Vienna, Austria – the melodic heart of Europe, and home to its Ministry of Magic. Tucked away in the historic old town rather than the bustling city center, the building blended seamlessly with the cobblestone streets, a relic of centuries past. Perhaps the dense crowds of Muggles and wizards alike made secrecy easier here, or maybe it was just tradition.
Night had fallen, and the Ministry hummed with overtime workers sorting through the latest haul: seized goods and captured acolytes from the notorious group. The halls were quieter than by day—no endless queues for the magical elevators—but tension lingered in the air.
In the grand atrium, a handful of Aurors on guard duty swapped jokes, their eyes gleaming with visions of fat reward Galleons from the confiscated spoils.
"Who's that?"
A shadow flickered in the distance, snapping them to attention. They relaxed as the figure stepped into the light.
"Steve? You're late."
"Where's the rest of the team? Weren't you lot off nabbing that young Grindelwald from the acolytes?"
"Why'd you come back solo?"
Steve, the Auror left behind by Argus, looked frantic. "Don't ask. Is the Minister in? Get me to him—now!"
His colleagues exchanged uneasy glances and closed in. Something was off.
"What's going on?"
"The Minister's clocked out for the night—headed home."
In an instant, Steve's anxiety twisted into a sinister grin. Twin daggers flashed in his hands, plunging into the chests of the two nearest Aurors.
Wizards might wield formidable magic, but they were fragile against cold steel—especially to the heart. Even Dumbledore couldn't shrug off a bullet there, let alone these rank-and-file guards.
The last Auror fumbled for his wand, panic widening his eyes. Too slow.
"Avada Kedavra!"
With the atrium cleared of life, Steve—now revealed as a plant—flung open the massive doors. Argus strode in, flanked by a cadre of grim-faced acolytes.
"Time to move, Vinda," Argus murmured. "You've waited years for this."
Vinda Rosier's eyes burned with long-suppressed fury. Hunted across Austria like vermin, she gripped her wand tighter. Finally, payback.
"Follow the plan," Argus instructed softly. "You seize the upper levels; I'll free the prisoners."
"Go!"
...
Deep in the Ministry's bowels, the courtroom echoed with the guards' mocking laughter. Chained acolytes slumped against the walls, battered but defiant.
"I keep telling you, these acolytes are overblown," one Auror sneered. "Conquering Europe? Please."
"Yeah, those old Ministry fossils are just covering their arses after getting spooked."
"Exactly! If the acolytes were half as tough as they claim, they'd have sprung their mates by now instead of sitting pretty in cells."
"Bet they're begging the Minister for mercy as we speak!"
The group howled with laughter. The prisoners' furious shouts only fueled their glee.
"Steve? What're you doing here?"
The Austrian Ministry was a tight-knit operation—small staff, familiar faces, especially among Aurors. Steve's sudden arrival raised eyebrows.
"Didn't you go with the Director to bag that Grindelwald kid?"
"Strike gold yet?"
Envy flickered as they imagined his cut of the spoils. Austria's wizarding community was tiny; every Galleon counted. No wonder the Ministry had hyped the acolyte raid like a major coup.
The prisoners' angry protests drew curses from the guards.
"Shut your traps, you mangy dogs!"
"Keep yapping, and I'll make you regret it."
"You think you're tough in the Ministry's house? Want a one-way ticket to oblivion?"
One Auror fired a vicious Cruciatus Curse at a chained acolyte, savoring the man's agonized howl. The others grinned, satisfied.
Steve ignored the chaos, his gaze locking on the Auror by the courtroom door. A sickly green flash lit the dim space.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The guard crumpled before anyone could blink. Then the door exploded inward with a deafening bang, splintering wood and unleashing a barrage of spells.
The Aurors had no chance to counter. Blinding curses streaked through the air, claiming lives in bursts of light and smoke.
As the haze cleared, Argus stepped forward, wand raised. The freed acolytes stared in awe and relief, tears streaking their dirt-smeared faces.
"Thank Merlin—you came!"
"Not everyone's lost," Argus said, finishing off the traitor Steve with another Killing Curse. He turned to a surviving Auror, his eyes glazing over under an Imperius Curse. "Open the cells. Now."
The enchanted guard complied, unlocking the chains. The acolytes surged forward, embracing their rescuer.
"Mr. Grindelwald! We knew you wouldn't leave us to rot!"
"We're sorry—we dragged you into this mess."
Even the hardened veterans, men in their thirties and forties, choked back sobs. The wounded leaned on comrades, refusing to slow the group.
"Everyone accounted for?" Argus scanned the room. "Any held elsewhere?"
The acolyte leader glanced back. "All here. The Ministry's too small for secret dungeons."
"Good." Argus nodded to an aide, who produced a Portkey—a battered old boot. The prisoners were in no shape for a fight; better to evacuate them fast.
"You've fought hard enough," Argus told their leader, pressing the key into his hand. "Rest and heal. That's an order."
The Portkey felt like lead in the man's palm, heavy with unspoken shame. Argus assigned escorts, activating the keys one by one to whisk them to safety outside the Ministry.
With the prisoners gone, Argus rallied his remaining force. "Onward—to link up with Vinda."
Meanwhile, Vinda's team tore through the upper levels like a storm. Years of pent-up rage fueled their spells, turning corridors into war zones. Offices shattered, alarms wailed, and Aurors fell in droves. The acolytes' precision was ruthless, born of desperation.
The Austrian Minister, safe in his private quarters—or so he thought—jerked upright at the first distant boom. Explosions rattled the walls from every direction. What in Merlin's name was happening?
He had no clue that his Ministry was crumbling, the acolytes' counterstrike reducing it to chaos in a single, savage night.
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