Arcturus watched the Lords and Ladies take their seats after the recess.
"Chief Warlock Longbottom, Director Bones." His voice filled the bowl of the hall, even and cold. "Effective immediatly, every office, license, seal, and operation of the International Confederation of Wizards is suspended within the borders of Wizarding Britain."
Quills scratched. A few robes twitched. No one breathed loud.
Arcturus turned a fraction, taking in the tiers. "We will not host an organisation led by a dark wizard. Their Supreme Mugwump is still, Albus Dumbledore. Even knowing the allegations they did not even bother to suspend his post. He has confessed to theft from British houses to fund local and foreign lobbying. He tried to murder a Lord of this realm in this hall. He suborned records. He interfered in bloodlines. This is not a partner. It is rot."
Frank's gavel hovered, then lowered. He watched the benches rather than the Minister. Amelia's posture barely shifted, but her eyes moved to the Auror gallery and held there.
Arcturus continued. "A committee will review prior dealings with the Confederation. Traditionalist and Neutral benches will send members. The task is simple. Audit every past act. Bring the findings to a public vote." He lifted his chin to the tiers. "Lord Greengrass. Lord Abbott. Lord Selwyn and Lord Travers. You will convene at dusk. The clerk will furnish records."
An intake of breath rippled through the Progressives. A lord pushed to his feet, face mottled. Two witches at his flank tugged at his robe. They failed.
"No." Arcturus did not raise his voice. The single word cut the air. "You are fortunate I do not order the lot of you detained for collaboration with a man who could justify the death of an infant. You rallied behind a wizard who spoke of pruning lines of the Sacred Twenty Eight to serve a plan. You applauded as he starved a child for a ward he fancied. A ward, mind you, he himself forbade. Trust must be earned. Your bench has none."
The Progressive benches went tight. A hand twitched toward a wand. Frank's gavel struck once. The sound rang like a ward settling.
Amelia stepped to the rim of the dais, parchment in one hand. "DMLE will execute the order. The Auror Office will seal the Confederation liaison on Chancery Lane. All staff who remain in place will be under watch. Records are to be inventoried and copied. Diplomatic parchment will receive same treatment." Her gaze did not leave the gallery. "No Floo travel to or from ICW addresses. No post through Ministry owls. All portkey permits will be suspended; new requests are to be approved by my office alone."
An Unspeakable at the far arch inclined his hood once, a brief, private signal. Corvus caught the movement from his seat on the gallery steps and read the room with the same care he brought to a duel. The old world disliked a vacuum. He could already hear quills in Paris, Berlin, and New York scratching the moment this leaves borders of Britain.
Frank looked over the rails. "The committee is seated at dusk." The gavel tapped. The order was formal now. It would not be pried back open without a fight.
The first shouts did not rise from within. They came faint through the high doors as the press found its scent. A runner from the atrium slipped in and pressed a note to the clerk. The clerk blanched, then read. "The Confederation envoy requests an audience."
"Denied," Arcturus answered without pause. "They will have their audience when the audit sits. Until then, British law governs British halls." He turned slightly. "Director Bones, see them housed at the Foreign Magical Registry. Two Auror squads at all hours. They will not visit any department without writ."
Amelia gave a short nod to Robards. The Senior Auror moved, a handful of red cloaks falling in behind him with the crisp relief of action.
On the Progressive tiers, jaws were clenched until the color drained from lips. Across the well, Lord Nott dipped his quill in a calm, almost lazy way and made a neat note. Lord Greengrass sat with still hands and a calculating gaze. He did not smile, but there was light in his eyes. The Neutrals bent together in quiet pairs. They smelled leverage.
Arcturus faced the hall once more. "For avoidance of doubt. All ICW decrees are non binding upon British soil until this chamber votes otherwise. Any official who cites them in court or council will answer for contempt. Any owl that carries their seal in defiance of this order will be tracked, and its sender will be taken into custody. Any wizard who takes their coin to lobby our law without leave will find the Auror Office on his doorstep."
He let the words hang. It was less a speech than a wall raised where a road used to be.
Corvus watched the faces as the new map of the world drew itself in their minds. MACUSA would frown and posture about unity. Paris would whisper of chaos and precedent while counting which old families might prefer colder company. The Akingbade bloc in Africa would hedge, then choose a seat with more iron than velvet. In the north, Norway would not blink. Voss had already pulled his wards tight. Russia and Bulgaria would dress the moment in old pride. China would nod, call it internal audit, and move a piece of its own. Dominoes, one after another, not falling, but finding new lines.
Frank leaned to the clerk. "Enter the order and circulate copies to all departments, all courts, every regional council, and the Prophet sheet." The clerk's quill raced.
A thin voice from the left bench spoke with fury. "You cannot break from the world on a whim."
"On the contrary," Arcturus answered, eyes like glass. "We rejoin it under our law. That is the point of a sovereign bench." He turned from the Progressives as if they were already done and addressed the rows that mattered now. "Lord Greengrass, you will chair the audit with Lord Rosier. Lord Abbott, you will keep the record. Lord Selwyn, you will compile the past remittances. Lord Travers, you will inventory meetings between British officials and Confederation officers for the last ten years. Use the scribe from the Minister's staff. He knows where bones are buried."
Greengrass inclined a fraction. Abbott reached for a clean ledger. Selwyn's mouth thinned, pride and shame wrestling behind his eyes for a heartbeat before duty won. Travers nodded once, a sharp note of approval.
Amelia turned a new page. "The Auror Office has standing to question any British official who handled Confederation funds. Bring your accounts clean. If they are clean, you will be thanked. If they are not, you will be charged."
