Over the past few days, everyone at the Ministry had been talking about the shelter housing allocations, and Truman could always smell a sour lemon tang in the air.
After the Ministry's senior officials had collectively moved into Shelter No. 1, the entire wizarding world had erupted into heated debate. Many who had not received housing complained about it, believing the shelters should be reserved for employees likely to be targeted by The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, rather than the Ministry's upper ranks.
Of course, quite a few employees were also discussing when Shelter No. 2 would be completed.
Hearing two colleagues complain about the unfairness, Truman did not join in. He merely smiled. He knew perfectly well that he had no chance of getting a flat in the shelter.
After all, he was a Muggle Wizard.
During his time at the Ministry, Truman had more or less figured out how things worked. Discrimination was everywhere, especially against Muggle Wizards. Without someone backing them, it was practically impossible to get promoted or receive a raise. They could only muddle through life in the same position forever.
After bidding his colleagues goodbye with a smile, Truman left the Ministry amid their hushed whispers.
He had no interest in arguing with those boring people. He would not be staying at the Ministry much longer anyway, so why waste his time on them?
It was not worth it.
After buying fish and chips from a nearby Muggle fast-food restaurant and hastily filling his stomach, Truman returned to the house he rented.
His new home was rather remote and rundown, but Truman had never regretted moving out to live on his own. He had to make sure he did not accidentally drag his family into trouble someday.
The Death Eaters were capable