A few minutes later, a livid Rufus Scrimgeour strode in.
He still carried the salt smell of seawater and the scorched odor of spell burns. His Auror uniform was torn in several places, making him look as though he had been through a fierce battle.
It was hard not to suspect that Scrimgeour had picked up bad habits from Sirius.
He knew that the squeaky wheel got the grease.
"Minister, I was just about to report to you."
Scrimgeour's tone was icy, even overpowering Fudge's anger for a moment.
"Report?!"
Fudge rounded the enormous mahogany desk and pointed at Scrimgeour's nose, spittle flying, his whole body like an inflated pufferfish.
"You had better give me a perfect explanation! Why did the Dark Mark appear over Azkaban?!
Why was Black's company's alarm faster than our Ministry's owls?!
What are your people even doing?! Do you know what people out there are saying now? They're saying Azkaban has fallen!"
Scrimgeour was not intimidated by his fury. Instead, a deeper anger than Fudge's burned in his tawny eyes.
He simply pulled something from inside his robes and slammed it onto Fudge's expensive mahogany desk.
Bang!
It was a black metal glove, still bearing the marks of powerful spells. A gold "MPC" logo on its side was particularly glaring under the office lights.
"While we were pursuing a group of Death Eaters attempting to approach Azkaban, they used this. An MPC-07 Model Deflection Bracer. A prototype.
Top-of-the-line equipment that our Auror Office spent months requesting funding for, only to have it approved last week.
And now it's on the hands of Death Eaters led by Macnair."
Fudge's roar caught in his throat. His eyes widened as he stared at the familiar glove, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"That's