The afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds, cutting alternating bands of light and shadow across the desk piled high with case files.
Moody's wooden leg tapped the floor impatiently, making a constant knocking sound that was driving everyone else up the wall.
But Moody was more agitated than anyone. He had always excelled at handling this sort of material.
His Magical Eye spun wildly in its socket as it scanned every document spread out before him. Then, with a sharp smack, he slammed a stack of papers onto the desk.
"Look at this!"
Moody said furiously, "No witness reports, the crucial passages were stained with ink! Even the hotel registry was accidentally burned! Do these people think we're all idiots?! They actually dare to fob us off with this worthless crap!"
Kingsley set down the document in his hand. Compared with Moody's temper, he seemed exceptionally composed, even keeping his voice steady.
"But they have provided—oh, according to them—all of the investigative materials. Procedurally speaking, there is nothing to fault."
"Procedurally?"
Moody sneered. His Magical Eye fixed itself on the wall as he ground his teeth and said viciously,
"This rubbish is cleaner than plates licked by House-elves! That Ezra Hughes must have done it on purpose! For all we know, they're in league with the Scourers!"
Compared with their relatively free operation last time, this time, arriving at the Magical Congress in an official capacity had instead brought them more restrictions—
They were staying at a hotel arranged by Congress, had to report their schedule to Congress, traveled exclusively in vehicles arranged by Congress, and their so-called "investigation" was limited to reviewing documents in a temporary office assigned to them by the Magical Congress.
"Don't make baseless assumptions, Alastor."
Kingsley remained unhurried. "Didn't we anticipate this sort of treatment