After freeing the captured acolytes, Argus reunited with Vinda.
"Everyone accounted for?" he asked.
"All safe," she confirmed.
"Good." Vinda's satisfaction was evident. The curse crackling at her wandtip flared brighter.
She'd held back before, wary of harming their imprisoned comrades. Now, unburdened, she unleashed her full fury. Years of relentless pursuit fueled the spell's vicious arc, lashing out indiscriminately at everything in sight.
A handful of Aurors and Ministry staff tried to fight back, but Vinda dispatched them effortlessly, leaving them crumpled and groaning.
"No point wasting time on these lackeys," Argus said, eyeing the battered Austrian Ministry personnel. "The Minister's caused us enough grief over the years. Time to settle up."
He strode toward the upper levels, Vinda at his heel. The other acolytes fell in silently behind, their steps resolute.
...
In the Austrian Minister's office, panic reigned.
"What in Merlin's name is happening?!" the Minister yelped, flinching at the distant booms echoing through the building. He didn't dare venture out—too easy a target.
Cowering beneath his desk, wand gripped white-knuckled toward the door, he muttered reassurances to himself. "Steady... just steady. We've got Aurors aplenty, and the staff too. They'll sort it. Things will be back to normal soon..."
The door burst open with a bang.
He fired instinctively—only to halt the spell inches from a wide-eyed Ministry clerk who'd come to report.
"Minister...?" The clerk stared, bewildered.
The Minister scrambled out from under the desk, clearing his throat to mask his mortification. "Report! What's going on out there?"
"Disaster, sir!" the clerk blurted. "The main doors just... opened. A mob stormed in—hundreds of them! They're tearing the place apart!"
"Hundreds?" The Minister shot to his feet, chair toppling. "Who the hell attacks a Ministry? Have you called for backup?"
"Sent owls to Germany, France, Italy—reinforcements are coming, but it'll take time." The clerk's face was pale. "We're down to a skeleton crew here. Barely a dozen holding the line. If I hadn't bolted to warn you, they'd have nabbed me too!"
The Minister paced like a cornered rat. "What now? What now?
"Why not slip out, sir? Live to fight another day. Once the others arrive, these thugs are done for."
The Minister wavered. He was the bloody Minister—fleeing would end his career in scandal. But staying? From the chaos below, capture meant death. Self-preservation won out.
"Right. Back door. And keep it quiet—no one spots us!"
The clerk nodded, a sly glint in his eye. "This way, Minister."
They crept through shadowed corridors, hearts pounding, dodging echoes of spells. At the rear exit, relief washed over them—until a cold voice sliced the air from behind.
"Minister. In such a rush? Afraid something's amiss?"
Argus approached, Vinda and a throng of acolytes at his flanks. His smile was polite, but his eyes burned with cold intent.
The Minister whirled, face draining of color. "You... you dare assault the Ministry? Do you know the penalty for—"
"Assault? Perish the thought." Argus toyed idly with his wand. "Everyone knows the acolytes are model citizens, scrupulous with the law."
"Enough talk, Argus," Vinda snapped, wand raised to strike. "Let's end this."
The Minister gaped at the sea of faces—far more than the "hundred" his clerk had claimed. This was an army. Realization dawned: betrayal. His "loyal" aide had sold him out.
He dropped his wand and hit the dirt, groveling. "Mr. Grindelwald! Ms. Rosier! It wasn't me—I swear! The German Ministry twisted my arm. Forced my hand. Mercy, please! Just this once!"
The acolytes watched with grim satisfaction. Not long ago, this same Ministry had hounded them into hiding, lives upended. Now, their tormentor begged at their feet. All thanks to the man leading them.
Argus's mind whirred, calculating. The raid couldn't stay hushed—either wipe out witnesses or leash the Minister. Killing him would sate the group's rage, cementing his hold. But sparing him? A perfect spy in enemy territory, eyes on Germany, France, the lot. With Voldemort's return looming next year, facing Dumbledore, the Dark Lord, and international forces head-on... they needed every edge. Preparation was key; the acolytes' future hung on it.
Vinda caught his pause, wand steady on the groveler. She trusted his judgment, whatever it was.
Emboldened by the silence, the Minister crawled closer, dignity shattered. "Anything! Name your terms—"
A commotion erupted from the main hall: the German Auror Office Head, arriving prematurely with a squad in tow.
---
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