Dumbledore: The Early Days
Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge had known the news even before it had reached his big office on the highest floor of the Ministry of Magic. He had felt it—partially with excitement, but mostly with dread. He had sensed this event moments earlier and now here it was, walking through his door.
"Dumbledore is dead." The messenger announced this message with a fake sorrow in his voice, but he had done nothing to conceal the pleasure gleaming from his cat eyes. Fudge nodded, smiling to play the part. The part of a power hungry politician, the role he had assumed that very first day chosen for his position.
He nodded, and the messenger left, practically skipping out of the office. Dumbledore is dead. He's really dead. He is out of my way, Fudge thought. He had been waiting for this moment, anticipating it, but now here it was—his worst enemy in a sense was gone, and all he felt was sorrow. Fudge thought about all of England, all the wizards hearing the bland statement, reading it in another of Rita Skeeter's horrible articles, thinking that just maybe this murder could be the end of all their worries. If Dumbledore was gone, wouldn't He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named feel satisfied?
Fudge knew who he was, what he meant to everyone, but publicity wasn't his goal. His mind drifted back, back to the times where enemies were not and friends were everything. He sunk deeper and deeper into the sentiment, until he was fully in the memories of a friend.