"That's not going to change," Quentin said, his eyes narrowing as he shot another target, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one, he inhaled the smoke, holding the fag with a careless hand afterwards as he shot with the other, neatly and easily, the mark just slightly to the left. "They hate the department - Mysteries has the credit for Potter. We don't. That alone gives them the priority for funding."
"Try again." Another drag on the cigarette. This time, his mark deliberately flew afield, the spell whizzing an inch from Weasley's wand, to keep him alert. "How do we do better with what we have? Think."