Over the past few days, everyone at the Ministry had been talking about housing assignments in the shelters, and Truman could always smell a sour tang of lemons in the air.
After the Ministry's senior officials collectively moved into Shelter No. 1, the entire wizarding world had held a major debate. Many people who had not received housing complained about it. They believed the shelters should be reserved for employees likely to be targeted by Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters, rather than Ministry higher-ups.
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 very well that he had virtually no chance of getting a flat in the shelter.
After all, he was a Muggle-born wizard. During his time at the Ministry, Truman had more or less figured out how things worked. The place reeked of discrimination everywhere, especially toward Muggle-born wizards. Without someone backing them, it was basically impossible to get promoted or receive a pay raise. They could only muddle through their lives in the same position.
After smiling as he said goodbye to his colleagues, 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.
He bought French fries and fried fish from a nearby Muggle fast-food restaurant, hastily dealt with dinner, then returned to the house he rented.
His new home was rather remote and run-down, but Truman had never regretted moving out to live on his own. He had to avoid accidentally dragging his family into trouble one day.
The