There was no word from Fendrel Stump. No chatter of any accident befalling Harper Graves. But he could already dictate his own headlines. He’d made the mistake of trusting Abbott with the worries about the memories. Believed that he was on his side, when Abbott would always be on the side of the government. Government stayed while Ministers came and went. Time had always been running out, the longer Musgrave’s trial took to come to the Wizengamot the more likely it was things would unfurl.

He’d had a good innings, survived a war, led a bloody good Department, become Minister for Magic. He’d met the Prime Minister on more than one occasion, discussed world policy. His name would be in history books, you couldn’t erase over a year of service. He’d got rid of the dementors, weathered a werewolf inquiry, seen a day repeat itself and a sphere fall from outer space. Mortimer and Lyra Gamp had been a mistake, but gory fun. He’d tried to warn them, but he’d been too late. They’d gone too far, and now, so had he.

He wasn’t much of a potioneer, and he didn’t fancy getting it wrong and suffering double the misery if a potion didn’t take him. He could obliviate himself, but there were so many good memories he’d want to hold onto, and if he was going down, he was taking Lawrence Musgrave and anyone else he could down with him. Not that Musgrave needed much to drown him. Edwin drowned in the good spirits that would only go to waste now.

The wizard had already instructed Gringotts to send the contents of his sizeable bank vault to the Caymans account Wolfgang Storm had set him up with that afternoon after seeing Stump. They would notify his sisters tomorrow. He destroyed what little paperwork he had in the house to frustrate Level Two. Make them think he'd hidden more.

Finally, as he'd not slept a wink and was going to have the last hangover of his life, he made the blackest, strongest coffee he could brew in his kitchen and settled at the dining table to watch his back garden for the last time. The stars faded out one by one with the dawn, and he waited for the Aurors to arrive.

Zora Roh stood with her partner at the mouth of the hedges that concealed the front garden of the Glass House. She hadn't been to sleep since she'd nabbed Fendrel Stump at Harper Graves place. It all had to be perfectly timed, and no one believed it was a given that Glass couldn't have been tipped off somehow.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she said in a rare moment of personal candidness. She shook her head and took a deep breath. They were here to arrest the Minister of Magic something that hadn't been done in ... ever. Her resolve had to be rock solid, but the feeling that she was party to some kind of coup was hard to shake. It seemed she was more comfortable facing spellfire than an inquiry.

"You don't have to believe," Solomon Carstairs replied, as he dropped his rare cigarette and stepped on it. "Just get through the day, Roh. Believing is for later."

You only need to have experienced one war to know that believing was about controlling the flow of information. It would feel real and vindicated when they opened the papers to read about the Minister's crimes - about the appalling extent of it all, the necessary arrest, the heroism of their aurors. Then they could all believe.

Then it wasn't history in the making but regular history. The kind that would gather dust in a year or two.

"It's time," he took out his pocket watch to examine and then slipped it back into the folds of his dark robes. "I don't think he'll put up a struggle but we never know, do we? Until we get there."

Edwin had a kind of dignity. They'd had the place watched so they knew he was in there right now, waiting. He wouldn't scramble like a rat - or burn up like a phoenix, no.

Carstairs came off to Zora tonight like a wartime handbill meant to keep everyone calm. It worked though and Zora felt the ground better now through her feet.

Zora led the way, robes red, up the path and past the shiny automobile. The front door opened to Zora's wand and swung fully open. It was dimly lit inside, but the master was at home. Zora walked past her reflection in the entry and into the living room. From there she saw the silhouette of the man at his dining room table.

"Minister Glass," Zora Roh said in the quiet lamplight. "We are placing you under arrest."

During the war, all three members of Law Enforcement currently outside the Minister for Magic’s house had been witness to corrupt leadership. They, and many other wixes had vowed now to allow this to happen again. Any shred of suspicion from the highest point of leadership needed investigating. That was what they’d done. Pratt had been diligent in the task set, and Roh had been a vital part of this entire investigation. Now, as they walked towards the house, Pratt felt both a sense of foreboding and of satisfaction. While he wasn’t certain Edwin Glass would go in quietly, there was no doubt in the Head Auror’s mind that they had enough on the Minister to stop him from slipped through their fingers.

“Not dreamt of arrestin’ the Minister, Roh?” Pratt muttered as he pulled his wand from his holster and began to approach the house behind the senior auror.

And there it was, in the Minister’s living room, a moment for history. We are placing you under arrest. Pratt hung back, an extra wand if needed, but this was Roh’s moment. She’d been doing the tracking, the observation, the grunt work. She deserved the arrest.

Somewhere in the house came a gentle tinkle of bells, heralding the arrival. When he’d become Minister, and had the threat of Lawrence Musgrave visiting him, a team had come out to ward the place. Of course that would be the only warning, the brightest and best of his Ministry would know exactly the wards placed and how to lift them.

There were footsteps on the gravel driveway. Multiple. He sat still, ears reaching for the sound above the whoosh of his own blood. The front door gave a soft clunk and a sigh he knew all too well. The one he might believe he’d heard when he woke up in a sweat at night. But now it was for real, he could feel the chill waft in with the door wide. He turned his head a few degrees, just enough to better anticipate the visitors, and cast his gaze down.

“Minister Glass, we are placing you under arrest.”

It was Auror Roh, and her voice was level, but tired. By the footsteps on his floors she was not alone. He looked back up and focused on the reflection in the tall glass doors that led to the garden. Carstairs and Pratt. Fitting.

Edwin lifted his coffee cup and sipped once, then knocked the rest back. He placed the empty mug down, turning it just so on the dining table beside his walnut wand. Slowly he got to his feet, drawing the chair back, and tightened his tie, a favourite red one, before straightening his sleeves and reaching to don his smart black jacket from the back of his chair. He’d be going in style, with dignity.

Finally, he turned to meet his captors. Meeting Sol’s gaze, then Pratt’s, and finally Roh’s.

“Lead on Auror.” He conceded with a dip of his head.