The message spread through the tiers like heat. A few faces drained. Others settled into the calm of people who had expected this day for years and had kept their parchment neat.
The doors at the back opened to admit runners from three departments at once. Memos fluttered to the clerk's desk. The first carried the seal of the Floo Authority. "Links to the Confederation chancery are closed." The second was from the Owl Postmaster. "All ICW pouched mail diverted to Registry." The third bore the quiet sigil of the Department of Mysteries. No words. Just the seal and a time: dusk.
Arcturus lifted one hand. "The realm has spoken." He let it fall. "Next item."
Outside, the roar of the press rose again, echoed by the sudden clatter of owl cages as handlers turned birds from routes they had flown for a generation. Inside, the bench held firm. The first stone had been placed. The line would hold, or it would break the hands that pushed against it.
--
Newspapers across Europe snapped to emergency print. Ink boiled with biting headlines.
THE CONFEDERATION UNMASKED: BRITAIN SUSPENDS ICW
A second banner in Berlin rolled under it.
BRITAIN NAMES THE ICW ILLEGAL: BERLIN FREEZES OPERATIONS
Paris tried for calm, then settled on theatre.
A PARTNER IN CRISIS: FRANCE SEEKS CLARITY, NOT CHAOS
From Johannesburg.
MUGWUMP IN CHAINS: WHAT DID HE ORDER, WHAT DID WE OBEY
From New York.
A BREAK WITH LONDON: MACUSA REQUESTS DIALOGUE, RECEIVES SILENCE
The shock traveled faster than owls. Within hours couriers were turned away from offices in foreign ministries, blue seals were lifted from door lintels, and ICW plaques came down with a short twist of a wand and a harder twist of the mouth.
Germany moved first with caution. Operations of ICW suspended. Staff told to stand in place and await audit. Cold and effective without any public quarrel. The message read between the lines.
Across the east though the line hardened. Poland, the Czech lands, and Slovakia, still sharing a layered structure under the old Magical Yugoslavia framework, mirrored London. Warrants posted and operations frozen. Meeting rooms sealed with paper charms and red wax. Austria, Russia, Romania, Greece, Bulgaria, and Albania went one step further. Arrests were made as the decrees read. Offices shuttered by night. Keys collected by dusk.
North lights watched their own doors close. The Scandinavian conclaves issued one scroll in common script. Activities barred pending inquiry. Turkey and Azerbaijan joined the list before sunset. From Asia, China and India put their seals away and ordered suspension of all activities. Clearly meaning no meetings, no gold transfer and no travel papers stamped in the name of the Confederation.
The other side tried to slow the fall to take stock of the situation and take back control. MACUSA pushed for a joint council. France requested a temporary forum in Geneva. Several African conclaves under Akingbade's friendly eye asked for a pause to consider. Replies came back as one. Not until the audits are finished. Not until ICW is declared clean over two dozen countries.
Tension rose like a tide. Chambers in three capitals placed their auror and hit wizard corps on high alert. Portkey checkpoints thickened. Ward security increased to wartime levels. International floo links began to throttle. St Mungo's answer came to a discreet inquiry with a note about casualty readiness. The air felt like oak before a storm. One wrong speech and a global wizarding war would have a date and a place.
In the eye of the storm the Acolytes moved. Doors opened that had stayed stuck for decades. Vinda set quills to parchment in the north and the center. Names slid into chairs that had only ever warmed Progressive backs and were emptied only recently. A deputy here. An undersecretary there. A vote on a committee that decides who inspects who. Grigori matched the rhythm to the east, old networks waking like bones in the thaw. Arcturus handled London and Berlin, a nod here, a lifted brow there, the Minister's seal landing where it needed to land. In Berlin many relatives of old acquaintances found themselves in official robes. Corvus watched the board and let the pieces click. Moves that would have taken years in calm weather took days in such a gale.
The press did not help the Confederation.
WHO WATCHED THE WATCHMEN: ICW SILENT WHILE BRITAIN CHARGES ITS LEADER
A second column beneath it.
IF THE MUGWUMP COULD STEAL, WHO ELSE COULD?
Reporters knocked on closed doors and found only runners with empty trays and tighter lips. Every refusal fed the fire. Every request for patience looked like fear. Private channels of ICW complained of a blockade and got back copies of Arcturus's decree with one sentence underlined. Protection of the realm is the first duty.
By nightfall the map looked different. Not a clean split, but a crack with pressure along it. Allies stopped answering at once. Rivals answered too fast. Formal language hid clenched teeth. The old balance was gone. A new one would not arrive kindly.
Corvus leaned on the balcony rail outside the Minister's office and counted the gains with clear eyes. He allowed himself one quiet thought. This is the hour you bank on when you choose a side early. Then he tucked the thought away and returned to the work.
--
The shock inside Britain matched the roar abroad.
THE BOY WHO LIVED WAS STARVED AND BEATEN: OFFICIAL TESTIMONY
Beneath it, a sting.
WHAT PROGRESS TAUGHT US TO TRUST A MAN WHO WOULD FEED CHILDREN TO A WAR?
Two aurors dragged three muggles along a corridor lit by cold orbs. Boots rang on stone. The woman with the hard mouth wore shock like too much powder. Her sister in law looked pinched and mean around the eyes. The man tried to force his way and found the wisdom bestowed by stunners. A door opened. Heat and voices spilled and died as the hinges finished their slow arc.
The three Dursleys blinked under the chamber lights. Hatred sat under their skin, sharp as vinegar. Fear rode above it, wide and pale. The aurors pushed once more and let the room do the rest.