Millicent was at her desk with two aurors outside the door. She'd been paranoid and jumpy since the attack, always looking over her shoulder and peering around corners, afraid that the Death Eater who'd tried to kill her would be skulking about, waiting for the opportune moment to finish the job. The statement had been Crouch's idea; show that the ministry was stronger than ever, that they were prepared for the worst, and that they wouldn't take the war lying down. Millicent hadn't been so sure, but after such a traumatizing event and an even larger amount of stress to look forward to as Minister (and through this damned transition), she was almost happy to take a little direction and play puppet.
Never again, not after the result.
Any further statements would surely aggravate You Know Who even more, and it wasn't worth the risk. Not after hundreds of innocent muggles had died because of her mouth--because of her idiocy. She was not starting off on a good foot, but could barely concentrate on what she was doing anymore. Between Wilde's office, compiling a cabinet, and preparing funeral arrangements for Marion and Patrick (not to mention having to answer to her family for what had happened)... One person could not handle the combination of workload and emotion well. It had to be impossible.
Millicent sighed audibly, removed her glasses, and rubbed the bridge of her nose.