Fudge stared at the newspaper, his vision darkening as the room spun around him.
He could even hear the beating of owl wings outside the window. Those had to be tens of thousands of angry letters on their way to the Ministry of Magic.
He knew that, at this moment, his political career had reached the edge of a cliff, with perhaps only the tip of one toe still clinging to it.
"No! I can't let it end like this!"
Fudge sprang out of his chair, all his fat shaking violently with agitation.
His eyes shone with a mad gleam called "survival against all odds."
He had to save himself.
If he did not find a scapegoat, if he did not do something earth-shattering to divert attention, he would be kicked out of this office tomorrow morning. The furious public might even send him to that newly emptied prison!
He looked at Scrimgeour, his gaze turning vicious and calculating.
"Listen, Rufus. Listen!"
Fudge panted, his voice hoarse.
"We must... we must get our stories straight. This is Dumbledore's conspiracy! Or Black's!
"That's right, the equipment was made by Black's company! We'll shut his company down! We'll..."
Scrimgeour looked at his superior, who had already descended into madness, and the disappointment in his eyes turned entirely to disgust.
"Save it, Cornelius."
Scrimgeour interrupted him, straightened the collar of his tattered robes, and turned toward the door.
"As far as I know, Black was in Diagon Alley, with you, with hundreds of witnesses. And he was the first person to alert you.
"You want to arrest him? You'll achieve nothing except enraging the public."
Scrimgeour rested his hand on the doorknob and paused.
"I'm going to write my report. And I'm going to interrogate that Macnair.
"Even if I have to use