose a threat, but with most levers already in his hand, she'd be easy to sideline. As for Dumbledore? Once Fudge held the reins fully, even the Headmaster would bend.
Alan nodded. "Understood, Minister. But if agitators stir up trouble inside the Ministry? Do we intervene or let it chip away at Crouch?"
Fudge pondered briefly. "Ignore it unless it spirals. Then crack down hard."
"Clear."
...
By midday, the pure-blood estate from the Prophet's photo swarmed with furious wizards, their numbers swelling by the minute. Tensions crackled like a storm about to break.
The Selwyns faced the worst of it—the biggest crowd, the hottest tempers. Fists flew as agitators clashed with Selwyn guards.
"Open up, you Selwyn cur! You spread lies about us—now face the music!"
"Don't cower inside thinking you're safe. No explanation today? We'll torch the place!"
"Where's your spine now, old man? You slandered my sister after she passed the acolytes' vetting—come out or we'll drag you!"
Most common wizards held back, demanding answers. But the Knockturn Alley crew? They lived for chaos. Over a hundred strong, they bypassed the main house and zeroed in on the warehouse—its location no secret.
Dozens smashed through the doors, wands blazing. Curses flew wildly, igniting the air.
"Incendio!" Flames roared to life, twisting into monstrous shapes that devoured crates and walls alike.
"Fiendfyre! It's Fiendfyre!"
"Finite Incantatem—everyone, together!"
"Too late—run!"
The handful of defenders stood no chance. Fiendfyre was a nightmare even for seasoned fighters; a simple Incendio from these thugs would have overwhelmed them. No amount of Aguamenti could quench the cursed blaze.
"Boss," a soot-streaked raider coughed to his leader, "what about these Selwyn dogs?"
"What good's mercy to their kind? None escape!"
The leader's face twisted as he raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"
Green light flashed. His crew joined in, laughing maniacally amid the screams.
"I've waited too long for this! You ruin our lives—we end yours!"
"Selwyn's lapdogs! Burn!"
As the inferno raged unchecked, the leader barked orders. "Move it! Next target's the Rosier estate. We've got scores to settle today—pure-bloods'll learn what real pain feels like!"
Those with nothing to lose always outmatch the guarded. The backlash had only just begun.