In the center of the atrium, several fireplaces spewed green flames.
With every flare, a black-robed wizard stepped out. They spread through the atrium, dangerous light flickering at the tips of their wands, and struck down the few who resisted.
The Ministry of Magic was powerless against the invading Dark Wizards.
Scrimgeour wanted to kill Fudge. Before, he had merely wanted that incompetent fool out of office. Now he wanted Fudge dead for what he had done.
The Dark Wizards' arrival was far too well timed.
Fudge had barely left with every Auror when they arrived. He had been in such a hurry that, before going, he had even said something about leaving Scrimgeour to watch the door...
Scrimgeour had no time to dwell on it. He had to act.
The splendid atrium was in ruins. This was far worse than the last invasion of the Department of Mysteries.
A great hole had been blasted through the peacock-blue ceiling. Rubble kept falling, smashing even the golden statue atop the Fountain of Magical Brethren.
Ministry employees and wizards lay strewn across the floor, dead or unconscious. The air reeked of blood and char.
Without the Aurors, the whole Ministry was like a great ship with its hull breached, sinking beyond rescue into chaos and despair.
Scrimgeour's pupils contracted.
He spotted a familiar figure: a middle-aged wizard who worked as a clerk for the Wizengamot. Grinning viciously, the man fired a red spell at a former colleague.
"Piers! What are you doing?" Scrimgeour roared, instinctively reaching for his wand.
Then he remembered that he and Will were under a Secrecy Charm. None of them could hear him. Worse, his wand was gone.
"See?" Will said beside his ear. "This is the Ministry under Fudge. It's rotten from the inside."
"Where's my wand?"