If Dumbledore had left ten minutes later, he might have witnessed quite a spectacle.
Voldemort led a hundred or so followers into the Ministry of Magic as if he knew the place like the back of his hand, like he was coming home.
"Woooo!"
Alarms blared everywhere.
In the sea of red light, Voldemort let out a sinister chuckle.
He'd heard all about how Soren had stormed the Ministry of Magic single-handedly.
Today, he was doing the same thing. What a grand entrance.
The Dark Lord would never be weaker than anyone~
"Kill!"
Once he'd made up his mind, Voldemort waved his little hand, a chilling glint in his eyes.
Before the Aurors returned, he would slaughter everyone here!
"Roar!"
Most of Voldemort's followers were former Azkaban prisoners who'd long held a grudge against the Ministry of Magic. Now that they had a chance to run wild, they were going to raise hell.
People hiding?
No problem.
They'd smash things and set fires.
No one needed to teach them how to do that.
Back then, Soren's Fiendfyre had supposedly burned away the Ministry's dignity, but in reality, it had only scorched the tiles in the front entrance hall.
Now, though, there was a real fire—and a huge one.
Crimson Fire Waves rampaged wildly.
Meanwhile, in the Minister's Office.
"What do we do?"
Old Fudge paced anxiously around the office. He'd thought it over and over, but still couldn't come up with a plan. He'd considered every possibility, but never imagined Voldemort would dare come to the Ministry of Magic and run riot.
The Ministry of Magic was now little more than an empty shell, filled with desk workers who couldn't lift a finger to defend themselves. There were barely enough of them to make a decent meal for the enemy.