Two weeks later, Rowan Mercer 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 departments, 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 memory structures with specialists from the Memory Modification Office, studied spell-testing protocols with the Experimental Charms Committee, and listened in on the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures as they debated classification and containment methods. He even took time with the Department of Magical Transportation, learning about the design and refinement of enchanted travel systems.
Aside from the Department 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 departments even tried to poach him outright, inviting him to transfer away from Magical Law Enforcement.
Thanks to the recent press conference, public opinion toward the Ministry and toward Minister Fudge had finally softened. For the first time 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 advancement would stall. Umbridge was already denying him opportunities, and without large-scale incidents, there would be no merits to earn. Chaos, controlled chaos, was exactly what pushed promotions forward.
All that remained was to watch whether the Head of the Department 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, Amelia'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' memories 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 name everyone feared, but the implication hung in the air. Wizards had claimed 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 immediately.
He responded the only way he knew how, with another press conference.
The official explanation blamed weakened Dementor deployment after the Black incident. The escaped prisoners, he claimed, were shadows of their former selves and would be recaptured swiftly.
The public calmed, slightly. Uneasily.
That afternoon, Rowan received an unexpected visitor.
Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, intercepted him in the corridor.
"You want me to join the team now?" Rowan asked. "Our agreement 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 merit. It'll help your career."
He leaned closer.
"Between us, Fudge wants a victory. Something flashy. Something 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 immediately.
He smiled instead.