"They dared attack the Ministry of Magic! Round them up!"
"Throw every last one of those cursed dark wizards into Azkaban!"
The bellowing voice of the German Auror Director echoed from beyond the door. A squad of Aurors burst into the Austrian Ministry of Magic, only to freeze at the sight of the overwhelming force of acolytes facing them.
The Director, still clueless, shoved a gaping subordinate aside with a curse. "What are you lot gawking at? Arrest them! If they slip away because of you—"
His words died as he spotted the acolytes massed behind Argus. His face went slack. In his head, he was already damning the Austrian Ministry and all its forebears. If you're calling for backup, at least warn us about the numbers!
We floo in at full tilt, and the enemy outnumbers us dozens to one? Are we here to help or just deliver ourselves on a platter? Worried they won't have enough bodies to drop?
"From the German Ministry?" Argus hadn't anticipated this. He was still plotting how to handle the Austrians, but why not sweep up the Germans too? Clean it up thoroughly, leave no traces, and even if Dumbledore got wind, he'd have no proof to pin on him.
Voldemort's resurrection was imminent. The Dark Lord would keep the old man plenty occupied— no time for side suspicions.
"Aunt Vinda!" Argus shot her a glance. She nodded, no hesitation. Leading the acolytes, she unleashed a barrage on the German Aurors.
The Austrian Minister gaped, stunned. The Germans had been wavering; a bit more pressure, and he might've talked his way out alive! Why accelerate to this?
Were they here to bury him? He should've stayed silent, not dragged in other Ministries. At least then he wouldn't be dead weight.
The acolytes, wary of Argus, avoided spells near him. It gave the Minister a sliver to plead.
"Mr. Filch, the Germans acted alone—nothing to do with me! I had no clue they'd show! If I'd known you were visiting the Austrian Ministry, I'd have rolled out the welcome myself! This is all a mix-up—spare me, please! From here on, we'll never cross the acolytes!"
"Bit late for pledges, isn't it?" Argus glanced his way, face impassive.
The Minister's mind raced, grasping for leverage—anything to survive. Infiltrate as an acolyte mole in foreign Ministries? No chance. The Germans' arrival had burned that bridge. And with so many dead, leaving him alive? Even an idiot would smell the setup.
Offer Austria as a safe haven for acolyte ops? Laughable. After this bloodbath, his Minister's seat was shaky at best. What "protection" could he provide? The acolytes could flatten the Ministry with a handful of agents anytime.
He pondered desperately, only to realize he had zero value left.
Meanwhile, the German Aurors buckled under the onslaught, retreating with a third already down—dead or gravely hurt. They bolted for the entry they'd come through, but acolytes had flanked them. No escape.
Vinda knew mere victory wouldn't cut it. They all had to die here to bury the acolyte secret. Move fast, before more Ministries arrived.
The Director sensed it too, teeth clenched as he rallied his team. "Hold the line! Reinforcements from other Ministries are minutes out! If we last, we'll bag every one of these acolyte dark wizards!"
But the odds crushed them. Acolytes, though outnumbered, pressed with relentless curses. The Germans could barely parry, let alone counter—one after another, they fell.
"Boss! We're breaking! We need a plan!" an Auror shouted.
The Director glared at Argus, jaw set. "Snatch that young Filch! He's their head. Take him, and not just him—the whole lot of these acolytes is done!"
Disregarding peril, he led a knot of elite Aurors straight at Argus.
Argus dismissed their desperate charge. But a ripple in the air—spatial distortions from outside—snagged his focus. His mastery of Apparition gave him an edge; he knew other Ministries' forces were materializing. And plenty of them.
"Damn—more Aurors inbound!" one acolyte warned.
"They haven't breached yet; they could Apparate out any second!"
"Seal them in before they cotton on—no Apparition windows!"
As Argus weighed options, the groveling Austrian Minister inched toward his discarded wand. Seizing the distraction, he snatched it and bolted, flinging a curse at Vinda.
"Expelliarmus!"
He shied from the Killing Curse—her death would doom him to endless acolyte pursuit. But the threat might buy his exit.
The charging Germans spotted it, pushing through wounds to cover Argus. The red Expelliarmus streak rocketed toward him.
Vinda, blindsided from Argus's flank, couldn't react in time.
Argus flicked his wand, deflecting the spell midair. In the same motion, he whipped back with a jet of green death—no mercy.
"Aunt Vinda!" The curse had grazed her.
She shook it off. "Fine. He lacked the guts for Avada Kedavra."
Argus exhaled sharply. When his gaze lifted, it was glacial steel.
He slashed his wand. Blue flames erupted along the walls, racing through the Ministry like a living blaze. The building drowned in azure fire, the world turned sapphire.
From the inferno coiled a deep blue unicorn, charging the German Aurors. Blue flames sheathed Argus, his eyes twin voids of chill.
He spoke, voice like cracking ice: "I hate Vienna."
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