For the first time in years and years, the first time since his grandfather's passing (ז״ל), Ant had left work early on a Friday night and apparated over to shul. He found a seat by himself, davened half-heartedly with words his mouth remembered to form, stood up and down and up and down and tried to find comfort in the familiarity, in the testament to thousands of years of resilience. He felt like a fraud. Where the hell was G-d now? (It was, probably, one of the most Jewish questions he'd ever asked. It didn't make him feel like any less of a fraud, though.)
One of the winning points, when he'd joined Mysteries, was the lack of Ministerial oversight. He hadn't trusted the last few governments (with good reason) and, reform or not, he hadn't entirely trusted the new one either. When the RMT was formed, whoever his actual employer was, for better or worse Ant could no longer protest if he was accused of being part of the Ministry. He was now. He was part of this, even if he hadn't known about it.
Two things kept Ant (barely, drunkenly) together: one, that he knew he hadn't committed any of these acts. Two, that he had been overly cautious with the data he collected from his research, putting a classified stamp on things that didn't necessarily need to be classified to keep the RMT and Ministry from finding out more than they needed to know in fear that they would do- well, something like this- with it.
Anyway, G-d wasn't helping, so Ant had quietly slipped out the back after no more than twenty minutes and made his way back to the flat. He paused at the door, feeling the weight of dozens of reoccurred souls and their family and friends and the entire wizarding population on his shoulders. He knew it'd be on his face when he went in; he was too tired to do anything to fix it.
He opened the door and chucked his keys and overflowing, robes stuffed work bag down into a heap on the floor which he at least had the courtesy to edge to the side with his foot. There was Terry, decoratively sprawled on the couch and already working his way through a bowl as Ant trudged his way over and let himself fall gracelessly into the opposite corner of it.
"I'm so fucking tired," he said, by way of 'hello'.