Fudge fell silent for a while.
"You're thinking far ahead."
"Someone has to."
Douglas picked up his insulated cup.
"There was a line in Weasley's article-this isn't a matter of dignity. It's a matter of survival."
He took a sip.
"He was right. But he only told half the story."
"The other half is-the way we solve the problem of survival is precisely what determines dignity."
"If we let those Muggle-born wizards become beggars, they'll lose their dignity."
"If we let them earn their first paycheck with their own hands-even on an assembly line in a Muggle factory-they'll regain it."
The fire in the fireplace flickered.
Fudge stood there, clutching the two sheets of parchment-one was the course list, the other Dumbledore's computer certificate.
He folded them and tucked them into an inside pocket of his robes.
"I'll make the arrangements as soon as I get back."
There was a rare firmness in his voice.
"Tomorrow morning, I want a draft of the premises lease on my desk."
He went to the door and pulled it open.
He turned his head.
"Albus."
Dumbledore looked up.
"That teacher from your computer class," Fudge hesitated, "what's her name?"
"Mrs. Jones."
Dumbledore said.
"Seventy-two. A retired primary school teacher. She was very patient with me."
"She said my only problem was-I kept forgetting to save my files."
The corner of Fudge's mouth twitched.
Without another word, he turned and walked out.
His footsteps gradually faded down the spiral staircase.
The gargoyle closed the entrance behind him.
The office fell quiet.
Only the fire crackled in the fireplace.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, took off his spectacles, and wiped the lenses with the cuff of his robe.
"Douglas."
"Yes?"
"Those jobs you mentioned just now-assembly line work, warehouse management, quality inspection."
Dumbledore put