Chapter 1286 Believe me, tonight's events were just an accident.

Vincent ignored Scringer's accusations, calmly looking into the man's bloodshot eyes, which were filled with emotion and high blood pressure.

Is it right for the Ministry of Magic to cover up the truth and whitewash the situation with lies?

Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes. "So, you broke into my house in the middle of the night just to argue with me, the one who's after you?"

“Of course not.” Vincent tilted his head slightly. “I’m not that bored.”

"then you?"

He stepped forward, putting immense pressure on Scrimgeour. "I'm here to give you another chance to continue your vacation, and at the same time, I need to temporarily borrow your identity."

"Are you crazy?" Scrimgeour's pupils contracted sharply. "Wayne, do you know what you're saying?!"

Vincent glanced down at the wand pressed against his chest. "On the contrary, I am perfectly lucid."

"I'm looking for someone, an antisocial pleasure-seeker who's been spreading cursed items all over the Muggle world. Fudge just happens to need you back to stabilize things, and you, Rufus Scrimgeour, are tired. You need rest, and a complete getaway from all this filth."

Scrimgeour tightened his grip, as if the wand was about to pierce through. "What if I refuse?"

Vincent remained calm, his deep blue eyes seemingly silently proclaiming something.

As a sharp, magical wave suddenly surged through the surrounding air, Vincent reached out and gently brushed aside Scrimgeour's wand.

With a loud "boom," a large hole was blasted in the thick wooden floor, and the flying debris was all eerily frozen in mid-air.

The disbelief on Scrimgeour's face quickly turned into acceptance.

He could sense that everything around him was enveloped by a powerful magical force. This force did not belong to him, and under its influence, his every move would be known in advance.

Vincent lowered his hand, and the debris that had been frozen in mid-air fell back onto the hole in the floor along the trajectory it had been thrown up.

Scrimgeour stared intently at the floor, now restored to its original condition.

It was obvious that the opponent's magical power was far superior to his own, and even their physical abilities were far superior. If you added in those endless alchemical gadgets...

Faced with such an enemy, he would need at least a strike team composed of elite Aurors, and a plan of action that takes into account all kinds of contingencies.

Even if he fights with all his might, he alone cannot defeat him.

“You win.” Scrimgeour lowered his right hand, which was gripping the wand, very slowly.

Although he had stopped attacking, he still did not put down his wand.

He looked at Vincent in front of him with a complicated expression, his eyes filled with helplessness, anger, humiliation, and a very faint sense of relief that he was unwilling to admit.

"You promise you'll only be using it, and won't use my identity to do... anything irreversible?"

Vincent nodded solemnly, "Believe me, tonight's events were just an accident."

Scrimgeour's lips twitched almost imperceptibly.

Accidents? There aren't that many accidents!

Was it unexpected to publicly beat up the Minister of Magic? Was it unexpected to parade the imprisoned Death Eaters through the streets? Was it unexpected to gather the Aurors from all of Britain to stage a coup?

Scrimgeour snorted, as if he were amused by his own anger.

These low-probability accidents would instantly escalate into high-probability events if they happened to Vincent, especially if someone in the Ministry of Magic, like Fudge, angered him...

He couldn't help but feel relieved that Happiness had abandoned Umbridge; otherwise, given her annoying personality, the likely outcome would have become a certainty.

"Sigh—" Scrimgeour sighed inwardly.

He nodded very slightly, as if in agreement.

Vincent gracefully turned to the side and gestured for him to enter. “Director Scrinker, I have prepared a quiet and comfortable place for you. There are books, good wine, and absolutely no one to disturb you.”

Scrimgeour took one last look at the familiar living room.

Finally, it's time to let go—to relinquish the duties of the Auror's Office Chief and to let go of the dissatisfaction with the Ministry of Magic.

With a sonic boom, a black and white vortex appeared in front of the two.

The next second, they arrived outside the London Lane Hotel.

Looking at the strangely shaped building, Scrimgeour suddenly realized that he might be under the influence of some kind of profound confusion spell.

But as Vincent led him toward the door, and a Muggle doorman in a crisp uniform with a standard smile opened the heavy glass door for them, he knew that he wasn't affected by the Confusion Charm, but rather that Vincent had gone mad.

One second he was standing in his own living room, ready to be "invited" to a secret fortress that should be located deep underground or atop a mountain, filled with counter-surveillance spells.

The next second, what came into view was a marble floor as smooth as a mirror, and a bright and dazzling crystal chandelier that was not magical at all and even a bit vulgar.

Good evening, welcome to the Ryan Hotel.

Scrimgeour stood frozen in place, awkwardly nodding to the doorman.

His casual bathrobe made him stand out, which made his thick eyebrows almost knotted together.

He instinctively reached into his pocket and gripped his wand tightly.

Standing in the luxurious and brightly lit lobby of the Muggle hotel, he felt like a Flobber caterpillar that had wandered into a Buckingham Palace tea party.

“Wayne,” Scrimgeour forced out the word, not daring to turn his head too far to look at Vincent beside him, “Are you sure we haven’t gone the wrong way? This…is a hotel?”

He emphasized the word "hotel" with an incredulous tone.

Vincent's voice remained as calm as ever, "Five-star, historic, and with excellent service."

He led Scrimgeour toward the elevator. “Relax, Director Scrimgeour. Your performance reminds me of those freshmen who walked into Bee Duke candy store for the first time.”

Scrimgeour resisted the urge to pull out his wand and followed, feeling as if every gaze from the front desk or passing customers was a searchlight, even though they might just think he, a stern-faced, casually dressed man, was very unique.

Entering the spacious and quiet elevator, Scrimgeour finally couldn't help but lower his voice and question, "Are you crazy? This is a Muggle hotel! People come and go! Even if the Ministry of Magic is stupid, there are always a few people in the Auror office who know the difference between a tracking charm and a Muggle banishing charm! Do you want Fudge to receive a report tomorrow at breakfast that 'a wanted criminal and the head of the Aurors have appeared at a luxury hotel in London'?"

Vincent pressed the button for the top floor, the elevator ascended smoothly, and then he slowly looked at Scrinker.

He shook his head slightly, his tone as if he were lecturing a slow-witted student, "Director Scrimgeour, you've been following me for so long, from Hong Kong to America, how come your thinking is still bound by the rules and regulations of the Ministry of Magic?"

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