"Still not planning to give up?"
Looking at Scrimgeour's message, Albert set down the Communication Card and muttered, "Though I suppose I'm not really qualified to say anything."
Everyone had the right to make their own choices.
Scrimgeour was still making his final struggle. Though Albert saw it as completely futile, if he were Scrimgeour, he would probably have done the same. No one was willing to simply accept their fate.
Yet some things were just that cruel.
If Scrimgeour himself possessed power like Dumbledore's, perhaps everything would have turned out differently.
He would have had a good chance of turning things around and becoming a rather legendary Minister for Magic.
However, Scrimgeour did not possess the strength to stand against Voldemort. Worse still, the current political climate was far harsher than it had been during Minister Millicent Bagnold's time.
Scrimgeour's plight made Albert feel once more that all his past efforts had been worthwhile.
Only by possessing strength could one hold one's own fate in one's hands.
At least when faced with this calamity sweeping through the entire British wizarding world, he could still respond calmly instead of being dragged about by the dreadful situation and becoming one of those pitiful people struggling helplessly in the mud.
"Fine, then. I'll meet him. I need to make a trip back to England in a couple of days anyway, so I'll see him while I'm there. Maybe I'll even get the chance to receive a nice big gift."
After replying to Scrimgeour, Albert turned to look at Isabelle, who was still sleeping beside him. Then he raised his head toward the metal box on the bedside table holding the Elder Wand and murmured, "Be patient. Just wait another year. Once The Dark Lord is dead, you'll be able to live the