Two weeks later, Rowan rcer continued his routine at the Ministry, sending a projection in his place as usual. Dolores Umbridge still hadn’t assigned him any real work, which suited him just fine. He spent his days moving between departnts, absorbing everything he could.
He worked with Arthur Weasley examining confiscated illegal magical objects. He observed the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad as they coordinated layered spells to contain and undo magical disasters. He discussed mory structures with specialists from the mory Modification Office, studied spell-testing protocols with the Experintal Charms Committee, and listened in on the Departnt for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures as they debated classification and containnt thods. He even took ti with the Departnt of Magical Transportation, learning about the design and refinent of enchanted travel systems.
Aside from the Departnt of Mysteries, which remained closed to him, he missed nothing.
Because of his reputation and proven ability, most staff treated him with genuine respect. When they realized his insights were not just theoretical but practically useful, the friendliness only increased. Several departnts even tried to poach him outright, inviting him to transfer away from Magical Law Enforcent.
Thanks to the recent press conference, public opinion toward the Ministry and toward Minister Fudge had finally softened. For the first ti in years, he was no longer being openly labeled the worst Minister in history.
That goodwill lasted exactly two weeks.
"What’s going on?" Rowan asked as he stepped out of the lift onto Level Two. The Auror Office was completely empty. "Why isn’t anyone on duty?"
Arthur Weasley, who had arrived earlier, looked grim.
"You haven’t heard?" Arthur said quietly. "Azkaban was breached last night. Blasted open. Every Death Eater and high-risk prisoner escaped."
"Azkaban?" Rowan echoed, eyebrows lifting.
Surprise flickered across his face, but only briefly. The pieces fit together quickly.
In the original course of events, mass breakouts happened later, after Voldemort’s return. Now, with circumstances altered, Voldemort had clearly found a way to move earlier, rescuing his most loyal followers ahead of schedule.
That wasn’t a problem.
In fact, it was useful.
If Voldemort stayed dormant, Rowan’s advancent would stall. Umbridge was already denying him opportunities, and without large-scale incidents, there would be no rits to earn. Chaos, controlled chaos, was exactly what pushed promotions forward.
All that remained was to watch whether the Head of the Departnt of International Magical Cooperation would fall under the Imperius Curse. That would confirm Voldemort’s chosen path.
As for Bartemius Crouch Sr., Rowan felt no urge to intervene. If Crouch died, Alia’s rise would follow, which benefited him far more. And in Rowan’s eyes, Crouch had earned his fate. A law enforcer who secretly freed his own Death Eater son and erased witnesses’ mories was no different from a judge smuggling a convicted murderer out of prison.
"Let it play out," Rowan thought calmly.
Across the Ministry, anxiety spread. No one openly said the na everyone feared, but the implication hung in the air. Wizards had claid for years that Voldemort was gone, yet his shadow still dictated their silence.
Outside the Ministry, panic followed the headlines. An Azkaban-wide breakout dwarfed last year’s Sirius Black incident. Fudge faced a storm of criticism almost imdiately.
He responded the only way he knew how, with another press conference.
The official explanation blad weakened Dentor deploynt after the Black incident. The escaped prisoners, he claid, were shadows of their forr selves and would be recaptured swiftly.
The public cald, slightly. Uneasily.
That afternoon, Rowan received an unexpected visitor.
Ludo Bagman, Head of the Departnt of Magical Gas and Sports, intercepted him in the corridor.
"You want to join the team now?" Rowan asked. "Our agreent was next year."
"Circumstances have changed," Bagman said, lowering his voice. "The Quidditch World Cup is being held in Britain. The Minister is taking it very seriously. The stadium’s been under construction for a year already."
Rowan frowned mildly. "And?"
"Our national team is doing terribly," Bagman admitted. "If this continues, we’ll be eliminated before the later rounds."
"But I’ve already joined the Ministry," Rowan said, feigning hesitation. "And my contract—"
"That’s exactly why you should join now," Bagman cut in. "If you step in and turn things around, the Minister will record it as a rit. It’ll help your career."
He leaned closer.
"Between us, Fudge wants a victory. Sothing flashy. Sothing to redirect attention. You’re smart enough to understand."
Bagman needed this just as badly. Hosting the World Cup only to watch Britain fail would be a humiliation he’d never shake. With Rowan on the roster, even reaching the later stages would be enough to save face.
Rowan didn’t answer imdiately.
He smiled instead.
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