In the Minister's Office, Fudge sat behind a broad mahogany desk, his round face clouded with gloom and agitation.
Clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet, he glanced at Scrimgeour and said with displeasure, "Sit down, Rufus."
Scrimgeour felt rather helpless. Lately, Fudge had been treating him terribly.
He knew it was because there was a mole among the Aurors, but had Fudge ever stopped to consider whether he was the one who had let these Aurors in?
Every Auror had been recruited after passing the Ministry of Magic's examinations, and the Auror Office he headed was the only department in the entire Ministry that took them in.
But pre-employment background checks were handled by the personnel department. He wasn't responsible for conducting them, so what was he supposed to do?
Scrimgeour sat down opposite Fudge and watched him pour himself a cup of black tea without offering him any.
"Rufus," Fudge said after a sip of black tea, "how exactly are things coming along at the Auror Office? I hear you still haven't gotten to the bottom of anything?"
Scrimgeour forced down his irritation and exhaustion. "Minister, I'm doing everything I can to investigate."
"You know how complicated background checks on Auror personnel are, especially when connections to ancient pure-blood families are involved. I need time to make sure I haven't overlooked any details. Give me a little more time, and I'll have results very soon."
"Very soon? Very soon?" Fudge slammed the newspaper onto the desk. "Rufus, the Ministry of Magic is in danger! What I need is results, efficiency!"
Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes slightly, struggling to contain his anger—Fudge was clearly taking his frustrations out on him.
*Why hadn't he taken his frustrations out on me when Azkaban was attacked, instead of sending me to fight on