Night had grown deep. The Ministry of Magic in Britain was terrifyingly quiet. Aside from a small number of staff on duty and patrol, most employees had already gone home to rest.
Of course, there were always a few exceptions.
At that moment, light still shone from the Minister's Office. Ever since Kingsley had taken over as Minister of Magic, staying at the Ministry to work overtime until late at night had practically become routine.
Although Kingsley had been working tirelessly to resolve the many problems left behind by the Second Wizarding War, not only had those problems failed to be solved, they had instead grown more and more numerous—so numerous that Kingsley could barely breathe under the pressure, to the point where he had begun to question his life choices.
Kingsley had never exhausted himself this badly before. He suddenly understood why Dumbledore and Albert had shown no interest whatsoever in becoming Minister of Magic. So they had known from the very beginning that this would be the outcome, which was why they had skipped over or avoided this massive pitfall the moment they encountered it.
Only someone not smart enough like himself would fail to resist the temptation, step right into it, and fall straight into the pit—one so deep he could not even climb back out.
After glancing through the thin report Gadwin had submitted, Kingsley casually tossed the document onto the desk. Then he turned to look at the portrait hanging on the wall, staring at the familiar figure who had just appeared within it. His lips twitched slightly as he murmured, "It seems you still refuse to speak."
Following Albert's suggestion, Kingsley had hung a portrait of Dumbledore in the Minister's Office, hoping to obtain some useful advice from the old man in the painting.