"Still not planning to give up?"
Looking at the message Scrimgeour had sent, Albert set down the Communication Card and murmured, "Though I don't seem to be in any position to say that."
Everyone had the right to make their own choices.
Scrimgeour was still making one last struggle. Though Albert saw it as entirely futile, if he were Scrimgeour, he would probably do the same. No one was willing to simply accept their fate.
Yet some things were simply that cruel.
If Scrimgeour himself possessed strength like Dumbledore's, perhaps everything would have been different.
He would have had a good chance of turning things around and becoming a rather legendary Minister of Magic.
However, Scrimgeour did not possess the power to contend with Voldemort. Worse still, the current political climate was far harsher than it had been in Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold's day.
Scrimgeour's predicament made Albert feel once again that all his earlier efforts had been worthwhile.
Only by possessing power could one hold one's own fate in one's hands.
At least when facing this catastrophe sweeping across the entire British magical world, he could still deal with it calmly instead of being swayed by the dire situation and becoming one of those pitiful people struggling desperately in the mud.
"All right, then. We'll meet. I'm heading back to Britain in a couple of days anyway, so I can see him while I'm there. Maybe I'll even get the chance to pick up a generous gift."
After replying to Scrimgeour, Albert turned his head to look at Isobel, who was still sleeping beside him. Then he looked up at the metal box on the bedside table containing the Elder Wand and murmured, "Be patient. Wait another year. Once Lord Voldemort is dead, you can live the life